Her Royal Highness: A Romance of the Chancelleries of Europe

by William Le Queux

wasbrief, and had earned for himself the reputation of the most hard andunapproachable man in the Service which he controlled. But HubertWaldron had certainly not found him so, and as he descended the greathandsome staircase and went out into the falling fog in Downing Street,he could not help a feeling of joy that he had been promoted over theheads of a dozen others to the second secretaryship of His Majesty'sEmbassy to the Quirinale.

  Next day the _Morning Post_ told the world that the Honourable HubertWaldron, M.V.O., was in London, and that same afternoon he received athis club a note from Beatriz, urging him to call at the Carlton.

  Throughout the whole evening he debated within himself whether he shouldsee her in order to wish her farewell. If he did not then she wouldregard him as brutal and impolite. He remembered those letters of hers,so full of passionate outpourings, and while he ate his dinner alone ina corner of the club dining-room they decided him.

  He sent her a reply by hand that he would call at the hotel at half-pasteleven, after she had finished her performance at the theatre.

  Punctually at that hour a page-boy took him up in the lift, and passingalong a corridor they halted at a door.

  The page rapped, whereupon it opened, and next second the tall, handsomeSpanish woman in a wonderful evening gown flew into Hubert's arms cryingin Spanish in wild glee:

  "Ah! At last, my own dear Hubert--at last! What pleasure!"

  But he only took her hand, and bowing low with grave courtliness, kissedit.

  "Come, sit down," she urged, pulling him towards a soft settee. "Tellme, when did you arrive from Egypt? The Duke saw the arrival in thepaper this morning, and told me."

  "Then the Duke is still here," he asked with affected unconcern.

  "Of course. Why? He knows your English quite well, and, alas! I donot. Oh, it is so difficult! What I should do without him, I don'tknow," she went on volubly with much gesticulation. Those great darkeyes of hers and her raven-black hair gave a wonderful vivacity to herhandsome Andalusian countenance. Her portraits were in all theillustrated papers, and during the day he had learnt how, by herwonderful dancing, she had taken London by storm.

  "And what kind of reception have you had?" he asked gravely in Spanish,as he seated himself upon the settee before her.

  "Superb!" she declared, her great eyes brightening. "Your Englishaudiences are so intensely sympathetic. I love London. I think I dancebetter here in your cold, foggy city than in Madrid. Why, I do notknow. Perhaps it is because I feel somehow at home with the English--because you, Hubert, are my dear friend." And then she chattered onwith hands and arms thrown about in quick gesticulation, describing tohim her life during the past three weeks, and how full of gaiety andenjoyment had every moment been.

  "Photographers and interviewers have pestered me to death. Ah! YourLondon journalists are so pressing. They are not lazy and open tobribery, as ours in Madrid. Twice I have danced at private parties andreceived large fees. Yes--you in London pay well--better even thanPetersburg. At the Palace they want me to return for a month nextSeptember."

  "And you will accept, of course?"

  She hesitated. She was standing at the table, her slim white fingersidly toying with a huge bunch of lilies-of-the-valley which had beenthrown to her that night by some unknown admirer.

  "Perhaps," she replied. "At present I do not exactly know. I have alsodanced twice for charity--some hospital, I think. My manager, Cohen,arranged it. He is simply splendid--better even than he was in Russia."

  "I'm so glad you're enjoying it, Beatriz," Hubert said. "I was sorry Icould not get back from Egypt. But I was nearly a thousand miles fromCairo when I got your telegram."

  "Oh, it really did not matter," she declared. "The Duke has been mostkind to me."

  "Yes--the Duke--always the Duke," he said in a hard, changed voice.

  She turned and looked at him in quick surprise.

  "What--then are you jealous, you dear old Hubert?" she asked with alaugh.

  "Not in the least," was his quick reply. "But while you have the Dukeyou surely do not require my assistance. You have, it seems, got on inLondon excellently without me."

  "Because you were unable to come. Have I offended you?" she asked."Come, forgive me if I have," she urged, crossing to him, placing herhand upon his coat sleeve and looking up into his face. "I return toMadrid next Monday. You shall travel with me--eh?"

  "I am not going back to Madrid," was his slow reply, his eyes fixed uponhers.

  "Not going back!" she echoed. "Why not?"

  "I have been transferred to the Embassy in Rome. I leave for Italy theday after to-morrow."

  "To Italy," she whispered blankly. "Then--then you will no longer be inSpain?"

  "No. My term in Madrid has ended," he answered in a hard, strainedvoice, for even then he found it hard to bid her farewell.

  "Ah!" she cried suddenly. "I see--I see it in your manner! You aretired of me--you are displeased with the Duke. You are jealous of him--jealous that men should flatter me. You, my dear friend, in whom I heldsuch high respect, will not desert me."

  "Alas, Beatriz, I am not my own master. If I were, I should not leaveMadrid," he said earnestly, for that was, after all, the truth.

  "And yet, knowing how fondly I love you, Hubert, you will really leaveme thus!" she cried, suddenly catching his hand and carrying it to herfull red lips. "No," she went on, tears welling in her wonderful eyes,"you cannot do this. You, too, love me--you know well that you do.Come, do not let us part. I--I know I am foolish--I--ah! no! I loveyou, Hubert--only you!" And full of her hot Spanish passion she threwher arms about him and burst into a flood of hot tears.

  Hubert Waldron bit his lip. He recollected at that moment all thestories concerning her--of the blackmail levied, with her connivance, bythe drunken cab-driver whom he himself had once seen in the Puerta delSol. He remembered his promise to his Chief, and the plain, outspokenwords of his friend, Jack Jerningham.

  They hardened his heart.

  He shook his head and slowly but resolutely, disengaged himself from herpassionate embrace.

  "No, Beatriz," he said. "Let us end this. It will, surely, be best forboth our sakes. True, I have known you for a long time before youbecame world-famous as a dancer, but your profession and your interests,like mine, now lie apart. Let us say farewell, and in doing so, let usstill remain good friends, with tender memories of one another."

  "Memories!" she cried fiercely, looking into his face with flashingeyes. "They can only be bitter ones for me."

  "And perhaps just as bitter for myself," he added, still holding her bythe wrist and looking into those great black eyes of hers.

  "You are very cruel, Hubert!" she declared, her chest beneath itschiffon rising and falling in quick emotion. "You are cruel to awoman!" she repeated in reproach.

  "No. It will be best for us in the end--best for both of us. You haveyour future before you--so have I. In my profession as diplomat I haveto bow to the inevitable whenever I am transferred. You are a greatdancer--a dancer who has won the applause of Europe. May I not stillremain your humble and devoted friend?"

  For answer Beatriz, the idol of London at that moment, fell upon hisshoulder and shed tears of poignant, bitter regret, while he, with knitbrows, held his breath for a moment, and then tenderly bent and kissedher upon the cheek.

  CHAPTER TEN.

  SOME CURIOUS STORIES.

  The _festa_ of San Sebastiano fell on a Sunday.

  The ancient church a mile and a half outside Rome on the Appian Way--theroad constructed three hundred years before the birth of Christ--wasthronged by the populace in _festa_ attire, for San Sebastiano, built asit is over the Catacombs where reposed the remains of the Christianmartyrs, is one of the seven churches to which pilgrims have flockedfrom every part of western Christendom, while in its chapel is themarble slab bearing what is held by tradition to be the footprints ofChrist, and which, therefore, is held by the Romans in specialvenerat
ion.

  Though January, the morning was sunny and cloudless, and with LadyCathcart, the Ambassador's wife, and young Edward Mervyn, the ratherfoppish honorary attache, Hubert Waldron had motored out to watch thefestival with all its gorgeous procession of priests and acolytes, itsswinging censers and musical chants.

  As at all the _festas_ in Rome, there was the usual crowd of gapingCookites and the five-guinea excursionists of other agencies, for is notthe Eternal City the city of the tourist _par excellence_? In it he canlive in a cheap _pension_ for four lire a night, or he can spend ahundred lire a night in certain _hotels de luxe_ on his room alone.

  The road was dusty and crowded as, the ceremony over, the party spedback, past the ruins of the