The Puppet Crown

Harold MacGrath

Ah Love! Could you and I with Him conspire

To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire

   Would not we shatter it to bits—and then

Re-mold it nearer to the Heart's desire!

—Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Chapter 1 THE SCEPTER WHICH WAS A STICK

The king sat in his private garden in the shade of a potted orange tree, the leaves of which were splashed with brilliant yellow. It was high noon of one of those last warm sighs of passing summer which now and then lovingly steal in between the chill breaths of September. The velvet hush of the mid-day hour had fallen.

There was an endless horizon of turquoise blue, a zenith pellucid as glass. The trees stood motionless; not a shadow stirred, save that which was cast by the tremulous wings of a black and purple butterfly, which, near to his Majesty, fell, rose and sank again. From a drove of wild bees, swimming hither and thither in quest of the final sweets of the year, came a low murmurous hum, such as a man sometimes fancies he hears while standing alone in the vast auditorium of a cathedral.

The king, from where he sat, could see the ivy-clad towers of the archbishop's palace, where, in and about the narrow windows, gray and white doves fluttered and plumed themselves. The garden sloped gently downward till it merged into a beautiful lake called the Werter See, which, stretching out several miles to the west, in the heart of the thick-wooded hills, trembled like a thin sheet of silver.

Toward the south, far away, lay the dim, uneven blue line of the Thalian Alps, which separated the kingdom that was from the duchy that is, and the duke from his desires. More than once the king leveled his gaze in that direction, as if to fathom what lay behind those lordly rugged hills.

There was in the air the delicate odor of the deciduous leaves which, every little while, the king inhaled, his eyes half-closed and his nostrils distended. Save for these brief moments, however, there rested on his countenance an expression of disenchantment which came of the knowledge of a part ill-played, an expression which described a consciousness of his unfitness and inutility, of lethargy and weariness and distaste.

To be weary is the lot of kings, it is a part of their royal prerogative; but it is only a great king who can be weary gracefully. And Leopold was not a great king; indeed, he was many inches short of the ideal; but he was philosophical, and by the process of reason he escaped the pitfalls which lurk in the path of peevishness.

To know the smallness of the human atom, the limit of desire, the existence of other lives as precious as their own, is not the philosophy which makes great kings. Philosophy engenders pity; and one who possesses that can not ride roughshod over men, and that is the business of kings.

As for Leopold, he would rather have wandered the byways of Kant than studied royal etiquette. A crown had been thrust on his head and a scepter into his hand, and, willy-nilly, he must wear the one and wield the other. The confederation had determined the matter shortly before the Franco-Prussian war.

The kingdom that was, an admixture of old France and newer Austria, was a gateway which opened the road to the Orient, and a gateman must be placed there who would be obedient to the will of the great travelers, were they minded to pass that way. That is to say, the confederation wanted a puppet, and in Leopold they found a dreamer, which served as well. That glittering bait, a crown, had lured him from his peaceful Osian hills and valleys, and now he found that his crown was of straw and his scepter a stick.

He longed to turn back, for his heart lay in a tomb close to his castle keep, but the way back was closed. He had sold his birthright. So he permitted his ministers to rule his kingdom how they would, and gave himself up to dreams. He had been but a cousin of the late king, whereas the duke of the duchy that is had been a brother. But cousin Josef was possessed of red hair and a temper which was redder still, and, moreover, a superlative will, bending to none, and laughing at those who tried to bend him.

He would have been a king to the tip of his fiery hair; and it was for this very reason that his subsequent appeals for justice and his rights fell on unheeding ears. The confederation feared Josef; therefore they dispossessed him. Thus Leopold sat on the throne, while his Highness bit his nails and swore, impotent to all appearances.

Leopold leaned forward from his seat. In his hand he held a riding stick with which he drew shapeless pictures in the yellow gravel of the path. His brows were drawn over contemplative eyes, and the hint of a sour smile lifted the corners of his lips. Presently the brows relaxed, and his gaze traveled to the opposite side of the path, where the British minister sat in the full glare of the sun.

In the middle of the path, as rigid as a block of white marble, reposed a young bulldog, his moist black nose quivering under the repeated attacks of a persistent insect. It occurred to the king that there was a resemblance between the dog and his master, the Englishman. The same heavy jaws were there, the same fearless eyes, the same indomitable courage for the prosecution of a purpose.

A momentary regret passed through him that he had not been turned from a like mold. Next his gaze shifted to the end of the path, where a young Lieutenant stood idly kicking pebbles, his cuirass flaming in the dazzling sunshine. Soon the drawing in the gravel was resumed.

The British minister made little of the three-score years which were closing in on him, after the manner of an army besieging a citadel. He was full of animal exuberance, and his eyes, a trifle faded, it must be admitted, were still keenly alive and observant. He was big of bone, florid of skin, and his hair—what remained of it—was wiry and bleached. His clothes, possibly cut from an old measure, hung loosely about the girth—a sign that time had taken its tithe. For thirty-five years he had served his country by cunning speeches and bursts of fine oratory; he had wandered over the globe, lulling suspicions here and arousing them there, a prince of the art of diplomacy.

He had not been sent here to watch this kingdom. He was touching a deeper undercurrent, which began at St. Petersburg and moved toward Central Asia, Turkey and India, sullenly and irresistibly. And now his task was done, and another was to take his place, to be a puppet among puppets. He feared no man save his valet, who knew his one weakness, the love of a son on whom he had shut his door, which pride forbade him to open. This son had chosen the army, when a fine diplomatic career had been planned—a small thing, but it sufficed. Even now a word from an humbled pride would have reunited father and son, but both refused to speak this word.

The diplomat in turn watched the king as he engaged in the aimless drawing. His meditation grew retrospective, and his thoughts ran back to the days when he first befriended this lonely prince, who had come to England to learn the language and manners of the chill islanders. He had been handsome enough in those days, this Leopold of Osia, gay and eager, possessing an indefinable charm which endeared him to women and made him respected of men. To have known him then, the wildest stretch of fancy would never have placed him on this puppet throne, surrounded by enemies, menaced by his adopted people, rudderless and ignorant of statecraft.

"Fate is the cup," the diplomat mused, "and the human life the ball, and it's toss, toss, toss, till the ball slips and falls into eternity." Aloud he said, "Your Majesty seems to be well occupied."

"Yes," replied the king, smiling. "I am making crowns and scratching them out again—usurping the gentle pastime of their most Christian Majesties, the confederation. A pretty bauble is a crown, indeed—at a distance. It is a fine thing to wear one—in a dream. But to possess one in the real, and to wear it day by day with the eternal fear of laying it down and forgetting where you put it, or that others plot to steal it, or that you wear it dishonestly—Well, well, there are worse things than a beggar's crust."

"No one is honest in this world, save the brute," said the diplomat, touching the dog with his foot. "Honesty is instinctive with him, for he knows no written laws. The gold we use is stamped with dishonesty, notwithstanding the beautiful mottoes; and so long as we barter and sell for it, just so long we remain dishonest. Yes, you wear your crown dishonestly but lawfully, which is a nice distinction. But is any crown worn honestly? If it is not bought with gold, it is bought with lies and blood. Sire, your great fault, if I may speak, is that you haven't continued to be dishonest. You should have filled your private coffers, but you have not done so, which is a strange precedent to establish. You should have increased taxation, but you have diminished it; you should have forced your enemy's hand four years ago, when you ascended the throne, but you did not; and now, for all you know, his hand may be too strong. Poor, dishonest king! When you accepted this throne, which belongs to another, you fell as far as possible from moral ethics. And now you would be honest and be called dull, and dream, while your ministers profit and smile behind your back. I beg your Majesty's pardon, but you have always requested that I should speak plainly."

The king laughed; he enjoyed this frank friend. There was an essence of truth and sincerity in all he said that encouraged confidence.

"Indeed, I shall be sorry to have you go tomorrow," he said, "for I believe if you stayed here long enough you would truly make a king of me. Be frank, my friend, be always frank; for it is only on the base of frankness that true friendship can rear itself."

"You are only forty-eight," said the Englishman; "you are young."

"Ah, my friend," replied the king with a tinge of sadness, "it is not the years that age us; it is how we live them. In the last four years I have lived ten. To-day I feel so very old! I am weary of being a king. I am weary of being weary, and for such there is no remedy. Truly I was not cut from the pattern of kings; no, no. I am handier with a book than with a scepter; I'd liever be a man than a puppet, and a puppet I am—a figurehead on the prow of the ship, but I do not guide it. Who care for me save those who have their ends to gain? None, save the archbishop, who yet dreams of making a king of me. And these are not my people who surround me; when I die, small care. I shall have left in the passing scarce a finger mark in the dust of time."

"Ah, Sire, if only you would be cold, unfriendly, avaricious. Be stone and rule with a rod of iron. Make the people fear you, since they refuse to love you; be stone."

"You can mold lead, but you can not sculpture it; and I am lead."

"Yes; not only the metal, but the verb intransitive. Ah, could the fires of ambition light your soul!"

"My soul is a blackened grate of burnt-out fires, of which only a coal remains."

And the king turned in his seat and looked across the crisp green lawns to the beds of flowers, where, followed by a maid at a respectful distance, a slim young girl in white was cutting the hardy geraniums, dahlias and seed poppies.

"God knows what her legacy will be!"

"It is for you to make it, Sire."

Both men continued to remark the girl. At length she came toward them, her arms laden with flowers. She was at the age of ten, with a beautiful, serious face, which some might have called prophetic. Her hair was dark, shining like coal and purple, and gossamer in its fineness; her skin had the blue-whiteness of milk; while from under long black lashes two luminous brown eyes looked thoughtfully at the world. She smiled at the king, who eyed her fondly, and gave her unengaged hand to the Englishman, who kissed it.

"And how is your Royal Highness this fine day? he asked, patting the hand before letting it go.

"Will you have a dahlia, Monsieur?" With a grave air she selected a flower and slipped it through his button-hole.

"Does your Highness know the language of the flowers?" the Englishman asked.

"Dahlias signify dignity and elegance; you are dignified, Monsieur, and dignity is elegance."

"Well!" cried the Englishman, smiling with pleasure; "that is turned as adroitly as a woman of thirty."

"And am I not to have one?" asked the king, his eyes full of paternal love and pride.

"They are for your Majesty's table," she answered.

"Your Majesty!" cried the king in mimic despair. "Was ever a father treated thus? Your Majesty! Do you not know, my dear, that to me 'father' is the grandest title in the world?"

Suddenly she crossed over and kissed the king on the cheek, and he held her to him for a moment.

The bulldog had risen, and was wagging his tail the best he knew how. If there was any young woman who could claim his unreserved admiration, it was the Princess Alexia. She never talked nonsense to him in their rambles together, but treated him as he should be treated, as an animal of enlightenment.

"And here is Bull," said the princess, tickling the dog's nose with a scarlet geranium.

"Your Highness thinks a deal of Bull?" said the dog's master.

"Yes, Monsieur, he doesn't bark, and he seems to understand all I say to him."

The dog looked up at his master as if to say: "There now, what do you think of that?"

"To-morrow I am going away," said the diplomat, "and as I can not very well take Bull with me, I give him to you."

The girl's eyes sparkled. "Thank you, Monsieur, shall I take him now?"

"No, but when I leave your father. You see, he was sent to me by my son who is in India. I wish to keep him near me as long as possible. My son, your Highness, was a bad fellow. He ran away and joined the army against my wishes, and somehow we have never got together again. Still, I've a sneaking regard for him, and I believe he hasn't lost all his filial devotion. Bull is, in a way, a connecting link."

The king turned again to the gravel pictures. These Englishmen were beyond him in the matter of analysis. Her Royal Highness smiled vaguely, and wondered what this son was like. Once more she smiled, then moved away toward the palace. The dog, seeing that she did not beckon, lay down again. An interval of silence followed her departure. The thought of the Englishman had traveled to India, the thought of the king to Osia, where the girl's mother slept. The former was first to rouse.

"Well, Sire, let us come to the business at hand, the subject of my last informal audience. It is true, then, that the consols for the loan of five millions of crowns are issued to-day, or have been, since the morning is passed?"

"Yes, it is true. I am well pleased. Jacobi and Brother have agreed to place them at face value. I intend to lay out a park for the public at the foot of the lake. That will demolish two millions and a half. The remainder is to be used in city improvements and the reconstruction of the apartments in the palace, which are too small. If only you knew what a pleasure this affords me! I wish to make my good city of Bleiberg a thing of beauty—parks, fountains, broad and well paved streets."

"The Diet was unanimous in regard to this loan?"

"In fact they suggested it, and I was much in favor."

"You have many friends there, then?"

"Friends?" The king's face grew puzzled, and its animation faded away. "None that I know. This is positively the first time we ever agreed about anything."

"And did not that strike you as rather singular?"

"Why, no."

"Of course, the people are enthusiastic, considering the old rate of taxation will be renewed?" The diplomat reached over and pulled the dog's ears.

"So far as I can see," answered the king, who could make nothing of this interrogatory.

"Which, if your Majesty will pardon me, is not very far beyond your books."

"I have ministers."

"Who can see farther than your Majesty has any idea."

"Come, come, my friend," cried the king good-naturedly; "but a moment gone you were chiding me because I did nothing. I may not fill my coffers as you suggested, but I shall please my eye, which is something. Come; you have something to tell me."

"Will your Majesty listen?"

"I promise."

"And to hear?"

"I promise not only to listen, but to hear," laughing; "not only to hear, but to think. Is that sufficient?"

"For three years," began the Englishman, "I have been England's representative here. As a representative I could not meddle with your affairs, though it was possible to observe them. To-day I am an unfettered agent of self, and with your permission I shall talk to you as I have never talked before and never shall again."

The diplomat rose from his seat and walked up and down the path, his hands clasped behind his back, his chin in his collar. The bulldog yawned, stretched himself, and followed his master, soberly and thoughtfully. After a while the Englishman returned to his chair and sat down. The dog gravely imitated him. He understood, perhaps better than the king, his master's mood. This pacing backward and forward was always the forerunner of something of great importance.

During the past year he had been the repository of many a secret. Well, he knew how to keep one. Did not he carry a secret which his master would have given much to know? Some one in far away India, after putting him into the ship steward's care, had whispered: "You tell the governor that I think just as much of him as ever." He had made a desperate effort to tell it the moment he was liberated from the box, but he had not yet mastered that particular language which characterized his master's race.

"To begin with," said the diplomat, "what would your Majesty say if I should ask permission to purchase the entire loan?"

Chapter 2 THE COUP D'ETAT OF COUSIN JOSEF

The king, who had been leaning forward, fell back heavily in his seat, his eyes full wide and his mouth agape. Then, to express his utter bewilderment, he raised his hands above his head and limply dropped them.

"Five millions of crowns?" he gasped.

"Yes; what would your Majesty say to such a proposition?" complacently.

"I should say," answered the king, with a nervous laugh, "that my friend had lost his senses, completely and totally."

"The fact is," the Englishman declared, "they were never keener nor more lucid than at this present moment."

"But five millions!"

"Five millions; a bagatelle," smiling.

"Certainly you can not be serious, and if you were, it is out of the question. Death of my life! The kingdom would be at my ears. The people would shout that I was selling out to the English, that I was putting them into the mill to grind for English sacks."

"Your Majesty will recollect that the measure authorizing this loan was rather a peculiar one. Five millions were to be borrowed indiscriminately, of any man or body of men willing to advance the money on the securities offered. First come, first served, was not written, but it was implied. It was this which roused my curiosity, or cupidity, if you will."

"I can not recollect that the bill was as you say," said the king, frowning.

"I believe you. When the bill came to you, you were not expected to recollect anything but the royal signature. Have you read half of what you have signed and made law? No. I am serious. What is it to you or to the people, who secures this public mortgage, so long as the money is forthcoming? I desire to purchase at face value the twenty certificates."

"As a representative of England?"

The diplomat smiled. The king's political ignorance was well known. "As a representative of England, Sire, I could not purchase the stubs from which these certificates are cut. And then, as I remarked, I am an unfettered agent of self. The interest at two per cent. will be a fine income on a lump of stagnant money. Even in my own country, where millionaires are so numerous as to be termed common, I am considered a rich man. My personal property, aside from my estates, is five times the amount of the loan. A mere bagatelle, if I may use that pleasantry."

"Impossible, impossible!" cried the king, starting to his feet, while a line of worry ran across his forehead. He strode about impatiently slapping his boots with the riding stick. "It is impossible."

"Why do you say impossible, Sire?"

"I can not permit you to put in jeopardy a quarter of a million pounds," forgetting for the moment that he was powerless.

"Aha!" the diplomat cried briskly. "There is, then, beneath your weariness and philosophy, a fear?"

"A fear?" With an effort the king smoothed the line from his forehead. "Why should there be fear?"

"Why indeed, when our cousin Josef—" He stopped and looked toward the mountains.

"Well?" abruptly.

"I was thinking what a fine coup de maitre it would be for his Highness to gather in all these pretty slips of parchment given under the hand of Leopold."

"Small matter if he should. I should pay him." The king sat down. "And it is news to me that Josef can get together five millions."

"He has friends, rich and powerful friends."

"No matter, I should pay him."

"Are you quite sure?"

"What do you mean?"

"The face of the world changes in the course of ten years. Will there be five millions in your treasury ten years hence?"

"The wealth of my kingdom is not to be questioned," proudly, "nor its resources."

"But in ten years, with the ministers you have?" The Englishman shrugged doubtfully. "Why have you not formed a new cabinet of younger men? Why have you retained those of your predecessor, who are your natural enemies? You have tried and failed."

The expression of weariness returned to the king's face. He knew that all this was but a preamble to something of deeper significance. He anticipated what was forming in the other's mind, but he wished to avoid a verbal declaration. O, he knew that there was a net of intrigue enmeshing him, but it was so very fine that he could not pick up the smallest thread whereby to unravel it. Down in his soul he felt the shame of the knowledge that he dared not. A dreamer, rushing toward the precipice, would rather fall dreaming than waken and struggle futilely.

"My friend," he said, finally, sighing, "proceed. I am all attention."

"I never doubted your Majesty's perspicacity. You do not know, but you suspect, what I am about to disclose to you. My hope is that, when I am done, your Majesty will throw Kant and the rest of your philosophers out of the window. The people are sullen at the mention of your name, while they cheer another. There is an astonishing looseness about your revenues. The reds and the socialists plot for revolution and a republic, which is a thin disguise for a certain restoration. Your cousin the duke visits you publicly twice each year. He has been in the city a week at a time incognito, yet your minister of police seems to know nothing." The speaker ceased, and fondled the dahlia in his button-hole.

The king, noting the action, construed it as the subtle old diplomat intended he should. "Yes, yes! I am a king only for her sake. Go on. Tell me all."

"The archbishop and the chancellor are the only friends you possess. The Marshal, from personal considerations merely, remains neutral. Your army, excepting the cuirassiers, are traitors to your house. The wisest thing you have done was to surround yourself with this mercenary body, whom you call the royal cuirassiers, only, instead of three hundred, you should have two thousand. Self-interest will make them true to you. You might find some means to pay them, for they would be a good buffer between you and your enemies. The president of the Diet and the members are passing bills which will eventually undermine you. How long it will take I can not say. But this last folly, the loan, which you could have got on without, caps the climax. The duke was in the city last week unknown to you. Your minister of finance is his intimate. This loan was a connivance of them all. Why ten years, when it could easily be liquidated in five? I shall tell you. The duke expects to force you into bankruptcy within that time, and when the creditor demands and you can not pay, you will be driven from here in disgrace.

"And where will you go? Certainly not to Osia, since you traded it for this throne. It was understood, when you assumed the reign, that the finances of the kingdom would remain unimpeachable. Bankrupt, the confederation will be forced to disavow you. They will be compelled to restore the throne to your enemy, who, believe me, is most anxious to become your creditor.

"This is an independent state,—conditionally. The confederation have formed themselves into a protectorate. Why? I can only guess. One or more of them covet these beautiful lands. What are ten years to Josef, when a crown is the goal? Your revenues are slowly to decline, there will be internal troubles to eat up what money you have in the treasury. O, it is a plot so fine, so swiftly conceived, so cunningly devised that I would I were twenty years younger, to fight it with you! But I am old. My days for acting are past. I can only advise. He was sure of his quarry, this Josef whose hair is of many colors. Had you applied to the money syndicates of Europe, the banks of England, France, Germany, or Austria, your true sponsor, the result would always be the same: your ruin. Covertly I warned you not to sign; you laughed and signed. A trap was there, your own hand opened it. How they must have laughed at you! If you attempt to repudiate your signature the Diet has power to overrule you.

"Truly, the shade of Macchiavelli masks in the garb of your cousin. I admire the man's genius. This is his throne by right of inheritance. I do not blame him. Only, I wish to save you. If you were alone, why, I do not say that I should trouble myself, for you yourself would not be troubled. But I have grown to love that child of yours. It is all for her. Do you now understand why I make the request? It appears Quixotic? Not at all. Put my money in jeopardy? Not while the kingdom exists. If you can not pay back, your kingdom will. Perhaps you ask what is the difference, whether I or the duke becomes your creditor? This: in ten years I shall be happy to renew the loan. In ten years, if I am gone, there will be my son. You wonder why I do this. I repeat it is for your daughter. And perhaps," with a dry smile, "it is because I have no love for Josef."

"I will defeat him!" cried the king, a fire at last shining in his eyes.

"You will not."

"I will appeal to the confederation and inform them of the plot."

"The resource of a child! They would laugh at you for your pains. For they are too proud of their prowess in statecraft to tolerate a suspicion that your cousin is a cleverer man than all of them put together. There remains only one thing for you to do."

"And what is that?" wearily.

"Accept my friendship at its true value."

The king made no reply. He set his elbows on the arms of the rustic seat, interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on them, while his booted legs slid out before him. His meditation lengthened into several minutes. The diplomat evinced no sign of impatience.

"Come with me," said the king, rising quickly. "I will no longer dream. I will act. Come."

The diplomat nodded approvingly; and together they marched toward the palace. The bulldog trotted on behind, his pink tongue lolling out of his black mouth, a white tusk or two gleaming on each side. The Lieutenant of the cuirassiers saluted as they passed him, and, when they had gone some distance, swung in behind. He observed with some concern that his Majesty was much agitated.

The business of the kingdom, save that performed in the Diet, was accomplished in the east wing of the palace; the king's apartments, aside from the state rooms, occupied the west wing. It was to the business section that the king conducted the diplomat. In the chamber of finance its minister was found busy at his desk. He glanced up casually, but gave an ejaculation of surprise when he perceived who his visitors were.

"O, your Majesty!" he cried, bobbing up and running out his chair. "Good afternoon, your Excellency," to the Englishman, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses, through which his eyes shone pale and cold.

The diplomat bowed. The little man reminded him of M. Thiers, that effervescence of soda tinctured with the bitterness of iron. He understood the distrust which Count von Wallenstein entertained for him, but he was not distrustful of the count. Distrust implies uncertainty, and the Englishman was not the least uncertain as to his conception of this gentleman of finance.

There were few men whom the count could not interpret; one stood before him. He could not comprehend why England had sent so astute a diplomat and politician to a third-rate kingdom. Of that which we can not understand we are suspicious, and the guilty are distrustful. Neither the minister of police nor his subordinates could fathom the purpose of this calm, dignified old man with the difficult English name.

"Count," began the king, pleasantly, "his Excellency here has made a peculiar request."

"And what might that be, Sire?"

"He offers to purchase the entire number of certificates issued to-day for our loan."

"Five millions of crowns?" The minister's astonishment was so genuine that in jerking back his head his glasses slipped from his nose and dangled on the string.

The Englishman bowed again, the wrinkle of a smile on his face.

"I would not believe him serious at first, count," said the king, laughing easily, "but he assured me that he is. What can be done about it?"

"O, your Majesty," cried the minister, excitedly, "it would not be politic. And then the measure—"

"Is it possible that I have misconstrued its import?" the diplomat interposed with a fine air of surprise.

"You are familiar—" began the count, hesitatingly.

"Perfectly; that is, I believe so."

"But England—"

"Has nothing whatever to do with the matter. Something greater, which goes by the name of self-interest."

"Ah," said the count, his wrinkles relaxing; "then it is on your own responsibility?"

"Precisely."

"But five millions of crowns—two hundred and fifty thousand pounds!" The minister could not compose himself. "This is a vast sum of money. We expected not an individual, but a syndicate, to accept our securities, to become debtors to the various banks on the continent. But a personal affair! Five millions of crowns! The possibilities of your wealth overwhelm me."

The Englishman smiled. "I dare say I have more than my share of this world's goods. I can give you a check for the amount on the bank of England."

"Your Majesty's lamented predecessor—"

"Is dead," said the king gently. He had no desire to hear the minister recount that ruler's virtues. "Peace to his ashes."

"Five millions of crowns!" The minister had lost his equipoise in the face of the Englishman's great riches, of which hitherto he had held some doubts. Suddenly a vivid thought entered his confused brain. The paper cutter in his hand trembled. In the breathing space allowed him he began to calculate rapidly. The king and the diplomat had been in the garden; something had passed between them. What? The paper cutter slowly ceased its uneven movements. The count calmly placed it behind the inkwells… .. The Englishman knew. The glitter of gold gave way to the thought of the peril. A chasm yawned at his feet. But he was an old soldier in the game of words and cross-purposes.

"We should be happy to accord you the privilege of becoming the kingdom's creditor," he said, smiling at the diplomat, whom nothing had escaped. "I am afraid, however, that your request has been submitted too late. At ten o'clock this morning the transfer of the certificates would have been a simple matter. There are twenty in all; it may not be too late to secure some of them." He looked tranquilly from the Englishman to the king.

The smiling mask fell from the king's face; he felt that he was lost. He tried to catch his friend's eye, but the diplomat was deeply interested in the console of the fireplace.

"They seem to be at a premium," the Englishman said, "which speaks well for the prosperity of the country. I am sorry to have troubled you."

"It would have been a pleasure indeed," replied the count. He stood secure within his fortress, so secure that he would have liked to laugh.

"It is too bad," said the king, pulling his thoughts together.

"Your Majesty is giving the matter too much importance," said the diplomat. "It was merely a whim. I shall have the pleasure and honor of presenting my successor this evening."

The count bent low, while the king nodded absently. He was thinking that a penful of ink, carelessly trailed over a sheet of paper, had lost him his throne. He was about to draw the arm of the diplomat through his own, when his step was arrested by the entrance of a messenger who presented a letter to the minister of finance.

"With your Majesty's permission," he said, tearing open the envelope. As he read the contents, his shoulders sank to their habitual stoop and benignity once more shone in the place of alertness. "Decidedly, fate is not with your Excellency to-day. M. Jacobi writes me that four millions have already been disposed of to M. Everard & Co., English bankers in the Konigstrasse, who are representing a French firm in this particular instance. I am very sorry."

"It is of no moment now," replied the Englishman indifferently.

The adverb which concluded this declaration caught the keen ear of the minister, who grew tall again. What would he not have given to read the subtle brain of his opponent, for opponent he knew him to be! His intense scrutiny was blocked by a pair of most innocent eyes.

"Well," said the king impatiently, "let us be gone, my friend. The talk of money always leaves a copperish taste on my tongue."

Arm in arm they passed from the chamber. When the door closed behind them, the minister of finance drew his handkerchief across his brow.

"Everard & Co.," mused the Englishman aloud. "Was it not indeed a stroke for your cousin to select them as his agents? You will in truth be accused of selling out to the English. But there is a coincidence in all this."

"I am lost!" said the king.

"On the contrary, you are saved. Everard & Co. are my bankers and attorneys; in fact, I own an interest in the firm."

"What is this you tell me?" cried the king.

"Sire, we English have a peculiar trait; it is asking for something after we have taken it. The human countenance is a fine picture book. I should like to read that belonging to your cousin Josef, providing I could read unobserved."

"My friend!" said the king.

"Say nothing. Here is the bulldog; take him to her Royal Highness with my compliments. There is no truer friend than an animal of his breed. He is steadfast in his love, for he makes but few friends; he is a good companion, for he is undemonstrative; he can read and draw inferences, and your enemies will be his. I shall bid you good afternoon. God be with your Majesty."

"Ah, to lose you now!" said, the king, a heaviness in his heart such as presentiment brings.

The diplomat turned and went down the grand corridor. The bulldog tugged at his chain. Animals are gifted with prescience. He knew that his master had passed forever out of his life. Presently he heard the voice of the princess calling; and the glamour of royalty encompassed him,—something a human finds hard to resist, and he was only a dog.

Meanwhile another messenger had entered the chamber of finance and had gone. On the minister's desk lay a crumpled sheet of paper on which was written:

"Treason and treachery! It has at this moment been ascertained that, while pretending to be our agents in securing the consols, M. Everard & Co. now refuse to deliver them into the custody of Baron von Rumpf, as agreed, and further, that M. Everard & Co. are bankers and attorneys to his Excellency the British minister. He must not leave this city with those consols."

With his eyes riveted on these words, the minister of finance, huddled in his chair, had fallen into a profound study.

There were terrible times in the house of Josef that night.

Chapter 3 AN EPISODE TEN YEARS AFTER

One fine September morning in a year the date of which is of no particular importance, a man stepped out of a second-class carriage on to the canopied platform of the railway terminus in the ancient and picturesque city of Bleiberg. He yawned, shook himself, and stretched his arms and legs, relieved to find that the tedious journey from Vienna had not cramped those appendages beyond recovery.

He stood some inches above the average height, and was built up in a manner that suggested the handiwork of a British drill-master, his figure being both muscular and symmetrical. Besides, there was on his skin that rich brown shadow which is the result only of the forces of the sun and wind, a life in the open air. This color gave peculiar emphasis to the yellow hair and mustache. His face was not handsome, if one accept the Greek profile as a model of manly beauty, but it was cleanly and boldly cut, healthful, strong and purposeful, based on determined jaws and a chin which would have been obstinate but for the presence of a kindly mouth.

A guard deposited at his feet a new hatbox, a battered traveling bag and two gun cases which also gave evidence of rough usage. The luggage was literally covered with mutilated square and oblong slips of paper of many colors, on which were printed the advertisements of far-sighted hotel keepers all the way from Bombay to London and half-way back across the continent.

There was nothing to be seen, however, indicative of the traveler's name. He surveyed his surroundings with lively interest shining in his gray eyes, one of which peered through a monocle encircled by a thin rim of tortoise shell. He watched the fussy customs officials, who, by some strange mischance, overlooked his belongings. Finally he made an impatient gesture.

"Find me a cab," he said to the attentive guard, who, with an eye to the main chance, had waved off the approach of a station porter. "If the inspectors are in no hurry, I am."

"At once, my lord;" and the guard, as he stooped and lifted the luggage, did not see the start which this appellation caused the stranger to make, but who, after a moment, was convinced that the guard had given him the title merely out of politeness. The guard placed the traps inside of one of the many vehicles stationed at the street exit of the terminus. He was an intelligent and deductive servant.

The traveler was some noted English lord who had come to Bleiberg to shoot the famed golden pheasant, and had secured a second-class compartment in order to demonstrate his incognito. Persons who traveled second-class usually did so to save money; yet this tall Englishman, since the train departed from Vienna, had almost doubled in gratuities the sum paid for his ticket. The guard stood respectfully at the door of the cab, doffed his cap, into which a memento was dropped, and went along about his business.

The Englishman slammed the door, the jehu cracked his whip, and a moment later the hoarse breathings of the motionless engines became lost in the sharper noises of the city carts. The unknown leaned against the faded cushions, curled his mustache, and smiled as if well satisfied with events. It is quite certain that his sense of ease and security would have been somewhat disturbed had he known that another cab was close on the track of his, and that its occupant, an officer of the city gendarmerie, alternately smiled and frowned as one does who floats between conviction and uncertainty. At length the two vehicles turned into the Konigstrasse, the principal thoroughfare of the capital, and here the Englishman's cab came to a stand. The jehu climbed down and opened the door.

"Did Herr say the Continental?" he asked.

"No; the Grand."

The driver shrugged, remounted his box, and drove on. The Grand Hotel was clean enough and respectable, but that was all that could be said in its favor. He wondered if the Englishman would haggle over the fare. Englishmen generally did. He was agreeably disappointed, however, when, on arriving at the mean hostelry, his passenger plunged a hand into a pocket and produced three Franz-Josef florins.

"You may have these," he said, "for the trouble of having them exchanged into crowns."

As he whipped up, the philosophical cabman mused that these tourists were beyond the pale of his understanding. With a pocket full of money, and to put up at the Grand! Why not the Continental, which lay close to the Werter See, the palaces, the royal and public gardens? It was at the Continental that the fine ladies and gentlemen from Vienna, and Innsbruck, and Munich, and Belgrade, resided during the autumn months. But the Grand—ach! it was in the heart of the shops and markets, and within a stone's throw of that gloomy pile of granite designated in the various guide books as the University of Bleiberg.

The Englishman had some difficulty in finding a pen that would write, and the ink was oily, and the guest-book was not at the proper angle. At last he managed to form the letters of his name, which was John Hamilton. After some deliberation, he followed this with "England." The proprietor, who acted as his own clerk, drew the book toward him, and after some time, deciphered the cabalistic signs.

"Ah, Herr John Hamilton of England; is that right?"

"Yes; I am here for a few days' shooting. Can you find me a man to act as guide?"

"This very morning, Herr."

"Thanks."

Then he proceeded up the stairs to the room assigned to him. The smell of garlic which pervaded the air caused him to make a grimace. Once alone in the room, he looked about. There was neither soap nor towel, but there was a card which stated that the same could be purchased at the office. He laughed. A pitcher of water and a bowl stood on a small table, which, by the presence of a mirror (that could not in truth reflect anything but light and darkness), served as a dresser. These he used to good advantage, drying his face and hands on the white counterpane of the bed, and laughing quietly as he did so. Next he lit a pipe, whose capacity for tobacco was rather less than that of a lady's thimble, sat in a chair by the window, smoked quietly, and gazed down on the busy street.

It was yet early in the morning; sellers of vegetables, men and women peasants, with bare legs and wooden shoes, driving shaggy Servian ponies attached to low, cumbersome carts, passed and repassed, to and from the markets. A gendarme, leaning the weight of his shoulder on the guard of a police saber, rested against the corner of a wine shop across the way. Students, wearing squat caps with vizors, sauntered indolently along, twirling canes and ogling all who wore petticoats. Occasionally the bright uniform of a royal cuirassier flashed by; and the Englishman would lean over the sill and gaze after him, nodding his head in approval whenever the cuirassier sat his horse well.

In the meantime the gendarme, who followed him from the station, had entered the hotel, hastily glanced at the freshly written name, and made off toward the palace.

"Well, here we are," mused the Englishman, pressing his thumb into the bowl of his pipe. "The affair promises some excitement. To-morrow will be the sixth; on the twentieth it will be a closed incident, as the diplomats would say. I don't know what brought me here so far ahead of time. I suppose I must look out for a crack on the head from some one I don't know, but who knows me so deuced well that he has hunted me in India and England, first with fine bribes, then with threats." He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the gun cases. "It was a capital idea, otherwise a certain ubiquitous customs official, who lies in wait for the unwary at the frontier, would now be an inmate of a hospital. To have lived thirty-five years, and to have ground out thirteen of them in her Majesty's, is to have acquired a certain disdain for danger, even when it is masked. I am curious to see how far these threats will go. It will take a clever man to trap me. The incognito is a fort. By the way, I wonder how the inspectors at the station came to overlook my traps? Strange, considering what I have gone through."

At this moment the knuckles of a hand beat against the door.

"Come in!" answered the Englishman, wheeling his chair, but making no effort to rise. "Come in!"

The door swung in, and there entered a short, spectacled man in dark gray clothes which fairly bristled with brass buttons. He was the chief inspector of customs. He bowed.

The Englishman, consternation widening his eyes, lowered his pipe.

"Monsieur Hamilton's pardon," the inspector began, speaking in French, "but with your permission I shall inspect your luggage and glance at your passports." He bowed again.

"Now do you know, mon ami," replied the Englishman, "that Monsieur Hamilton will not permit you to gaze even into yonder washbowl?" He rose lazily.

"But, Monsieur," cried the astonished official, to whom non-complaisance in the matter of inspection was unprecedented, "you certainly will not put any obstacle in the path of my duty!"

"Your duty, Monsieur the Spectacles, is to inspect at the station. There your assistants refused to award me their attention. You are trespassing."

"Monsieur forgets," sternly; "it is the law. Is it possible that I shall be forced to call in the gendarmes to assist me? This is extraordinary!"

"I dare say it is, on your part," admitted the Englishman, polishing the bowl of his pipe against the side of his nose. "You had best go at once. If you do not, I shall take you by the nape of your Bleibergian neck and kick you down the stairs. I have every assurance of my privileges. The law here, unless it has changed within the past hour, requires inspection at the frontier, and at the capital; but your jurisdiction does not extend beyond the stations. Bon jour, Monsieur the Spectacles; bon jour!"

"O, Monsieur!"

"Good day!"

"Monsieur, it is my duty; I must!"

"Good day! How will you go, by the stairs or by the window? I—but wait!" an idea coming to him which caused him to reflect on the possible outcome of violence done to a government official, who, perhaps, was discharging his peculiar duty at the orders of superiors. He walked swiftly to the door and slid the bolt, to the terror of the inspector, on whose brow drops of perspiration began to gather. "Now," opening the hat box and taking out a silk hat, "this is a hat, purchased in Paris at Cook's. There is nothing in the lining but felt. Look into the box; nothing. Take out your book and follow me closely," he continued, dividing the traveling bag into halves, and he began to enumerate the contents.

"But, Monsieur!" remonstrated the inspector, who did not enjoy this infringement of his prerogatives; his was the part to overhaul. "This is—"

"Be still and follow me," and the Englishman went on with the inventory. "There!" when he had done, "not a dutiable thing except this German-Scotch whisky, and that is so bad that I give it to you rather than pay duty. What next? My passports? Here they are, absolutely flawless, vised by the authorities in Vienna."

The slips crackled in the fluttering fingers of the inspector. "They are as you say, Monsieur," he said, returning the permits. Then he added timidly, "And the gun cases?"

"The gun cases!" The pipe spilled its coal to the floor. "The gun cases!"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"And why do you wish to look into them?" with agitation.

"Smugglers sometimes fill them with cigars."

"Ah!" The Englishman selected two loaded shells, drew a gun from the case, threw up the breech and rammed in the shells. Then he extended the weapon to within an inch of the terrified inspector's nose. "Now, Monsieur the Spectacles, look in there and tell me what you see."

The fellow sank half-fainting into a chair. "Mon Dieu, Monsieur, would you kill me who have a family?"

"What's a customs inspector, more or less?" asked the terrible islander, laughing. "I advise you not to ask me to let you look into the other gun, out of consideration for your family. It has hair triggers, and my fingers tremble."

"Monsieur, Monsieur, you do wrong to trifle with the law. I shall be obliged to report you. You will be arrested."

"Nothing of the kind," was the retort. "I have only to inform the British minister how remiss you were in your obligations. I should go free, whereas you would be discharged. But what I demand to know is, what the devil is the meaning of this farce."

"I am simply obeying orders," answered the inspector, wiping his forehead. "It is not a farce, as Monsieur will find." Then, as if to excuse this implied threat: "Will Monsieur please point the gun the other way?"

The Englishman unloaded the gun and tossed it on the bed.

"Thanks. In coming here I simply obeyed the orders of the minister of police."

"And what in the world did you expect to find?"

"We are looking—that is, they are looking—O, Monsieur, it is impossible for me to disclose to you my government's purposes."

"What and whom were you expecting?" demanded the Englishman. "You shall not leave this room till you have fully explained this remarkable intrusion."

"We were expecting the Lord and Baronet Fitzgerald."

"The lord!" laughing. "Does the lord visit Bleiberg often, then, that you prepare this sort of a reception? And the Baronet Fitzgerald?"

"They are the same and the one person."

"And who the deuce is he; a spy, a smuggler, a villain, or what?"

"As to that, Monsieur," with a wonder why this man laughed, "I know no more than you. But I do know that for the past month every Englishman has been subjected to this surveillance, and has submitted with more grace than you," with an oblique glance.

"What! Examined his luggage at the hotel?"

"Yes, Monsieur. It is the order of the minister of police. I know not why." The natural color was returning to his cheeks.

"This is a fine country, I must say. At least the king should acquaint his visitors with the true cause of this treatment." In his turn the Englishman resorted to oblique glances.

"The king?" The inspector raised a shoulder and spread his hands. "The king is a paralytic, Monsieur, and has little to say these days."

"A paralytic? I thought he was called `the handsome monarch'?"

"That was years ago, Monsieur. For three years he has been helpless and bedridden. The archbishop is the real king nowadays. But he meddles not with the police."

"This is very sad. I suppose it would be impossible for strangers to see him now."

"An audience?" a sparkle behind the spectacles. "Is your business with the king, Monsieur?"

"My business is mine," shortly. "I am only a tourist, and should have liked to see the king from mere curiosity. However, had you explained all this to me, I should not have caused you so many gray hairs."

"Monsieur did not give me the chance," simply.

"True," the Englishman replied soberly. He began to think that he had been over hasty in asserting his privileges. "But all this has nothing to do with me. My name is John Hamilton. See, it is engraved on the stock of the gun," catching it up and holding it under the spectacled eyes, which still observed it with some trepidation. "That is the name in my passports, in the book down stairs, in the lining of my hat. I am sorry, since you were only obeying orders, that my rough play has caused you alarm." He unbolted the door. "Good morning."

The inspector left the room as swiftly as his short legs could carry him, ignoring the ethics of common politeness. As he stumbled down the stairs he cursed the minister of police for requiring this spy work of him, and not informing him why it was done. Ah, these cursed Anglais from Angleterre! They were all alike, and this one was the worst he had ever encountered. And those ugly black orifices in the gun! Peste! He would resign! Yes, certainly he would resign.

As to the Englishman, he stood in the center of the room and scratched his head. "Hang it, I've made an ass of myself. That blockhead will have the gendarmes about my ears. If they arrest me there will be the devil to pay. The Lord and the Baronet Fitzgerald!" he repeated. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and fell to laughing again. "Confound these picture-book kingdoms! They always take themselves so seriously. Well, if the gendarmes call this afternoon I'll not be at home. No, thank you. I shall be hunting pheasants."

And thereat he set to work cleaning the gun which had all but prostrated the inspector. Soon the room smelled of oiled rags and tobacco. Some-times the worker whistled softly. Sometimes he let the gun fall against his knee, and stared dreamily through the window at the flight of the ragged clouds. Again, he would shake his head, as if there were something which he failed to understand. Half an hour passed, when again some one knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Under his breath he added: "The gendarmes, likely."

But it was only the proprietor of the hotel. "Asking Herr's pardon," he said, "for this intrusion, but I have secured a man for you. I have the honor to recommend Johann Kopf as a good guide and hunter."

"Send him up. If he pleases me, I'll use him."

The proprietor withdrew.

Johann Kopf proved to be a young German with a round, ruddy face, which was so innocent of guile as to be out of harmony with the shrewd, piercing black eyes looking out of it. The Englishman eyed him inquisitively, even suspiciously.

"Are you a good hunter?" he asked.

"There is none better hereabout," answered Johann, twirling his cap with noticeably white fingers. It was only in after days that the Englishman appreciated the full significance of this answer.

"Speak English?"

"No. Herr's German is excellent, however."

"Humph!" The Englishman gave a final glance into the shining tubes of the gun, snapped the breach, and slipped it into the case. "You'll do. Return to the office; I'll be down presently."

"Will Herr hunt this morning?"

"No; what I wish this morning is to see the city of Bleiberg."

"That is simple," said Johann. The fleeting, imperceptible smile did not convict his eyes of false keenness.

He bowed out. When the door closed the Englishman waited until the sound of retreating steps failed. Then he took the gun case which he had not yet opened, and thrust it under the mattress of the bed.

"Johann," he said, as he put on a soft hat and drew a cane from the straps of the traveling bag, "you will certainly precede me in our hunting expeditions. I do not like your eyes; they are not at home in your boyish face. Humph! what a country. Every one speaks a different tongue."

The city of Bleiberg lay on a hill and in the valleys which fell away to the east and west. It was divided into two towns, the upper and the lower. The upper town and that part which lay on the shores of the Werter See was the modern and fashionable district. It was here that the king and the archbishop had their palaces and the wealthy their brick and stone. The public park skirted the lake, and was patterned after those fine gardens which add so much to the picturesqueness of Vienna and Berlin. There were wide gravel paths and long avenues of lofty chestnuts and lindens, iron benches, fountains and winding flower beds. The park, the palaces, and the Continental Hotel enclosed a public square, paved with asphalt, called the Hohenstaufenplatz, in the center of which rose a large marble fountain of several streams, guarded by huge bronze wolves. Here, too, were iron benches which were, for the most part, the meeting-place of the nursemaids. Carriages were allowed to make the circuit, but not to obstruct the way.

The Konigstrasse began at the Platz, divided the city, and wound away southward, merging into the highway which continued to the Thalian Alps, some thirty miles distant. The palaces were at the southeast corner of the Platz, first the king's, then the archbishop's. The private gardens of each ran into the lake. Directly across from the palaces stood the cathedral, a relic of five centuries gone. On the northwest corner stood the Continental Hotel, with terrace and parapet at the water's edge, and a delightful open-air cafe facing the Platz. September and October were prosperous months in Bleiberg. Fashionable people who desired quiet made Bleiberg an objective point. The pheasants were plump, there were boars, gray wolves, and not infrequently Monsieur Fourpaws of the shaggy coat wandered across from the Carpathians.

As to the lower town, it was given over to the shops and markets, the barracks, the university, and the Rathhaus, which served as the house of the Diet. It was full of narrow streets and quaint dwellings.

Up the Konigstrasse the guide led the Englishman, who nodded whenever the voluble chatter of the German pleased him. When they began the descent of the hill, the vista which opened before them drew from the Englishman an ejaculation of delight. There lay the lake, like a bright new coin in a green purse; the light of the sun broke on the white buildings and flashed from the windows; and the lawns twinkled like emeralds.

"It makes Vienna look to her laurels, eh, Herr?" said Johann.

"But it must have cost a pretty penny."

"Aye, that it did; and the king is being impressed with that fact every day. There are few such fine palaces outside of first-class kingdoms. The cathedral there was erected at the desire of a pope, born five hundred years ago. It is full of romance. There is to be a grand wedding there on the twentieth of this month. That is why there are so many fashionable people at the hotels. The crown prince of Carnavia, which is the large kingdom just east of us, is to wed the Princess Alexia, the daughter of the king."

"On the twentieth? That is strange."

"Strange?"

"I meant nothing," said the Englishman, jerking back his shoulders; "I had in mind another affair."

There was a flash in Johann's eyes, but he subdued it before the Englishman was aware of its presence. "However," said Johann, "there is something strange. The prince was to have arrived a week ago to complete the final arrangements for the wedding. His suite has been here a week, but no sign of his Highness. He stopped over a train at Ehrenstein to visit for a few hours a friend of the king, his father. Since then nothing has been heard from him. The king, it is said, fears that some accident has happened to him. Carnavia is also disturbed over this disappearance. Some whisper of a beautiful peasant girl. Who can say?"

"Any political significance in this marriage?"

"Leopold expects to strengthen his throne by the alliance. But—" Johann's mouth closed and his tongue pushed out his cheek. "There will be some fine doings in the good city of Bleiberg before the month is gone. The minister from the duchy has been given his passports. Every one concedes that trouble is likely to ensue. Baron von Rumpf—"

"Baron von Rumpf," repeated the Englishman thoughtfully.

"Yes; he is not a man to submit to accusations without making a disagreeable defense."

"What does the duke say?"

"The duke?"

"Yes."

"His Highness has been dead these four years."

"Dead four years? So much for man and his futile dreams. Dead four years," absently.

"What did you say, Herr?"

"I? Nothing. How did he die?"

"He was thrown from his horse and killed. But the duchess lives, and she is worthy of her sire. Eh, Herr, there is a woman for you! She should sit on this throne; it is hers by right. These Osians are aliens and were forced on us."

"It seems to me, young man, that you are talking treason."

"That is my business, Herr." Johann laughed. "I am a socialist, and occasionally harangue for the reds. And sometimes, when I am in need of money, I find myself in the employ of the police."

The muscles of the Englishman's jaws hardened, then they relaxed. The expression on the face of his guide was free from anything but bonhomie.

"One must live," Johann added deprecatingly.

"Yes, one must live," replied the Englishman.

"O! but I could sell some fine secrets to the Osians had they money to pay. Ach! but what is the use? The king has no money; he is on the verge of bankruptcy, and this pretty bit of scenery is the cause of it."

"So you are a socialist?" said the Englishman, passing over Johann's declamatory confidences.

"Yes, Herr. All men are brothers."

"Go to!" laughed the Englishman, "you aren't even a second cousin to me. But stay, what place is this we are passing?" indicating with his cane a red-brick mansion which was fronted by broad English lawns and protected from intrusion by a high iron fence.

"That is the British legation, Herr."

The Englishman stopped and stared, unconscious of the close scrutiny of the guide. His eyes traveled up the wide flags leading to the veranda, and he drew a picture of a square-shouldered old man tramping backward and forward, the wind tangling his thin white hair, his hands behind his back, his chin in his collar and at his heels a white bulldog. Rapidly another picture came. It was an English scene. And the echo of a voice fell on his ears. "My way and the freedom of the house and the key to the purse; your way and a closed door while I live. You can go, but you can not come back. You have decided? Yes? Then good morning." Thirteen years, thirteen years! He had sacrificed the freedom of the house and the key to the purse, the kind eyes and the warm pressure of that old hand. And for what? Starvation in the deserts, plenty of scars and little of thanks, ingratitude and forgetfulness.

And now the kind eyes were closed and the warm hand cold. O, to recall the vanished face, the silent voice, the misspent years, the April days and their illusions! The Englishman took the monocle from his eye and looked at it, wondering what had caused the sudden blur.

"There was a fine old man there in the bygone days," said Johann.

"And who was he?"

"Lord Fitzgerald, the British minister. He and Leopold were close friends." Johann's investigating gaze went unrewarded. The Englishman's face had resumed its expression of mild curiosity.

"Ah; a compatriot of mine," he said. Inwardly he mused: "This guide is watching me; let him catch me if he can. His duchess? I know far too much of her!"

"He was a millionaire, too," went on Johann.

"Well, we can't all be rich. Come."

They crossed the Strasse and traversed the walk at the side of the palace enclosures. The Englishman aimlessly trailed his cane along the green pickets of the fence till they ended in a stone arch which rose high over the driveway. The gates were open, and coming toward the two wanderers as they stood at the curb rolled the royal barouche, on each side of which rode a mounted cuirassier, sashed and helmeted. The Englishman, however, had observed nothing; he was lost in some dream.

"Look, Herr!" cried Johann, rousing the other by a pull at the sleeve. "Look!" Socialist though he claimed to be, Johann touched his cap.

In the barouche, leaning back among the black velvet cushions, her face mellowed by the shade of a small parasol, was a young woman of nineteen or twenty, as beautiful as a da Vinci freshly conceived. The Englishman saw a pair of grave dark eyes which, in the passing, met his and held them. He caught his breath.

"Who is that?" he asked.

"That is her Royal Highness the Crown Princess Alexia."

Afterward the Englishman remembered seeing a white dog lying on the opposite seat.

Chapter 4 AN ADVENTURE WITH ROYALTY

Maurice Carewe, attached to the American legation in Vienna, leaned against the stone parapet which separated the terraced promenade of the Continental Hotel from the Werter See, and wondered what had induced him to come to Bleiberg.

He had left behind him the glory of September in Vienna, a city second only to Paris in fashion and gaiety; Vienna, with its inimitable bands, its incomparable gardens, its military maneuvers, its salons, its charming women; and all for a fool's errand. His Excellency was to blame. He had casually dropped the remark that the duchy's minister, Baron von Rumpf, had been given his passports as a persona non grata by the chancellor of the kingdom, and that a declaration of war was likely to follow. Maurice's dormant love of journalistic inquiry had become aroused, and he had asked permission to investigate the affair, a favor readily granted to him.

But here he was, on the scene, and nobody knew anything, and nobody could tell anything. The duchess had remained silent. Not unnaturally he wished himself back in Vienna. There were no court fetes in the city of Bleiberg. The king's condition was too grave to permit them. And, besides, there had been no real court in Bleiberg for the space of ten years, so he was told. Those solemn affairs of the archbishop's, given once the week for the benefit of the corps diplomatique, were dull and spiritless. Her Royal Highness was seldom seen, save when she drove through the streets. Persons who remembered the reign before told what a mad, gay court it had been. Now it was funereal. The youth and beauty of Bleiberg held a court of its own. Royalty was not included, nor did it ask to be.

A strange capital, indeed, Maurice reflected, as he gazed down into the cool, brown water. He regretted his caprice. There were pretty women in Vienna. Some of them belonged to the American colony. They danced well, they sang and played and rode. He had taught some of them how to fence, and he could not remember the times he had been "buttoned" while paying too much attention to their lips and eyes. For Maurice loved a thing of beauty, were it a woman, a horse or a Mediterranean sunset. What a difference between these two years in Vienna and that year in Calcutta! He never would forget the dingy office, with its tarnished sign, "U. S. Consul," tacked insecurely on the door, and the utter loneliness.

He cast a pebble into the lake, and watched the ripples roll away and disappear, and ruminated on a life full of color and vicissitude. He remembered the Arizona days, the endless burning sand, the dull routine of a cavalry trooper, the lithe brown bodies of the Apaches, the first skirmish and the last. From a soldier he had turned journalist, tramped the streets of Washington in rain and shine, living as a man lived who must.

One day his star had shot up from the nadir of obscurity, not very far, but enough to bring his versatility under the notice of the discerning Secretary of State, who, having been a friend of the father, offered the son a berth in the diplomatic corps. A consulate in a South American republic, during a revolutionary crisis, where he had shown consummate skill in avoiding political complications (and where, by a shrewd speculation in gold, he had feathered his nest for his declining years), proved that the continual incertitude of a journalistic career is a fine basis for diplomatic work. From South America he had gone to Calcutta, thence to Austria.

He was only twenty-nine, which age in some is youth. He possessed an old man's wisdom and a boy's exuberance of spirits. He laughed whenever he could; to him life was a panorama of vivid pictures, the world a vast theater to which somehow he had gained admission. His beardless countenance had deceived more than one finished diplomat, for it was difficult to believe that behind it lay an earnest purpose and a daring courage. If he bragged a little, quizzed graybeards, sought strange places, sported with convention, and eluded women, it was due to his restlessness. Yet, he had the secretiveness of sand; he absorbed, but he revealed nothing. He knew his friends; they thought they knew him. It was his delight to have women think him a butterfly, men write him down a fool; it covered up his real desires and left him free.

What cynicism he had was mellowed by a fanciful humor. Whether with steel or with words, he was a master of fence; and if at times some one got under his guard, that some one knew it not. To let your enemy see that he has hit you is to give him confidence. He saw humor where no one else saw it, and tragedy where it was not suspected. He was one of those rare individuals who, when the opportunity of chance refuses to come, makes one.

"Germany and Austria are great countries," he mused, lighting a cigar. "Every hundredth man is a king, one in fifty is a duke, every tenth man is a prince, and one can not take a corner without bumping into a count or a baron. Even the hotel waiters are disquieting; there is that embarrassing atmosphere about them which suggests nobility in durance vile. As for me, I prefer Kentucky, where every man is a colonel, and you never make a mistake. And these kingdoms!" He indulged in subdued laughter. "They are always like comic operas. I find myself looking around every moment for the merry villagers so happy and so gay (at fifteen dollars the week), the eternal innkeeper and the perennial soubrette his daughter, the low comedian and the self-conscious tenor. Heigho! and not a soul in Bleiberg knows me, nor cares.

"I'd rather talk five minutes to a pretty woman than eat stuffed pheasants the year around, and the stuffed pheasant is about all Bleiberg can boast of. Well, here goes for a voyage of discovery;" and he passed down the stone steps to the pier, quite unconscious of the admiring glances of the women who fluttered back and forth on the wide balconies above.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon; a fresh wind redolent of pine and resin blew across the lake. Maurice climbed into a boat and pulled away with a strong, swift stroke, enjoying the liberation of his muscles. A quarter of a mile out he let the oars drift and took his bearings. He saw the private gardens of the king and the archbishop, and, convinced that a closer view would afford him entertainment, he caught up the oars again and moved inland.

The royal gardens ran directly into the water, while those of the archbishop were protected by a wall of brick five or six feet in height, in the center of which was a gate opening on the water. Behind the gate was a small boat dock. Maurice plied the oars vigorously. He skirted the royal gardens, and the smell of newly mown lawns filled the air. Soon he was gliding along the sides of the moss-grown walls. A bird chirped in the overhanging boughs. He was about to cast loose the oars again, when the boat was brought to a violent stop. A few yards waterward from the gate there lay, hidden in the shadowed water, a sunken pier. On one of the iron piles the boat had become impaled.

Maurice was tumbled into the bow of the boat, which began rapidly to fill. First he swore, then he laughed, for he was possessed of infinite good humor. The only thing left for him to do was to swim for the gate. With a rueful glance at his thin clothes, he dropped himself over the side of the wreck and struck out toward the gate. The water, having its source from the snowclad mountains, was icy. He was glad enough to grasp the lower bars of the gate and draw himself up. He was on the point of climbing over, when a picture presented itself to his streaming eyes.

Seated on a bench made of twisted vine was a young girl. She held in her hand a book, but she was not reading it. She was scanning the unwritten pages of some reverie; her eyes, dark, large and wistful, were holding communion with the god of dreams. A wisp of hair, glossy as coal, trembled against a cheek white as the gown she wore.

At her side, blinking in the last rays of the warm sun, sat a bulldog, toothless and old. Now and then a sear leaf, falling in a zig-zag course, rustled past his ears, and he would shake his head as if he, too, were dreaming and the leaves disturbed him. All at once he sniffed, his ears stood forward, and a low growl broke the enchantment. The girl, on discovering Maurice, closed the book and rose. The dog, still growling, jumped down and trotted to the gate. Maurice thought that it was time to speak.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "pardon this intrusion, but my boat has met with an accident."

The girl came to the gate. "Why, Monsieur," she exclaimed, "you are wet!"

"That is true," replied Maurice, his teeth beginning to knock together. "I was forced to swim. If you will kindly open the gate and guide me to the street, I shall be much obliged to you."

The gate swung outward, and in a moment Maurice was on dry land, or the next thing to it, which was the boat-dock.

"Thank you," he said.

"O! And you might have been drowned," compassion lighting her beautiful eyes. "Sit down on the bench, Monsieur, for you must be weak. And it was that sunken pier? I shall speak to Monseigneur; he must have it removed. Bull, stop growling; you are very impolite; the gentleman is in distress."

Maurice sat down, not because he was weak, but because the desire to gain the street had suddenly subsided. Who was this girl who could say "must" to the formidable prelate? His quick eye noticed that she showed no sign of embarrassment. Indeed, she impressed him as one who was superior to that petty disturbance of collected thought. Somehow it seemed to him, as she stood there looking down at him, that he, too, should be standing. But she put forth a hand with gentle insistence when he made as though to rise. What an exquisite face, he thought. Against the whiteness of her skin her lips burned like poppy petals. Innocent, inquisitive eyes smiled gently, eyes in whose tranquil depths lay the glory of the world, asleep. Presently a color, faint and fugitive, dimmed the whiteness of her cheeks. Maurice, conscious of his rudeness and of a warmth in his own cheeks, instinctively lowered his gaze.

"Pardon my rudeness," he said.

"What is your name, Monsieur," she asked calmly.

"It is Maurice Carewe. I am living in Vienna. I came to Bleiberg for pleasure, but the first day has not been propitious," with an apologetic glance at his dripping clothes.

"Maurice Carewe," slowly repeating the full name as if to imprint it on her memory. "You are English?"

He said: "No; I am one of those dreadful Yankees you have possibly read about."

Her teeth gleamed. "Yes, I have heard of them. But you do not appear so very dreadful; though at present you are truly not at your best. What is this—this Yankeeland like?"

"It would take me ever so long to tell you about it, it is such a great country."

"You are a patriot!" clapping her hands. "No other country is so fine and large and great as your own. But tell me, is it as large as Austria?"

"Austria? You will not be offended if I tell you?"

"No."

"Well," with fun in his eyes, "it is my opinion that I could hide Austria in my country so thoroughly that nobody would ever be able to find it again." He wondered how she would accept this statement.

She lifted her chin and laughed, and the bulldog wagged his tail, as he always did when mirth touched her. He jumped up beside Maurice and looked into his face. Maurice patted his broad head, and he submitted. The girl looked rather surprised.

"Are you a magician?" she asked.

"Why?"

"Bull never makes friends."

"But I do," said Maurice; "perhaps he understands that, and comes half-way. But it is rather strange to see a bulldog in this part of the country."

"He was given to me, years ago, by an Englishman."

"That accounts for it." He was experiencing a deal of cold, but he dared not mention it. "And may I ask your name?"

"Ah, Monsieur," shyly, "to tell you my name would be to frighten you away."

"I am sure nothing could do that," he declared earnestly. Had he been thinking of aught but her eyes he might have caught the significance of her words. But, then, the cold was numbing.

She surveyed him with critical eyes. She saw a clean-shaven face, brown, handsome and eager, merry blue eyes, a chin firm and aggressive, a mischievous mouth, a forehead which showed the man of thought, a slim athletic form which showed the man of action—all of which combined to produce that indescribable air which attaches itself to the gentleman.

"It is Alexia," she said, after some hesitation, watching him closely to observe the effect.

But he was as far away as ever. "Alexia what?"

"Only Alexia," a faint coquetry stealing into her glance.

"O, then you are probably a maid?"

"Y—es. But you are disappointed?"

"No, indeed. You have put me more at ease. I suppose you serve the princess?"

"Whenever I can," demurely.

He could not keep his eyes from hers. "They say that she is a very lonely princess."

"So lonely." And the coquetry faded from her eyes as her glance wandered waterward and became fixed on some object invisible and far away. "Poor lonely princess!"

Maurice was growing colder and colder, but he did not mind. He had wished for some woman to talk to; his wish had been granted. "I feel sorry for her, if what they say is true," having no other words.

"And what do they say, Monsieur?"

"That she and her father have been socially ostracized. I should be proud to be her friend." Once the words were gone from him, he saw their silliness. "A presumptuous statement," he added; "I am an obscure foreigner."

"Friendship, Monsieur, is a thing we all should prize, all the more so when it is disinterested."

He said rapidly, for fear she might hear his teeth chatter: "They say she is very beautiful. Tell me what she is like."

"I am no judge of what men call beauty. As to her character, I believe I may recommend that. She is good."

He was sure that merriment twitched the corners of her lips, and he grew thoughtful. "Alexia. Is that not her Highness's name also?"

"Yes, Monsieur; we have the same names." Her eyes fell, and she began to finger the pages of the book.

"I am rested now," he said, with a sudden distrust. "I thank you."

"Come, then, and I will show you the way to the gate."

"I am sorry to have troubled you," he said.

She did not reply, and together they walked up the path. The plants were dying, and the odor of decay hovered about them. Splashes of rich vermilion crowned the treetops, leaves of gold, russet and faded green rustled on the ground. The sun was gone behind the hills, the lake was tinted with salmon and dun, and Maurice (who honestly would have liked to run) was turning purple, not from atmospheric effect, but from the partly congealed state of his blood. Already he was thinking that his adventure had turned out rather well. It was but a simple task for a man of his imagination to construct a pretty romance, with a kingdom for a background. A maid of honor, perhaps; no matter, he would find means for future communication. A glamour had fallen upon him.

As to the girl, who had scarce spoken to a dozen young men in her life, she was comparing four faces; one of a visionary character of which she had dreamed for ten years, and three which had recently entered into the small circle of her affairs. It was little pleasure to her to talk to those bald diplomats, who were always saying what they did not mean, and meaning what they did not say. And the young officers in the palace never presumed to address her unless spoken to.

What a monotonous life it was! She was like a bird in a cage, ever longing for freedom, not of the air, but of impulse. To be permitted to yield to the impulses of the heart! What a delightful thought that was! But she, she seemed apart from all which was desirable to youth. Women courtesied to her, men touched their hats; but homage was not what she wanted. To be free, that was all; to come and go at will; to laugh and to sing. But ever the specter of royal dignity walked beside her and held her captive.

She was to wed a man on whom she looked with indifference, but wed him she must; it was written. A toy of ambition, she was neither more nor less. Ah, to be as her maids, not royal, but free. Of the three new faces one belonged to the man whom she was to wed; another was a tall, light-haired man whom she had seen from her carriage; the last walked by her side. And somehow, the visionary face, the faces of the man whom she was to wed and the light-haired man suddenly grew indistinct. She glanced from the corner of her eyes at Maurice, but meeting his glance, in which lay something that caused her uneasiness, her gaze dropped to the path.

"I shall be pleased to tell her Highness that a stranger, who has not met her, who does not even suspect her rebel spirit, desires to be her friend."

"O, Mademoiselle," he cried in alarm, "that desire was expressed in confidence."

"I know it. It is for that very reason I wish her to know. Have no fear, Monsieur;" and she laughed without mirth. "Her Highness will not send you to prison."

Close at hand Maurice discovered a cuirassier, who, on seeing them, saluted and stood attention. Maurice was puzzled.

"Lieutenant," said the girl, "Monsieur—Carewe?" turning to Maurice.

"Yes, that is the name."

"Well, then, Monsieur Carewe has met with an accident; please escort him to the gate. I trust you will not suffer any inconvenience from the cold. Good evening, Monsieur Carewe."

She retraced her steps down the path. The bulldog followed. Once he looked back at Maurice, and stopped as if undecided, then went on. Maurice stared at the figure of the girl until it vanished behind a clump of rose bushes.

"Well, Monsieur Carewe!" said the Lieutenant, a broad smile under his mustache.

"I beg your pardon, Lieutenant. May I ask you who she is?"

"What! You do not know?"

Maurice suddenly saw light. "Her Royal Highness?" blankly.

"Her Royal Highness, God bless her!" cried the Lieutenant heartily.

"Amen to that," replied Maurice, his agitation visible even to the officer.

They arrived at the gate in silence. The cuirassier raised the bar, touched his helmet, and said, with something like an amused twinkle in his eyes: "Would Monsieur like to borrow my helmet for a space?"

Maurice put up a hand to his water-soaked hair, and gave an ejaculation of dismay. He had forgotten all about his hat, which was by now, in-all probabilities, at the bottom of the lake.

"Curse the luck!" he said, in English.

"Curse the want of it, I should say!" was the merry rejoinder, also in English.

Maurice threw back his head and laughed, and the cuirassier caught the infection.

"However, there is some compensation for the hat," said the cuirassier, straightening his helmet. "You are the first stranger who has spoken to her Highness this many a day. Did the dog take to your calves? Well, never mind; he has no teeth. It was only day before yesterday that the Marshal swore he'd have the dog shot. Poor dog! He is growing blind, too, or he'd never have risked his gums on the Marshal, who is all shins. If you will wait I will fetch you one of the archbishop's skull caps."

"Don't trouble yourself," laughed Maurice. "What I need is not a hat, but a towel, and I'll get that at the hotel. George! I feel so like an ass. What is your name, Lieutenant?"

"Von Mitter, Carl von Mitter, at your service. And you are Monsieur Carewe."

"Of the American legation in Vienna. Thanks for your trouble."

"None at all. You had better hurry along; your nails are growing black."

Maurice passed into the street. "Her Royal Highness!" he muttered. "The crown princess, and I never suspected. Her name is Alexia, and she serves the princess whenever she can! Maurice, you are an ass!"

Having arrived at this conclusion, and brushing the dank hair from his eyes, he thrust his hands into his oozing pockets, and proceeded across the square toward the Continental, wondering if there was a rear entrance. Happily the adventure absorbed all his thoughts. He was quite unobservant of the marked attention bestowed on him. Carriages filled the Strasse, and many persons moved along the walks. It was the promenade hour. The water, which still dripped from his clothes and trickled from his shoes, left a conspicuous trail behind; and this alone, without the absence of a hat, would have made him the object of amused and wondering smiles.

A gendarme stared at him, but seeing that he walked straight, said nothing. Maurice, however, was serenely unaware of what was passing around him. He did not notice even the tall, broad-shouldered man who, with a gun under his arm, brushed past him, followed by a round-faced German over whose back was slung a game-bag. The man with the gun was also oblivious of his surroundings. He bumped into several persons, who scowled at him, but offered no remonstrance after having taken his measure. The German put his pipe into his pocket and advanced a step.

"The other gun, Herr," he said, "would have meant the boar."

"So it would, perhaps," was the reply.

"We've done pretty good work these two days," went on the German; but as the other appeared not to have heard he fell to the rear again, a sardonic smile flitting over his oily face.

When Maurice reached the hotel cafe he left an order for a cognac to be sent to his room, whither he repaired at once. As he got into dry clothes he mused.

"I wonder what sort of a man that crown prince is? Now, if I were he, an army could not keep me away from Bleiberg. Either he is no judge of beauty, or the peasant girls hereabout are something extraordinary. Pshaw! a man always makes an ass of himself on his wedding eve; the crown prince is simply starting in early. I believe I'll hang on here till the wedding day; a royal marriage is one of those things which I have yet to see. I have a fortnight or more to knock around in. I should like to know what the duchess will eventually do."

He sipped the last drop of the cognac and went down the stairs.

Chapter 5 BEHIND THE PUPPET BOOTH

While the absent-minded hunter strode down toward the lower town, and Maurice sipped his cognac, the king lay in his bed in the palace and aimlessly fingered the counterpane. There was now no beauty in his face. It was furrowed and pale, and an endless fever burned in the sunken eyes—eyes like coals, which suddenly flare before they turn to ash.

The archbishop nor the chancellor could see anything in the dim corners of the royal bed chamber, but he could. It was the mocking finger of death, and it was leveled at him. Spring had come, and summer and autumn and winter, and spring again, but he had not wandered through the green fields, except in dreams, and the byways he loved knew him no more. Ah, to sit still like a spectator and to see the world pass by! To be a part of it, and yet not of it! To see the glory of strength and vigor just beyond one's grasp, the staffs to lean on crumble to the touch, and the stars of hope fade away one by one from the firmament of one's dreams! Here was weariness for which there was no remedy.

Day by day time pressed him on toward the inevitable. No human hand could stay him. He could think, but he could not act. He could move, but he could not stand nor walk. And that philosophy which had in other days sustained him was shattered and threadbare. He was dead, yet he lived. Fate has so many delicate ironies.

He had tried to make his people love him, only to acquire their hate. He had reduced taxation, only to be scorned. He had made the city beautiful, only to be cursed. A paralytic, the theme of ribald verse, the butt of wineroom wits, the object of contumely to his people, his beneficiaries!

The ingratitude of kings bites not half so deep as the ingratitude of the people. Tears filled his eyes, and he fumbled his lips. There were only two bright spots in his futile life. The first was his daughter, who read to him, who was the first in the morning to greet him and last at night to leave him. The second was the evening hour when the archbishop and the chancellor came in to discuss the affairs of state.

"And Prince Frederick has not yet been heard from?" was his first inquiry.

"No, Sire," answered the chancellor. "The matter is altogether mysterious. The police can find no trace of him. He left Carnavia for Bleiberg; he stopped at Ehrenstein, directed his suite to proceed; there, all ends. The ambassador from Carnavia approached me to-day. He scouts the idea of a peasant girl, and hinted at other things."

"Yes," said the king, "there is something behind all this. Frederick is not a youth of peccadilloes. Something has happened to him. But God send him safe and sound to us, so much depends on him. And Alexia?"

"Says nothing," the archbishop answered, "a way with her when troubled."

"And my old friend, Lord Fitzgerald?"

The prelate shook his head sadly. "We have just been made acquainted with his death. God rest his kindly soul."

The king sank deeper into his pillows.

"But we shall hear from his son within a few days," continued the prelate, taking the king's hand in his own. "My son, cease to worry. Alexia's future is in good hands. I have confidence that the public debt will be liquidated on the twentieth."

"Or renewed," said the chancellor. "Your Majesty must not forget that Prince Frederick sacrifices his own private fortune to adjust our indebtedness. That is the wedding gift which he offers to her Highness. One way or the other, we have nothing to fear."

"O!" cried the king, "I had forgotten that magnanimity. His disappearance is no longer a mystery. He is dead."

His auditors could not repress the start which this declaration caused them to make.

"Sire," said the chancellor, quietly, "princes are not assassinated these days. Our worry is perhaps all needless. The prince is young, and sometimes youth flings off the bridle and runs away. But he loves her Highness, and the Carnavians are not fickle."

The prelate and the statesman had different ideas in regard to the peasant girl. To the prelate a woman was an unknown quantity, and he frowned. The statesman, who had once been young, knew a deal about woman, and he smiled.

"Sometimes, my friends," said the king, "I can see beyond the human glance. I hear the crumbling of walls. But for that lonely child I could die in peace. The crown I wear is of lead; God hasten the day that lifts it from my brow." When the king spoke again, he said: "And that insolent Von Rumpf is gone at last? I am easier. He should have been sent about his business ten years ago. What does Madame the duchess say?"

"So little," answered the chancellor, "that I begin to distrust her silence. But she is a wise woman, though her years are but five and twenty, and she will not make any foolish declaration of war which would only redound to her chagrin."

"What is the fascination in these crowns of straw?" said the king to the prelate. "Ah, my father, you strive for the crown to come; and yet your earnest but misguided efforts placed this earthly one on my head. You were ambitious for me."

"Nay," and the prelate bent his head. "It was self that spoke, worldly aggrandizement. I wished—God forgive me!—to administer not to the prince but to the king. I am punished. The crown has broken your life. It was the passing glory of the world; and I fell."

"And were not my eyes as dazzled by the crown as yours were by the robes? Why did we leave the green hills of Osia? What destiny writes, fate must unfold. And oh, the dreams I had of being great! I am fifty-eight and you are seventy. And look; I am a broken twig, and you tower above me like an ancient oak, and as strong." To the chancellor he said: "And what is the budget?"

"Sire, it is fairly quiet in the lower town. The native troops have been paid, and all signs of discontent abated. The duchess can do nothing but replace von Rumpf. The Marshal is a straw in the wind; von Wallenstein and Mollendorf, I hold a sword above their necks. Nearly half the Diet is with us. There has been some strange meddling in the customs. Englishmen have brought me complaints, through the British legation, regarding such inspections as were never before heard of in a country at peace. I consulted the chief inspector and he affirmed the matter. He was under orders of the minister of police. It appears to me that a certain Englishman is to be kept out of the country for reasons well known to us. I have suspended police power over the customs. Ah, Sire, if you would but agree with Monseigneur to dismiss the cabinet."

"It is too late," said the king.

"There is only one flaw," continued the chancellor. "This flaw is Colonel Beauvais, chief in command of the cuirassiers, who in authority stands between the Marshal and General Kronau. I fear him. Why? Instinct. He is too well informed of my projects for one thing; he laughs when I suggest in military affairs. Who is he? A Frenchman, if one may trust to a name; an Austrian, if one may trust from whence he came, recommended by the premier himself. He entered the cuirassiers as a Captain. You yourself, Sire, made him what he is—the real military adviser of the kingdom. But what of his past? No one knows, unless it be von Wallenstein, his intimate. I, for one, while I may be wrong, trust only those whose past I know, and even then only at intervals."

"Colonel Beauvais?" murmured the king. "I am sure that you are unjustly suspicious. How many times have I leaned on his stout arm! He taught Alexia a thousand tricks of horse, so that to-day she rides as no other woman in the kingdom rides. Would that I stood half so straight and looked at the world half so fearlessly. He is the first soldier in the kingdom."

"All men are honest in your Majesty's eyes," said the archbishop.

"All save the man within me," replied the king.

At this juncture the king's old valet came in with the evening meal; and soon after the prelate and the chancellor withdrew from the chamber.

"How long will he live?" asked the latter.

"A year; perhaps only till to-morrow. Ah, had he but listened to me several years ago, all this would not have come to pass. He would see nothing; he persisted in dreams. With the death of Josef he was convinced that his enemies had ceased to be. Had he listened, I should have dismissed the cabinet, and found enough young blood to answer my purposes; I should have surrounded him with a mercenary army two thousand strong; by now he should have stood strongly entrenched.

"They have robbed him, but you and I were permitted to do nothing. Where is the prosperity of which we formerly boasted? I, too, hear crumbling walls. Yet, the son of this Englishman, whose strange freak is still unaccountable, will come at the appointed time; I know the race. He will renew the loan for another ten years. What a fancy! Lord Fitzgerald was an eccentric man. Given a purpose, he pursued it to the end, neither love nor friendship, nor fear swerved him. Do you know that he made a vow that Duke Josef should never sit on this throne, nor his descendants? What were five millions to him, if in giving them he realized the end? The king would never explain the true cause of this Englishman's folly, but I know that it was based on revenge, the cause of which also is a mystery. If only the prince were here!"

"He will come; youth will be youth."

"Perhaps."

"You have never been young."

"Not in that particular sense to which you refer," dryly.

* * * * * *

In the chamber of finance Colonel Beauvais leaned over the desk and perused the writing on a slip of paper which the minister had given him. Enough daylight remained to permit the letters to stand out legibly. When he had done the Colonel tossed back the missive, and the minister tore it into shreds and dropped them into the waste basket.

"So much for your pains," said Beauvais. "The spy, who has eaten up ten thousand crowns, is not worth his salt. He has watched this man Hamilton for two days, been his guide in the hills, and yet learns nothing. And the rigor of the customs is a farce."

"This day," replied the minister, "the police lost its jurisdiction over the customs. Complaints have been entered at the British legation, which forwarded them to the chancellor."

"O ho!" The Colonel pulled his mustache.

"I warned you against this. The chancellor is a man to be respected, whatever his beliefs. I warned you and Mollendorf of the police what the result would be. The chancellor has a hard hand when it falls. He was always bold; now he is more so since he practically stands alone. In games of chance one always should play close. You are in a hurry."

"I have waited six years."

"And I have waited fourteen."

"Well, then, I shall pass into the active. I shall watch this Englishman myself. He is likely to prove the agent. Count, the time for waiting is gone. If the debt is liquidated or renewed—and there is Prince Frederick to keep in mind—we shall have played and lost. Disgrace for you; for me—well, perhaps there is a power behind me too strong. The chancellor? Pouf! I have no fear of him. But you who laugh at the archbishop—"

"He is too old."

"So you say. But he has dreams unknown to us. He has ceased to act; why? He is waiting for the curtain to rise. Nothing escapes him; he is letting us go to what end we will, only, if we do not act at once, to draw us to a sudden halt. Now to this meddling Englishman: we have offered him a million—five millions for four. He laughs. He is a millionaire. With characteristic bombast he declares that money has no charms. For six months, since his father's death, we have hounded him, in vain. It is something I can not understand. What is Leopold to these Englishmen that they risk a princely fortune to secure him his throne? Friendship? Bah, there is none."

"Not in France nor in Austria. But this man was an Englishman; they leave legacies of friendship."

The Colonel walked to the window and looked down into the gardens. He remained there for a time. Von Wallenstein eyed him curiously. Presently the soldier returned to his seat.

"We are crossing a chasm; a man stands in our way; as we can not go around him, we, being the stronger, push him aside. Eh?"

"You would not kill—" began the minister.

"Let us use the French meaning of the word `suppress.' And why not? Ambition, wherever it goes, leaves a trail of blood. What is a human life in this game we play? A leaf, a grain of sand."

"But, since the prince promises to liquidate the debt, what matters it if the Englishman comes? It is all one and the same."

"Within twenty, nay, within fifteen days, what may not happen?"

"You are ambitious," said von Wallenstein, slyly.

"And who is not?"

"Is a Marshal's baton so much, then, above your present position? You are practically the head of the army."

"A valiant army!" laughing; "five thousand men. Why, Madame the duchess has six thousand and three batteries."

"Her army of six thousand is an expedient; you can raise volunteers to the amount of ten thousand."

"To be sure I could; but supposing I did not want to?"

The minister dropped his gaze and began fingering the paper cutter. The Colonel's real purpose was still an enigma to him. "Come, you have the confidence of the king, the friendship of her Royal Highness. What do you gain in serving us? The baton?"

"You embarrass me. Questions? I should not like to lie to you. Batons were fine things when Louises and Napoleons conferred them. I have thrown my dice into the common cup; let that be sufficient."

"A man who comes from a noble house such as you come from—"

"Ah, count, that was never to be referred to. Be content with my brain and sword. And then, there is the old saying, Give a man an ell, and look to your rod. We are all either jackals or lions, puppets or men behind the booth. I am a lion." He rose, drew his saber half-way from the scabbard, and sent it slithering back. "In a fortnight we put it to the touch to win or lose it all, as the poet says. Every man for himself, and let the strongest win, say I."

"You are playing two games," coldly.

"And you? Is it for pure love of Madame the duchess that you risk your head? Come, as you say; admit that you wish to see my hand without showing yours. A baton is not much for me, as you have hinted, but it is all that was promised me. And you, if we win, will still be minister of finances? What is that maggot I see behind your eyes? Is it not spelled `chancellor'? But, remember, Madame has friends to take care of in the event of our success. We can not have all the spoils. To join the kingdom and the duchy will create new offices, to be sure, but we can have only part of them. As to games, I shall, out of the kindness in my heart, tell you that I am not playing two, but three. Guess them if you can. Next to the chancellorship is the embassy to Vienna, and an embassy to Paris is to be created. Madame is a superior woman. Who knows?" with a smile that caused the other to pale.

"You are mad to dream of that."

"As you say, I come of a noble house," carelessly.

"You are mad."

"No, count," the soldier replied. "I have what Balzac calls a thirst for a full life in a short space."

"I would give a deal to read what is going on in that head of yours."

"Doubtless. But what is to become of our friends the Marshal and Mollendorf? What will be left for them? Perhaps there will be a chamber of war, a chamber of the navy. As a naval minister the Marshal would be nicely placed. There would be no expense of building ships or paying sailors, which would speak well for the economy of the new government. The Marshal is old; we shall send him to Servia. At least the office will pay both his vanity and purse to an extent equal to that of his present office. By the way, nothing has yet been heard from Prince Frederick. Ah, these young men, these plump peasant girls!"

Both laughed.

"Till this evening, then;" and the Colonel went from the room.

The minister of finance applied a match to the tapers. He held the burning match aloft and contemplated the door through which the soldier had gone. The sting of the incipient flame aroused him.

"What," he mused aloud, as he arranged the papers on his desk, "is his third game?"

"It appears to me," said a voice from the wall behind, "that the same question arises in both our minds."

The minister wheeled his chair, his mouth and brows puckered in dismay. From a secret panel in the wall there stepped forth a tall, thin, sour-visaged old man of military presence. He calmly sat down in the chair which Beauvais had vacated.

"I had forgotten all about you, Marshal!" exclaimed the count, smiling uneasily.

"A statement which I am most ready to believe," replied old Marshal Kampf, with a glance which caused the minister yet more uneasiness. "What impressed me among other things was, `But what is to become of our friends the Marshal and Mollendorf?' I am Marshal; I am about to risk all for nothing. Why should I not remain Marshal for the remainder of my days? It is a pleasant thing to go to Vienna once the year and to witness the maneuvers, with an honorary position on the emperor's staff. To be Marshal here is to hold a sinecure, yet it has its compensations. The uniforms, gray and gold, are handsome; it is an ostrich plume that I wear in my chapeau de bras; the medals are of gold. My friend, it is the vanity of old age which forgives not." And the Marshal, the bitterest tongue in all Bleiberg, reached over and picked up the cigar which lay by the inkwells. He lit it at one of the tapers, and sank again into the chair. "Count, how many games are you playing?"

"My dear Marshal, it was not I who spoke of games. I am playing no game, save for the legitimate sovereign of this kingdom. I ask for no reward."

"Disinterested man! The inference is, however, that, since you have not asked for anything, you have been promised something. Confess it, and have done."

"Marshal!"

"Well?"

"Is it possible that you suspect me?" The cold eyes grew colder, and the thin lips almost disappeared.

"When three men watch each other as do Beauvais, Mollendorf and you, it is because each suspects the other of treachery. You haven't watched me because I am old, but because I am old I have been watching you. Mollendorf aspires to greatness, you have your gaze on the chancellorship, and curse me if the Colonel isn't looking after my old shoes! Am I to give up my uniform, my medals and my plume—for nothing? And who the devil is this man Beauvais, since that is not his name? Is he a fine bird whose feathers have been plucked?"

The minister did not respond to the question; he began instead to fidget in his chair.

"When I gave my word to his Highness the duke, it was without conditions. I asked no favors; I considered it my duty. Let us come to an understanding. Material comfort is necessary to a man of my age. Fine phrases and a medal or two more do not count. I am, then, to go to Servia. You were very kind to hide me in your cabinet."

"It was to show you that I had no secrets from you," quickly.

"Let us pass on. Mollendorf is to go to Paris, where he will be a nonentity, while in his present office he is a power in the land—Devil take me, but it seems to me that we are all a pack of asses! Our gains will not be commensurate with our losses. The navy? Well, we'll let that pass; the Colonel, I see, loves a joke."

"You forget our patriotism for the true house."

"Why not give it its true name—self-interest?"

"Marshal, in heaven's name, what has stirred your bile?" The minister was losing his patience, a bad thing for him to do in the presence of the old warrior.

"It is something I've been swallowing this past year." The Marshal tipped the ash of his cigar into the waste basket.

"Marshal, will you take the word not of the minister, but of the von Wallenstein, that whatever my reward shall be for my humble services, yours shall not be less?"

"Thanks, but I have asked for no reward. If I accepted gain for what I do, I should not be too old to blush."

"I do not understand."

"Self-interest blinds us. I have nothing but pity for this king whose only crime is an archbishop; and I can not accept gain at his expense; I should blush for shame. Had I my way, he should die in peace. He has not long to live. The archbishop—well, we can not make kings, they are born. But there is one thing more: Over all your schemes is the shadow of Austria."

"Austria?"

"Yes. The Colonel speaks of a power behind him. Bismarck looks hungrily toward Schleswig-Holstein. Austria casts amorous eyes at us. A protectorate? We did not need it. It was forced on us. When Austria assumed to dictate to us as to who should be king, she also robbed us of our true independence. Twenty years ago there was no duchy; it was all one kingdom. Who created this duchy when Albrecht came on the throne? Austria. Why? If we live we shall read." He rose, shook his lean legs. "I have been for the most part neutral. I shall remain neutral. There is an undercurrent on which you have failed to reckon. Austria, mistress of the confederation. There are two men whom you must watch. One is the archbishop."

"The archbishop?" The minister was surprised that the Marshal should concur with the Colonel. "And the other?"

"Your friend the Colonel," starting for the door.

The minister smiled. "Will you not dine with me?" he asked.

"Thanks. But I have the Servian minister on my hands to-night. A propos, tell the Colonel that I decline Belgrade. I prefer to die at home." And he vanished.

Von Wallenstein reviewed the statements of both his visitors.

"I shall watch Monseigneur the archbishop." Then he added, with a half-smile: "God save us if the Marshal's sword were half so sharp as his tongue! It was careless of me to forget that I had shut him up in the cabinet."

Meanwhile Beauvais walked slowly toward his quarters, with his saber caught up under his arm. Once he turned and gazed at the palace, whose windows began to flash with light.

"Yes, they are puppets and jackals, and I am the lion. For all there shall serve my ends. I shall win, and when I do—" He laughed silently. "Well, I am a comely man, and Madame the duchess shall be my wife."

Chapter 6 MADEMOISELLE OF THE VEIL

The public park at night was a revelation to Maurice, who, lonely and restless, strolled over from the hotel in quest of innocent amusement. He was none the worse for his unintended bath; indeed, if anything, he was much the better for it. His imagination was excited. It was not every day that a man could, at one and the same time, fall out of a boat and into the presence of a princess of royal blood.

He tried to remember all he had said to her, but only two utterances recurred to him; yet these caused him an exhilaration like the bouquet of old wine. He had told her that she was beautiful, indirectly, it was true; she had accepted his friendship, also indirectly, it was true. Now the logical sequence of all this was—but he broke into a light laugh. What little vanity he possessed was without conceit. Princesses of royal blood were beyond the reach of logical sequence; and besides, she was to be married on the twentieth of the month.

He followed one of the paths which led to the pavilion. It was a charming scene, radiant with gas lamps, the vivid kaleidoscope of gowns and uniforms. Beautiful faces flashed past him. There were in the air the vague essences of violet, rose and heliotrope. Sometimes he caught the echo of low laughter or the snatch of a gay song. The light of the lamps shot out on the crinkled surface of the lake in tongues of quivering flame, which danced a brave gavot with the phantom stars; and afar twinkled the dipping oars. The brilliant pavilion, which rested partly over land and partly over water, was thronged.

The band was playing airs from the operas of the day, and Maurice yielded to the spell of the romantic music. He leaned over the pavilion rail, and out of the blackness below he endeavored to conjure up the face of Nell (or was it Kate?) who had danced with him at the embassies in Vienna, fenced and ridden with him, till—till—with a gesture of impatience he flung away the end of his cigar.

Memory was altogether too elusive. It was neither Nell nor Kate he saw smiling up at him, nor anybody else in the world but the Princess Alexia, whose eyes were like wine in a sunset, whose lips were as red as the rose of Tours in France, and whose voice was sweeter than that throbbing up from the 'cello. If he thought much more of her, there would be a logical sequence on his side. He laughed again—with an effort—and settled back in his chair to renew his interest in the panorama revolving around him.

"They certainly know how to live in these countries," he thought, "for all their comic operas. All I need, to have this fairy scene made complete, is a woman to talk to. By George, what's to hinder me from finding one?" he added, seized by the spirit of mischief. He turned his head this way and that. "Ah! doubtless there is the one I'm looking for."

Seated alone at a table behind him was a woman dressed in gray. Her back was toward him, but he lost none of the beautiful contours of her figure. She wore a gray alpine hat, below the rim of which rebellious little curls escaped, curls of a fine red-brown, which, as they trailed to the nape of the firm white neck, lightened into a ruddy gold. Her delicate head was turned aside, and to all appearances her gaze was directed to the entrance to the pavilion. A heavy blue veil completely obscured her features; though Maurice could see a rose-tinted ear and the shadow of a curving chin and throat, which promised much. To a man there is always a mystery lurking behind a veil. So he rose, walked past her, returned and deliberately sat down in the chair opposite to hers. The fact that gendarmes moved among the crowd did not disturb him.

"Good evening, Mademoiselle," he said, politely lifting his hat.

She straightened haughtily. "Monsieur," she said, resentment, consternation and indignation struggling to predominate in her tones, "I did not give you permission to sit down. You are impertinent!"

"O, no," Maurice declared. "I am not impertinent. I am lonesome. In all Bleiberg I haven't a soul to talk to, excepting the hotel waiters, and they are uninteresting. Grant me the privilege of conversing with you for a moment. We shall never meet again; and I should not know you if we did. Whether you are old or young, plain or beautiful, it matters not. My only wish is to talk to a woman, to hear a woman's voice."

"Shall I call a gendarme, Monsieur, and have him search for your nurse?" The attitude which accompanied these words was anything but assuring.

He, however, evinced no alarm. He even laughed. "That was good! We shall get along finely, I am sure."

"Monsieur," she said, rising, "I repeat that I do not desire your company, nor to remain in the presence of your unspeakable effrontery."

"I beseech you!" implored Maurice, also rising. "I am a foreigner, lonesome, unhappy, thousands of miles from home—"

"You are English?" suddenly. She stood with the knuckle of her forefinger on her lips as if meditating. She sat down.

Maurice, greatly surprised, also sat down.

"English?" he repeated. His thought was: "What the deuce! This is the third time I have been asked that. Who is this gay Lothario the women seem to be expecting?" To her he continued: "And why do you ask me that?"

"Perhaps it is your accent. And what do you wish to say to me, Monsieur?" It was a voice of quality; all the anger had gone from it. She leaned on her elbows, her chin in her palms, and through the veil he caught the sparkle of a pair of wonderful eyes. "Let us converse in English," she added. "It is so long since I have had occasion to speak in that tongue." She repeated her question.

"O, I had no definite plan outlined," he answered; "just generalities, with the salt of repartee to season." He pondered over this sudden transition from wrath to mildness. An Englishman? Very well; it might grow interesting.

"Is it customary among the English to request to speak to strangers without the usual formalities of an introduction?"

"I can not say that it is," he answered truthfully enough; "but the procedure is never without a certain charm and excitement."

"Ah; then you were led to address me merely by the love of adventure?"

"That is it; the love of adventure. I should not have spoken to you had you not worn the veil." He remarked that her English was excellent.

"You differ from the average Englishman, who is usually wrapt up in himself and has no desire to talk to strangers. You have been a soldier."

The evolutions of his cane ceased. "How in the world did you guess that?" surprised beyond measure.

"Perhaps there is something suggestive in your shoulders."

He tried to peer behind the veil, but in vain. "Am I speaking to one I have met before?"

"I believe not; indeed, sir, I am positive."

"I have been a soldier, but my shoulders did not tell you that."

"Perhaps I have the gift of clairvoyance," gazing again toward the entrance.

"Or perhaps you have been to Vienna."

"Who knows? Most Englishmen are, or have been, soldiers."

"That is true." Inwardly, "There's my friend the Englishman again. She's guessing closer than she knows. Curious; she has mistaken me for some one she does not know, if that is possible." He was somewhat in a haze. "Well, you have remarkable eyes. However, let us talk of a more interesting subject; for instance, yourself. You, too, love adventure, that is, if I interpret the veil rightly."

"Yes; I like to see without being seen. But, of course, behind this love of adventure which you possess, there is an important mission."

"Ah!" he thought; "you are not quite sure of me." Aloud, "Yes, I came here to witness the comic opera."

"The comic opera? I do not understand?"

"I believed there was going to be trouble between the duchy and the kingdom, but unfortunately the prima donna has refused the part."

"The prima donna!" in a muffled voice. "Whom do you mean?"

"Son Altesse la Grande Duchesse! 'Voici le sabre de mon pere!'" And he whistled a bar from Offenbach, his eyes dancing.

"Sir!—I!—you do wrong to laugh at us!" a flash from the half-hidden eyes.

"Forgive me if I have offended you, but I—"

"Ah, sir, but you who live in a powerful country think we little folk have no hearts, that we have no wrongs to redress, no dreams of conquest and of power. You are wrong."

"And whose side do you defend?"

"I am a woman," was the equivocal answer.

"Which means that you are uncertain."

"I have long ago made up my mind."

"Wonderful! I always thought a woman's mind was like a time-table, subject to change without notice. So you have made up your mind?"

"I was born with its purpose defined," coldly.

"Ah, now I begin to doubt."

"What?" with a still lower degree of warmth.

"That you are a woman. Only goddesses do not change their minds—sometimes. Well, then you are on the weaker side."

"Or the stronger, since there are two sides."

"And the stronger?" persistently.

"The side which is not the weaker. But the subject is what you English call 'taboo.' It is treading on delicate ground to talk politics in the open—especially in Bleiberg."

"What a diplomat you would make!" he cried with enthusiasm. Certainly this was a red-letter day in his calendar. This adventure almost equalled the other, and, besides, in this instance, his skin was dry; he could enjoy it more thoroughly. Who could this unknown be? "If only you understood the mystery with which you have enshrouded yourself!"

"I do." She drew the veil more firmly about her chin.

"Grant me a favor."

"I am talking to you, sir."

This candor did not disturb him. "The favor I ask is that you will lift the corner of your veil; otherwise you will haunt me."

"I am doomed to haunt you, then. If I should lift the corner of my veil something terrible would happen."

"What! Are you as beautiful as that?"

There was a flash of teeth behind the veil, followed by the ripple of soft laughter. "It is difficult to believe you to be English. You are more like one of those absurd Americans."

Maurice did not like the adjective. "I am one of them," wondering what the effect of this admission would be. "I am not English, but of the brother race. Forgive me if I have imposed on you, but it was your fault. You said that I was English, and I was too lonesome to enlighten you."

"You are an American?" She began to tap her gloved fingers against the table.

"Yes."

Then, to his astonishment, she gave way to laughter, honest and hearty. "How dense of me not to have known the moment you addressed me! Who but the American holds in scorn custom's formalities and usages? Your grammar is good, so good that my mistake is pardonable. The American is always like the terrible infant; and you are a choice example."

Maurice was not so pleased as he might have been. His ears burned. Still, he went forward bravely. "A man never pretends to be an Englishman without getting into trouble."

"I did not ask to speak to you. No one ever pretends to be an American. Why is it you are always ashamed of your country?" with malice aforethought.

Maurice experienced the sting of many bees. "I see that your experience is limited to impostors. I, Mademoiselle, am proud of my country, the great, free land which stands aside from the turmoil and laughs at your petty squabbles, your kings, your princes. Laugh at me; I deserve it for not minding my own business, but do not laugh at my country." His face was flushed; he was almost angry. It was not her words; it was the contempt with which she had invested them. But immediately he was ashamed of his outburst. "Ah, Mademoiselle, you have tricked me; you have found the vulnerable part in my armor. I have spoken like a child. Permit me to apologize for my apparent lack of breeding." He rose, bowed, and made as though to depart.

"Sit down, Monsieur," she said, picking up her French again. "I forgive you. I do more; I admire. I see that your freak had nothing behind it but mischief. No woman need fear a man who colors when his country is made the subject of a jest."

All his anger evaporated. This was an invitation, and he accepted it. He resumed his seat.

"The truth is, as I remarked, I was lonesome. I know that I have committed a transgression, but the veil tempted me."

"It is of no matter. A few moments, and you will be gone. I am waiting for some one. You may talk till that person comes." Her voice was now in its natural tone; and he was convinced that if her face were half as sweet, she must possess rare beauty. "Hush!" as the band began to breathe forth Chopin's polonaise. They listened until the music ceased.

"Ah!" said he rapturously, "the polonaise! When you hear it, does there not recur to you some dream of bygone happy hours, the sibilant murmur of fragrant night winds through the crisp foliage, the faint call of Diana's horn from the woodlands, moon-fairies dancing on the spider-webs, the glint of the dew on the roses, the far-off music of the surges tossing impotently on the sands, the forgetfulness of time and place and care, and not a cloud 'twixt you and the heavens? Ah, the polonaise!"

"Surely you must be a poet!" declared the Veil, when this panegyric was done.

"No," said he modestly, "I never was quite poor enough for that exalted position." He had recovered his good humor.

"Indeed, you begin to interest me. What is your occupation when not in search of—comic operas?"

"I serve Ananias."

"Ananias?" A pause. "Ah, you are a diplomat?"

"How clever of you to guess."

"Yours is a careless country," observed the Veil.

"Careless?" mystified.

"Yes, to send forth her green and salad youth. Eh, bien! There are hopes for you. If you live you will grow old; you will become bald and reserved; you will not speak to strangers, to while away an idle hour; for permit me, Monsieur, who am wise, to tell you that it is a dangerous practice."

"And do I look so very young?"

"Your beard is that of a boy."

"David slew Goliath."

"At least you have a ready tongue," laughing.

"And you told me that I had been a soldier."

But to this she had nothing to say.

"I am older than you think, Mademoiselle of the Veil. I have been a soldier; I have seen hard service, too. Mine is no cushion sword. Youth? 'Tis a virtue, not a crime; and, besides, it is an excellent disguise."

For some time she remained pensive.

"You are thinking of something, Mademoiselle."

"Do you like adventure?"

"I subsist on it."

"You have been a soldier; you are, then, familiar with the use of arms?"

"They tell me so," modestly. What was coming?

"I have some influence. May I trust you?"

"On my honor," puzzled, yet eager.

"There may be a comic opera, as you call it. War is not so impossible as to be laughed at. The dove may fly away and the ravens come."

"Who in thunder might this woman be?" he thought.

"And," went on the Veil, "an extra saber might be used. Give me your address, in case I should find it necessary to send for you."

Now Maurice was a wary youth. Under ordinary circumstances he would have given a fictitious address to this strange sybil with the prophecy of war; for he had accosted her only in the spirit of fun. But here was the key which he had been seeking, the key to all that had brought him to Bleiberg. Intrigue, adventure, or whatever it was, and to whatever end, he plunged into it. He drew out a card case, selected a card on which he wrote "Room 12, Continental," and passed it over the table. She read it, and slipped it into her purse.

Maurice thought: "Who wouldn't join the army with such recruiting officers?"

While the pantomime took place, a man pushed by Maurice's chair and crossed over to the table recently occupied by him. He sat down, lit a short pipe, rested his feet on the lowest rung of the ladder-like railing, and contemplated the western hills, which by now were enveloped in moon mists. Neither Maurice nor his mysterious vis-a-vis remarked him. Indeed, his broad back afforded but small attraction. And if he puffed his pipe fiercely, nobody cared, since the breeze carried the smoke waterward.

After putting the card into her purse, Mademoiselle of the Veil's gaze once more wandered toward the entrance, and this time it grew fixed. Maurice naturally followed it, and he saw a tall soldier in fatigue dress elbowing his way through the crush. Many moved aside for him; those in uniform saluted.

"Monsieur," came from behind the veil, "you may go now. I dismiss you. If I have need of you I promise to send for you."

He stood up. "I thank you for the entertainment and the promise you extend. I shall be easily found," committing himself to nothing. "I suppose you are a person of importance in affairs."

"It is not unlikely. I see that you love adventure for its own sake, for you have not asked me if it be the duchy or the kingdom. Adieu, Monsieur," with a careless wave of the gray-gloved hand. "Adieu!"

He took his dismissal heroically and shot a final glance at the approaching soldier. His brows came together.

"Where," he murmured, "have I seen that picturesque countenance before? Not in Europe; but where?" He caught the arm of a passing gendarme. "Who is that gentleman in fatigue uniform, coming this way?"

"That, Monsieur," answered the gendarme in tones not unmixed with awe, "is Colonel Beauvais of the royal cuirassiers."

"Thanks… . Beauvais; I do not remember the name. Truly I have had experiences to-day. And for what house is Mademoiselle of the Veil? Ravens? War? `Voici le sabre de mon pyre!'" and with a gay laugh he went his way.

Meanwhile Colonel Beauvais arrived at the table, tipped his hat to the Veil, who rose and laid a hand on his arm. He guided her through the pressing crowds.

"Ah, Madame," he said, "you are very brave to choose such a rendezvous."

"Danger is a tonic to the ill-spirited," was the reply.

"If aught should happen to you—"

"It was in accord with her wishes that I am here. She suffers from impatience; and I would risk much to satisfy her whims."

"So would I, Madame; even life." There was a tremor of passion in his voice, but she appeared not to notice it. "Here is a nook out of the lights; we may talk here with safety."

"And what is the news?" she asked.

"This: The man remains still in obscurity. But he shall be found. Listen," and his voice fell into a whisper.

"Austria?" Mademoiselle of the Veil pressed her hands together in excitement. "Is it true?"

"Did I not promise you? It is so true that the end is in sight. Conspiracy is talked openly in the streets, in the cafes, everywhere. The Osians will be sand in the face of a tidal wave. A word from me, and Kronau follows it. It all would be so easy were it not for the archbishop."

"The archbishop?" contemptuously.

"Ay, Madame; he is a man so deep, with a mind so abyssmal, that I would give ten years of my life for a flash of his thoughts. He has some project; apparently he gives his whole time to the king. He loves this weak man Leopold; he has sacrificed the red hat for him, for the hat would have taken him to Italy, as we who procured it intended it should."

"The archbishop? Trust me; one month from now he will be recalled. That is the news I have for you."

"You have taken a weight from my mind. What do you think in regard to the rumor of the prince and the peasant girl?"

"It afforded me much amusement. You are a man of fine inventions."

"Gaze toward the upper end of the pavilion, the end which we have just left. Yes—there. I am having the owner of those broad shoulders watched. That gendarme leaning against the pillar follows him wherever he goes."

"Who is he?"

"That I am trying to ascertain. This much—he is an Englishman."

Mademoiselle of the Veil laughed. "Pardon my irrelevancy, but the remembrance of a recent adventure of mine was too strong."

Maurice could not regain his interest in the scene. He strolled in and out of the moving groups, but no bright eyes or winning smiles allured him. Impelled by curiosity, he began to draw near the shadowed nook. Curiosity in a journalist is innate, and time nor change can efface it. Curiosity in those things which do not concern us is wrong. Ethics disavows the practice, though philosophy sustains it. Perhaps in this instance Maurice was philosophical, not ethical. Perhaps he wanted to hear the woman's voice again, which was excusable. Perhaps it was neither the one nor the other, but fate, which directed his footsteps. Certain it is that the subsequent adventures would never have happened had he gone about his business, as he should have done.

"Who is this who stares at us?" asked Beauvais, with a piercing glance and a startled movement of his shoulders.

"A disciple of Pallas and a pupil of Mars," was the answer. "I have been recruiting, Colonel. There is sharpness sometimes in new blades. Do not draw him with your eyes."

The Colonel continued his scrutiny, however, and there was an ugly droop at the corners of his mouth, though it was partly hidden under his mustache.

Maurice, aware that he was not wanted, passed along, having in mind to regain his former seat by the railing.

"Colonel," he mused, "your face grows more familiar every moment. It was not associated with agreeable things. But, what were they? Hang it! you shall have a place in my thoughts till I have successfully labeled you. Humph! Some one seems to have appropriated my seat."

He viewed with indecision the broad back of the interloper, who at that moment turned his head. At the sight of that bronzed profile Maurice gave an exclamation of surprise and delight. He stepped forward and dropped his hand on the stranger's shoulder.

"John Fitzgerald, or henceforth garlic shall be my salad!" he cried in loud, exultant tones.

Chapter 7 SOME DIALOGUE, A SPRAINED ANKLE, AND SOME SOLDIERS

The stranger returned Maurice's salute with open-mouthed dismay; the monocle fell from his eye, he grasped the table with one hand and pushed back the chair with the other, while Maurice heard the name of an exceedingly warm place.

The gendarme, who was leaning against the pillar, straightened, opened his jaws, snapped them, and hurried off.

"Maurice—Maurice Carewe?" said the bewildered Englishman.

"No one else, though I must say you do not seem very glad to see me," Maurice answered, conscious that he was all things but welcome.

"Hang you, I'm not!" incogitantly.

"Go to the devil, then!" cried Maurice, hotly.

"Gently," said Fitzgerald, catching Maurice by the coat and pulling him down into a chair. "Confound you, could you not have made yourself known to me without yelling my name at the top of your voice?"

"Are you ashamed of it?" asked Maurice, loosing his coat from Fitzgerald's grip.

"I'm afraid of it," the Englishman admitted, in a lowered voice. "And your manly, resonant tones have cast it abroad. I am here incognito."

"Who the deuce are you?"

"I am Don Jahpet of Armenia; that is to say that I am a marked man. And now, as you would inelegantly express it, you have put a tag on me. When I left you in Vienna the other day I lied to you. I am sorry. I should have trusted you, only I did not wish you to risk your life. You would have insisted on coming along."

"Risked my life?" echoed Maurice. "How many times have I not risked it? By the way," impressed by a sudden thought, "are you the Englishman every one seems to be expecting?"

"Yes." Fitzgerald knocked his pipe against the railing. "I am the man. Worse luck! Was any one near when you called me by name?"

"Only one of those wooden gendarmes."

"Only one of those wooden gendarmes!" ironically. "Only one of those dogs who have been at my heels ever since I arrived. And he, having heard, has gone back to his master. Well, since you have started the ball rolling, it is no more than fair that you should see the game to its end."

"What's it all about?" asked Maurice, his astonishment growing and growing.

"Where are your rooms?"

"You have something important to tell me?"

"Perhaps you may think so. At the Continental? Come along."

They passed out of the pavilion, along the path to the square, thence to the terrace of the Continental, which they mounted. Not a word was said, but Maurice was visibly excited, and by constant gnawing ruined his cigar. He conducted his friend to the room on the second floor, the window of which opened on a private balcony. Here he placed two chairs and a small table; and with a bottle of tokayer between them they seated themselves.

"What's it all about?"

"O, only a crown and a few millions in money."

"Only a crown and a few millions in money," repeated Maurice very slowly, for his mind could scarcely accept Fitzgerald and these two greatest treasures on earth.

A gendarme had leisurely followed them from the park. He took aside a porter and quietly plied him with questions. Evidently the answers were satisfactory, for he at once departed.

Maurice stared at the Englishman.

"Knocks you up a bit, eh?" said Fitzgerald. "Well, I am rather surprised myself; that is to say, I was."

"Fire away," said Maurice.

"To begin with, if I do not see the king to-morrow, it is not likely that I ever shall."

"The king?"

"My business here is with his Majesty."

Maurice filled the glasses and pushed one across the table.

"Here's!" said he, and gulped.

Fitzgerald drank slowly, however, as if arranging in his mind the salient points in his forthcoming narrative.

"I have never been an extraordinarily communicative man; what I shall tell you is known only to my former Colonel and myself. At Calcutta, where you and I first met, I was but a Lieutenant in her Majesty's. To-day I am burdened with riches such as I know not how to use, and possessor of a title which sounds strange in my ears."

The dim light from the gas-jet in the room flickered over his face, and Maurice saw that it was slightly contorted, as if by pain.

"My father was Lord Fitzgerald."

"What!" cried Maurice, "the diplomat, the historian, the millionaire?"

"The same. Thirteen years ago we parted—a misunderstanding. I never saw him again. Six months ago he died and left me a fortune, a title and a strange legacy; and it is this legacy which brings me to Bleiberg. Do you know the history of Leopold?"

"I do. This throne belongs to the house of Auersperg, and the Osian usurps. The fact that the minister of the duchess has been discredited was what brought me here. Continue."

And Fitzgerald proceeded briefly to acquaint the other with the strange caprice of his father; how, when he left Bleiberg, he had been waylaid and the certificates demanded; how he had entrusted them to his valet, who had gone by another route; how the duke had sought him in Vienna and made offers, bribes and threats; how he had laughed at all, and sworn that Duke Josef should never be a king.

"My father wished to save Leopold in spite of himself; and then, he had no love for Josef. At a dinner given at the legation, there was among others a toast to her Majesty. The duke laughed and tossed the wine to the floor. It lost him his crown, for my father never forgave the insult. When the duke died, his daughter took up the work with surprising vigor. It was all useless; father was a rock, and would listen neither to bribes nor threats. Now they are after me. They have hunted me in India, London, and Vienna. I am an obscure soldier, with all my titles and riches; they threaten me with death. But I am here, and my father's wishes shall be carried out. That is all. I am glad that we have come together; you have more invention than I have."

"But why did you come yourself? You could have sent an agent. That would have been simple."

"An agent might be bought. It was necessary for me to come. However, I might have waited till the twentieth. I should have come openly and informed the British minister of my mission. As to the pheasants, they could have waited. Perhaps my fears are without foundation, unless you have been the unconscious cause of my true name being known. Every one has heard the story. It is known as 'Fitzgerald's folly,' and has gone the rounds of the diplomatic circles for ten years. I shall ask for an audience to-morrow morning."

"And these certificates fall due the same day that the princess is to be married," mused his auditor. "What a yarn for the papers!" his love of sensation being always close to the surface. "Your father, you say, took four million crowns; what became of the fifth?"

"The duke was permitted to secure that."

"A kind of court plaster for his wounds, eh? Why don't you get that other million and run the kingdom yourself? It's a great opportunity." Maurice laughed.

"Her Royal Highness must not be forgotten. My father thought much of her."

"But really I do not see why you are putting yourself to all this trouble. The king will pay off the indebtedness; the kingdom is said to be rich, or Austria wouldn't meddle with it."

"The king, on the twentieth of this month, will be some three millions short."

"And since he can not pay he is bankrupt. Ah, I see the plan. The duke knew that he wouldn't be able to pay."

"You have hit it squarely."

"But Austria, having placed Leopold here, is his sponsor."

"Austria has too many debts of her own; she will have to disavow her protege, which is a fact not unthought of by the house of Auersperg. By constant machination and intrigue the king's revenues have been so depleted that ordinary debts are troublesome. The archbishop, to stave off the probable end, brought about the alliance between the houses of Carnavia and Osia. My business here is to arrange for a ten years' renewal of the loan, and that is what the duchess wishes to prevent, mon ami. What's to become of the king and his daughter if aught in the way of mishap should befall me? I have not seen the king, but I have seen her Royal Highness."

"What is she like?" Maurice asked, innocently. He saw no reason why he should confide to the Englishman his own adventure.

"I'm not much of a judge," said Fitzgerald cautiously. "I have lived most of my life in cantonments where women were old and ran mostly to tongue. I should say that she is beautiful." A short sigh followed this admission.

"Ah!" said Maurice with a loud laugh to cover the sudden pang of jealousy which seized him; "in gratitude for saving her father's throne the daughter will fall in love with you. It is what the dramatist calls logical sequence."

"Why don't you write novels? Your imagination has no bounds."

"Writing novels is too much like work. But I'm serious. Your position in the world to-day is nearly equal to hers, and certainly more secure. Ah, yes; I must not forget that prince. He's a lucky dog—and so are you, for that matter. Millions and titles! And I have slapped you cavalierly on the back, smoked your cigars, drunk your whisky, and beaten you at poker!" comically.

"Ah, Maurice, it is neither wealth nor titles; it is freedom. I am like a boy out of school for good and all. Women, the society of women, who are the salt of earth; that is what I want. I have knocked out thirteen years of my life in furnace holes, and have not met nor spoken to a dozen young women in all that time. How I envy you! You know every one; you have seen the world; you are at home in Paris, or London, or Vienna; you have enjoyed all I wish to enjoy."

"Why did you ever get into the army?"

"You ought to know."

"But it was bread and butter to me."

"Well, I was young; I saw fame and glory. If the matter under hand is closed to-morrow, what do you say to the Carpathians and bears? I shall not remain here; some one will be looking for blood. What do you say?"

"I don't know," said Maurice, thoughtfully. He was thinking of Mademoiselle of the Veil and her prophecy of ravens. "I don't know that I shall be able. It is my opinion that your part in the affair is only a curtain-raiser to graver things. Every one of importance in town goes about with an air of expectancy. I never saw anything like it. It is the king, the archbishop and the chancellor against two hundred thousand. You're a soldier; can't you smell powder?"

"Powder! You do not believe the duchess mad enough to wage war?"

"Trust a woman to do what no one dreams she will."

"But Austria would be about her ears in a minute!"

"Maybe. Have you seen this Colonel Beauvais of the royal cuirassiers, the actual head of the army here?"

"A fine soldier," said the Englishman, heartily. "Rides like a centaur and wields a saber as if it were a piece of straw."

"I can hold a pretty good blade myself; I've an idea that I can lick him at both games."

Fitzgerald laughed good-naturedly. "There is the one flaw in your make-up. I admit your horsemanship; but the saber! Believe me, it is only the constant practice and a wrist of iron which make the saber formidable. You are more familiar with the pen; I dare say you could best him at that."

"What makes you think I can not lick him?"

"Since when have the saber and the civilian been on terms? And these continental sabers are matchless, the finest in the world. I trust you will steer clear of the Colonel; if you have any challenge in mind, spring it on me, and I'll let you down easy." Then: "Why the devil do you want to lick him, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Maurice. "I had a close range to-night, and somehow the man went against the grain. Well, Jack, I'll stay with you in this affair, though, as the county judge at home would say, it's out of my circuit."

They shook hands across the table.

"Come," said Fitzgerald; "a toast, for I must be off."

"What do you say to her Royal Highness?"

"Let us make it general: to all women!"

They set down the glasses and shook hands again.

"It seemed good to run across you in Vienna, Maurice. You were one of the bright spots in the old days."

"Do you want me to walk with you to the Grand? It's a fine night," said Maurice, waving his hand toward the moon. "By George, what a beautiful place this end of Bleiberg is! I do not wonder that the duchess covets it."

"No, I'll go alone. All I have to do is to march straight up the Strasse."

"Well, good-night and good luck to you," said Maurice, as he led the Englishman into the hallway. "Look me up when you have settled the business. I say, but it gets me; it's the strangest thing I ever heard." And he waited till the soldierly form disappeared below the landing.

Then he went back to his chair on the balcony to think it over. At four o'clock that afternoon he had grumbled of dullness. He lit a pipe, and contemplated the soft and delicate blues of earth and heaven, the silvery flashes on the lake, and the slim violet threads of smoke which wavered about his head. It was late. Now and then the sound of a galloping horse was borne up by the breeze, and presently Maurice heard the midnight bell boom forth from the sleepy spires of the cathedral—where the princess was to be married.

One by one the lamps of the park went out, but the moon shone on, lustrous and splendid. First he reviewed his odd adventure in the archbishop's gardens. He had spoken to princesses before, but they were women of the world, hothouse roses that bloom and wither in a short space. The atmosphere which surrounded this princess was idyllic, pastoral. She had seen nothing of the world, its sports and pastimes, and the art of playing at love was unknown to her. Again he could see her serious eyes, the delicate chin and mouth, the oval cheeks, and the dog that followed in her steps. Here was an indelible picture which time could never efface. Something stirred in his heart, and he sighed.

And ah, the woman in the veil! Who could she be? The more he thought of her the more convinced he was that she stood high in the service of any one but Leopold of Osia. And Fitzgerald! That sober old soldier concerned with crowns and millions! It was incredible; it was almost laughable. They had met up-country in India, and had hunted, and Maurice had saved the Englishman's life. Occasionally they had corresponded.

"Well, to bed," said the young diplomat. "This has been a full day." And, like the true newspaper man he was, for all his diplomacy, he emptied the bottle and entered the room. He was about to disrobe, when some one rapped on the door. He opened it, and beheld a man in the livery of the Grand Hotel. He was breathing hard.

"Herr Carewe?"

"Yes. What's wanted?"

"Herr Hamilton—"

"Hamilton? O, yes. Go on."

"Herr Hamilton bade me to tell your Excellency that in returning to the hotel he sprained his ankle, and wishes to know if Herr would not be so kind as to spend the night with him."

"Certainly. Run down to the office, and I shall be with you shortly." Again alone, Maurice opened his trunk. He brought forth a pint flask of brandy, some old handkerchiefs to be used as bandages, and a box of salve he used for bruises when on hunting expeditions. In turning over his clothes his hand came into contact with his old army revolver. He scratched his head. "No, it's too much like a cannon, and there's no room for it in my pockets." He pushed it aside, rose and slammed the lid of the trunk. "Sprained his ankle? He wasn't gone more than an hour. How the deuce is he to see the king to-morrow? Probably wishes to appoint me his agent. That's it. Very well." He proceeded to the office, where he found the messenger waiting for him. "Come on, and put life into your steps."

Together they traversed the moonlit thoroughfare. Few persons were astir. Once the night patrol clattered by. They passed through the markets, and not far ahead they could see the university. It looked like a city prison.

"This is the hotel, Herr," said the messenger.

They entered. Maurice approached the proprietor, who was pale and flurried; but as Maurice had never seen the natural repose of his countenance, he thought nothing of it.

"My friend, Herr Hamilton, has met with an accident. Where is his room?"

"Number nine; Johann will show you." He acted as if he had something more to say, but a glance from the round-faced porter silenced him. Maurice lost much by not seeing this glance. He followed the messenger up the stairs.

There were no transoms. The corridor was devoid of illumination. The porter struck a match and held it close to the panel of a door under which a thread of light streamed.

"This is it, Herr," he bawled, so loudly that Maurice started.

"There was no need of waking the dead to tell me," he growled.

The door opened, and before Maurice could brace himself—for the interior of the room made all plain to him—he was violently pushed over the threshold on to his knees. He was up in an instant. The room was filled with soldiers, foot soldiers of the king, so it seemed.

"What the devil is this?" he demanded, brushing his knees and cursing himself because he had not brought his Colt when fate had put it almost in his hand.

"It is a banquet, young man. We were waiting for the guest of honor."

Maurice turned to the speaker, and saw a medium-sized man with gray hair and a frosty stubble of a mustache. He wore no insignia of office. Indeed, as Maurice gazed from one man to the next he saw that there were no officers; and it came to him that these were not soldiers of the king. He was in a trap. He thought quickly. Fitzgerald was in trouble, perhaps on his account. Where was he?

"I do not see my friend who sprained his ankle," he said coolly.

This declaration was greeted with laughter.

"Evidently I have entered the wrong room," he continued imperturbably. He stepped toward the door, but a burly individual placed his back to it.

"Am I a prisoner, or the victim of a practical joke?"

"Either way," said the man with the frosty mustache.

"Why?"

"You have recently formed a dangerous acquaintance, and we desire to aid you in breaking it."

"Are you aware, gentlemen—no, I don't mean gentlemen—that I am attached to the American legation in Vienna, and that my person is inviolable?"

Everybody laughed again—everybody but Maurice.

"Allow me to correct you," put in the elderly man, who evidently was the leader in the affair. "You are not attached; you are detached. Gentlemen, permit me, M. Carewe, detache of the American legation in Vienna, who wishes he had stayed there."

Maurice saw a brace of revolvers on the mantel. The table stood between.

"Well," he said, banteringly, "bring on your banquet; the hour is late."

"That's the way; don't lose your temper, and no harm will come to you."

"What do you wish of me?"

"Merely the pleasure of your company. Lieutenant, bring out the treasure."

One of the soldiers entered the next room and soon returned pushing Fitzgerald before him. The Englishman was bound and gagged.

"How will you have the pheasant served?" asked the leader.

"Like a gentleman!" cried Maurice, letting out a little of his anger. "Take out the gag; he will not cry."

The leader nodded, and Fitzgerald's mouth was relieved. He spat some blood on the carpet, then looked at his captors, the devil in his eyes.

"Proceed to kill me and have done," he said.

"Kill you? No, no!"

"I advise you to, for if you do not kill me, some day I shall be free again, and then God help some of you."

Maurice gazed at the candles on the table, and smiled.

"I'm sorry they dragged you into it, Maurice," said Fitzgerald.

"I'm glad they did. What you want is company." There was a glance, swift as light. It went to the mantel, then passed to the captive. "Well," said Maurice, "what is next on your damned program?"

"The other side of the frontier."

"Maybe," said Maurice.

With an unexpected movement he sent the table over, the lights went out; and he had judged the distance so accurately that he felt his hands close over the revolvers.

"The door! the door!" a voice bawled. "Knock down any one who attempts to pass."

This was precisely what Maurice desired. With the soldiers massed about the door, he would be free to liberate Fitzgerald; which he did. He had scarcely completed the task, when a flame spurted up. The leader fearlessly lit a candle and righted the table. He saw both his prisoners, one of them with extended arms, at the ends of which glistened revolver barrels.

"The devil!" he said.

"Maybe it is," replied Maurice. "Now, my gay banqueteers, open the door; and the first man who makes a suspicious movement will find that I'm a tolerable shot."

"Seize him, your Excellency!" shouted one of the troopers. "Those are my revolvers he has, and they are not loaded."

Chapter 8 THE RED CHATEAU

Two o'clock in the morning, on the king's highway, and a small body of horse making progress. The moon was beginning to roll away toward the west, but the world was still frost-white, and the broad road stretched out like a silver ribbon before the horsemen, until it was lost in the blue mist of the forests.

The troop consisted of ten men, two of whom rode with their hands tied behind their backs and their feet fastened under the bellies of the horses. The troop was not conspicuous for this alone. Three others had their heads done up in handkerchiefs, and a fourth carried his arm in a sling.

Five miles to the rear lay the sleeping city of Bleiberg, twenty miles beyond rose the formidable heights of the Thalians. At times the horses went forward at a gallop, but more often they walked; when they galloped the man with his arm in the sling complained. Whenever the horses dropped into a walk, the leader talked to one of the prisoners.

"You fight like the very devil, my friend," he said; "but we were too many by six. Mind, I think none the less of you for your attempt; freedom is always worth fighting for. As I said before, no harm is meant to you, physically; as to the moral side, that doesn't concern me. You have disabled four of my men, and have scarcely a dozen scratches to show for it. I wanted to take only four men with me; I was ordered to take eight. The hand of providence is in it."

"You wouldn't be so polite, Colonel," spoke up the trooper whose arm was in the sling, "if you had got this crack."

"Baron, who told you to call me Colonel?" the leader demanded.

"Why, we are out of the city; there's no harm now that I can see."

"Is it possible," said Maurice ironically, "that I have had the honor of hitting a baron on the head and breaking his arm?"

The baron muttered a curse and fell back.

"And you," went on Maurice, addressing the leader, "are a Colonel?"

"Yes."

"For the duchess?"

"For the duchess."

"A black business for you, Colonel; take my word for it."

"A black business it is; but orders are orders. Have you ever been a soldier?"

"I have."

"Well, there's nothing more to be said."

"America—" Maurice began.

"Is several thousand miles away."

"Not if you reckon from Vienna."

"I'd rather not reckon, if it's all the same to you. Your friend—I might say, your very valuable friend—takes the matter too much to heart."

"He's not a talkative man."

Fitzgerald looked straight ahead, stern and impassive.

"But now that we are talking," said Maurice, "I should like to know how the deuce you got hold of my name and dragged me into this affair?"

"Simple enough. A card of yours was given to me; on it was your name and address. The rest was easy."

Maurice grew limp in the saddle.

"By George! I had forgotten! The woman is at the bottom of it."

"Quite likely. I thought you'd come to that conclusion. Sometimes when we play with foxes they lead us into bear traps. Young man, witness these gray hairs; never speak to strange women, especially when they wear veils."

Fitzgerald was now attending the conversation.

"And who is this woman?" asked Maurice.

"Mademoiselle of the Veil, according to your picturesque imagination; to me she is the intimate friend and adviser of her Highness Stephonia." He wheeled to the troopers with a laugh: "Hoch, you beggars, hoch!"

Maurice indulged in some uncomplimentary remarks, among which was: "I'm an ass!"

"Every man improves on making that discovery; the Darwinian theory is wrong."

After a pause Maurice said: "How did you get on the ground so quickly?"

"We arrived yesterday afternoon as the escort of your charmer. A pretty woman finds it troublesome to travel alone in these parts. When you slapped your friend on the back and bawled out his name—a name known from one end of the kingdom to the other—the plan of action was immediately formed. You were necessary, for it was taken for granted that you knew too much. You had also promised your sword," with a chuckle.

"I made no promise," said Maurice. "I only said that I should easily be found when wanted."

"Well, so you were; there's no gainsaying that."

Maurice said some more uncomplimentary things.

"It was neatly done, you will admit. Life is a game of cards; he wins who plays first."

"Or he doesn't. Colonel, a game is won only when it is played'."

"That's true enough."

"Kings are a tolerable bother on earth," Maurice declared, trying to ease his wrists by holding them higher against his back.

"What do you know about them?"

"When I was in the army I often fell in with three or four of a night."

"Eh?—kings?"

"Yes; but usually I was up against aces or straight flushes."

"Cards! Well, well; when you get down to the truth of the matter, real kings differ but little from the kings in pasteboard; right side up, or wrong side up, they serve the purpose of those who play them. There's a poor, harmless devil back there," with a nod toward Bleiberg. "He never injured a soul. Perhaps that's it; had he been cruel, avaricious, sly, all of them would be cringing at his feet. Devil take me—but I'm a soldier," he broke off abruptly; "it's none of my business."

"Have you any titles?" Maurice asked presently.

"Titles?" The Colonel jerked around on his horse. "Why?"

"O," said Maurice carelessly, "I thought it not unlikely that you might have a few lying around loose."

The Colonel roared. "You Americans beat the very devil with your questions. Well, I am politely known as Count Mollendorf, if that will gratify you."

"What! brother of Mollendorf of the king's police?"

"God save the mark! No; I am an honest man—some of the time."

Maurice laughed; the old fellow was amusing, and besides, this conversation helped to pass away the time.

"Wake up, Jack; here's entertainment," he said.

A scowl added itself to the stern expression on Fitzgerald's face.

"I trust that none of your teeth are loose," ventured the Colonel.

"If they are, they'll be tight enough ere many days have passed," was the threatening reply.

"Beware the dog!" cried the Colonel, and he resumed his place at the head of the little troop.

Maurice took this opportunity to bend toward Fitzgerald. "Have you anything of importance about you?" he whispered significantly.

"Nothing. But God send that no chambermaid change the sheet in my bed at the hotel."

"Are they—"

"Silence." Fitzgerald saw the trooper next with his hand to his ear.

After a time the Colonel sang out: "Fifteen miles more, with three on the other side, men; we must put more life into us. A trot for a few miles. The quicker the ride is done, baron, the quicker the surgeon will look to your arm."

And silence fell upon the troop. Occasionally a stray horse in the fields whinneyed, and was answered from the road; sometimes the howl of a dog broke the monotony. On and on they rode; hour and mile were left behind them. The moon fell lower and lower, and the mountains rose higher and higher, and the wind which had risen had a frosty sting to it. Maurice now began to show the true state of his temper by cursing his horse whenever it rubbed against one of its fellows. His back was lame, and there was a dull pain in one of his shoulders. When he had made the rush for the door, clubbing right and left with the empty revolvers, he had finally been thrown on an overturned chair.

"Here, hang you!" he said to the trooper who held the bridle of his horse, "I'm cold; you might at least turn up my collar about my throat."

"You are welcome to my cloak," said the trooper, disengaging that article from his shoulders.

"Thank you," said Maurice, somewhat abashed by the respectful tone.

The trooper offered his blanket to Fitzgerald.

"I wish no favors," said the Englishman, thanklessly.

The trooper shrugged, and caught up Maurice's bridle.

At length the troop arrived at the frontier. There was no sign of life at the barrack. They passed unchallenged.

"What!" exclaimed Maurice, "do they sleep here at night, then? A fine frontier barrack." He had lived in hopes of more disturbance and a possible chance for liberty.

"They will wake up to-day," answered the Colonel; "that is, if the wine we gave them was not too strong. Poor devils; they must be good and cold by this time, since we have their clothes. What do you think of a king whose soldiers drink with any strangers who chance along?"

Maurice became resigned. To him the present dynasty was as fragile as glass, and it needed but one strong blow to shatter it into atoms. And the one hope rode at his side, sullen and wrathful, but impotent; the one hope the king had to save his throne. He had come to Bleiberg in search of excitement, but this was altogether more than he had bargained for.

The horses began to lift and were soon winding in and out of the narrow mountain pass. The chill of the overhanging snows fell upon them.

"It wouldn't have hurt you to accept the blanket," said Maurice to Fitzgerald.

"Curse it! I want nothing but two minutes freedom. It would be warm enough then."

"No confidences, gentlemen," warned the Colonel; "I understand English tolerably well."

"Go to the devil, then, if you do!" said Fitzgerald discourteously.

"When the time comes," tranquilly. "Of the two I like your friend the better. To be resigned to the inevitable is a sign of good mental balance."

"I am not used to words," replied the Englishman.

"You are used to orders. I am simply obeying mine. If I took you off your guard it was because I had to, and not because I liked that method best. Look alive, men; it's down hill from now on."

A quarter of an hour later the troop arrived at the duchy's frontier post. There was no sleep here. The Colonel flung himself from his horse and exercised his legs.

"Sergeant," he said, "how far behind the others?"

"They passed two hours ago, Excellency. And all is well?" deferentially.

"All is indeed well," with a gesture toward the prisoners.

"I've a flask of brandy in my hip pocket," said Maurice. "Will you help me to a nip, Colonel?"

"Pardon me, gentlemen; I had forgotten that your hands were still in cords. Corporal," to a trooper, "relieve their hands."

The prisoners rubbed their wrists and hands, which were numb and cold. Maurice produced his flask.

"I was bringing it along for your sprained ankle," he said, as he extended the flask to Fitzgerald, who drank a third of it. "I'd offer you some, Colonel, only it would be like heaping coals of fire on your head; and, besides, I want it all myself." He returned the emptied flask to his pocket, feeling a moderate warmth inside.

"Drink away, my son," said the Colonel, climbing into the saddle; "there'll be plenty for me for this night's work. Forward!"

The troop took up the march again, through a splendid forest kept clear of dead wood by the peasants. It abounded with game. The shrill cry of the pheasants, the rustle of the partridges in the underbrush, the bark of the fox, all rose to the ears of the trespassers. The smell of warm earth permeated the air, and the sky was merging from silver into gold.

When Napoleon humiliated Austria for the second time, one of his mushroom nobles, who placed too much faith in the man of destiny, selected this wooded paradise as a residence. He built him a fine castle of red brick, full of wide halls and drawing rooms and chambers of state, and filled it with fabulous paintings, Gobelin tapestries, and black walnut wainscot. He kept a small garrison of French soldiers by converting the huge stables partly into a barrack. One night the peasantry rose. There was a conflict, as the walls still show; and the prince by patent fled, no one knew where. After its baptism in blood it became known far and wide as the Red Chateau. Whenever children were unruly, they were made docile by threats of the dark dungeons of the Red Chateau, or the ghosts of the French and German peasants who died there. As it now stood, it was one of the summer residences of her Highness.

It was here that the long night's journey came to an end.

"Gentlemen," said the Colonel, dismounting, "permit me, in the name of her Highness, to offer you the hospitality of Red Chateau. Consider; will you lighten my task by giving me your word of honor to make no attempt to escape? Escape is possible, but not probable. There are twenty fresh men and horses in the stables. Come, be reasonable. It will be pleasanter on both sides."

"So far as I'm concerned," said Maurice, who needed liberty not half so much as sleep, "I pass my word."

"And you, sir?" to Fitzgerald.

Fitzgerald gazed about him. "Very well," he said, as he saw the futility of a struggle.

"Your humble servant, Messieurs," touching his cap. "Take the ropes off their ankles, men."

When Maurice was lifted from his horse and placed on the ground, his legs suddenly bent under him, and he went sprawling to the grass. A trooper sprang to his assistance.

"My legs have gone to sleep!"

The Englishman was affected likewise, and it was some moments before either could walk. They were conducted to a chamber high up in the left wing, which overlooked the forest and the mountains. It was a large airy room, but the windows were barred and there were double locks on the doors. The Colonel followed them into the room and pointed to the table.

"Breakfast, Messieurs, and a good sleep for you till this noon. As for the rest, let that take care of itself." And he left them.

Maurice, after having tried all the bars and locks in answer to his conscience, gave his attention to the breakfast. On lifting the covers he found fish, eggs, toast and coffee.

"Here's luck!" he cried. "We were expected."

"Curse it, Maurice!" Fitzgerald began pacing the room.

"No, no," said Maurice; "let us eat it; that's what it's here for," and he fell to with that vigor known only to healthy blood.

"But what's to be done?"

"Follow Solomon's advice, and wait."

"You're taking it cursed cool."

"Force of habit," breaking the toast. "What's the use of wasting powder? Because I have shown only the exterior, our friend the Colonel has already formed an opinion of me. I am brave if need be, but young and careless. In a day or so—for I suppose we are not to be liberated at once—he'll forget to use proper caution in respect to me. And then, 'who can say?' as the Portuguese says when he hasn't anything else to say. They'll keep a strict watch over you, my friend, because you've played the lion too much. Just before I left the States, as you call them, a new slang phrase was going the rounds;—'it is better to play the fox some of the time than to roar all of the time.' Ergo, be foxy. Take it cool. So long as you haven't got that mint packed about your person, the game breaks even."

"But the king!"

"Is as secure on his throne as he ever was. If you do not present those consols, either for renewal or collection, on the twentieth, he loses nothing. As you said, let us hope that the chambermaid is a shifty, careless lass, who will not touch your room till you return." Maurice broke an egg and dropped a lump of sugar into his cup.

"Is this the way you fight Indians?"

"Indians? What the deuce has fighting Indians to do with this? As to Indians, shoot them in the back if you can. Here, everything depends not on fighting but the right use of words. A man may be a diplomat and not render his country any large benefit; still, it's a fine individual training. Thrones stand on precipices and are pushed back to safety by the trick of a few words. Have an egg; they're fresh."

Fitzgerald sat down and gulped his coffee. "They broke my monocle in the struggle."

Maurice choked in his cup.

"I've worn it twelve years, too," went on Fitzgerald.

"Everything is for the best," said Maurice. "You will be able to see out of both eyes."

"Confound you!" cried Fitzgerald, smiling in spite of himself; "nothing will disturb you."

"You mean, nothing shall. Now, there's the bed and there's the lounge. Since you are the principal, that is to say, the constituent part of this affair, and also the principal actor in this extravaganza, suppose you take the bed and leave me the lounge? And the deuce take the duchess, who is probably a woman with a high forehead and a pair of narrow eyes!" He threw down his napkin and made for the lounge, without giving any particular attention to the smile and frown which were struggling in the Englishman's eyes. In less than a minute Maurice was dozing.

Fitzgerald thought that the best thing he could do was to follow the philosophical example of his friend. "These Americans," he mused, as he arranged the pillow under his ear, "are `fifteen puzzles'; you can move them, or you can't."

As for Maurice, he was already dreaming; he was too tired to sleep. Presently he thought he was on a horse again, and was galloping, galloping. He was heading his old company to the very fringe of the alkali. The Apaches had robbed the pay train and killed six men, and the very deuce was to pay all around… . Again he was swimming, and a beautiful girl reached out a hand and saved him. Ah! how beautiful she was, how soft and rich the deep brown of her eyes!… The scene shifted. The president of the South American republic had accepted his sword (unbeknown to the United States authorities), and he was aiding to quell the insurrection. And just then some one whispered to him that gold would rise fifty points. And as he put out his hands to gather in the glittering coins which were raining down, the face of Colonel Beauvais loomed up, scowling and furious… . And yet again came the beautiful girl. He was holding her hand and the archbishop had his spread out in benediction over their heads… . A hand, which was not of dreamland, shook him by the arm. He opened his eyes. Fitzgerald was standing over him. The light of the sun spangled the walls opposite the windows. The clock marked the eleventh hour of day.

"Hang you!" he said, with blinking eyes; "why didn't you let me be? I was just marrying the princess, and you've spoiled it all. I—" He jumped to his feet and rubbed his eyes, and, forgetful of all save his astonishment, pursed his lips into a low whistle.