Midnight in Madame's boudoir; no light save that which streamed rosilyfrom the coals in the grate. The countess sat with her slippered feetupon the fender. She held in her hand a screen, and if any thoughtsmarked her face, they remained in blurred obscurity.
"Heu!" said Madame from the opposite side; "it is all over. It wasdetestable. I, to suffer this humiliation! Do you know what I have done?I have promised to be his wife! His wife, I! Is it not droll?" There wasa surprising absence of mirth in the low laugh which followed.
"I trust Madame will find it droll."
"And you?"
"And I, Madame?"
"Yes; did you not bring the clown to your feet?"
"No, Madame."
"How? You did not have the joy denied me--of laughing in his face?"
"No, Madame." With each answer the voice grew lower.
"Since when have I been Madame to you?"
"Since to-day."
Madame reached out a hand and pressed down the screen. "Elsa, what isit?"
"What is what, Madame?"
"This strange mood of yours."
Silence.
"You were gay enough this morning. Tell me."
"There is nothing to tell, Madame, save that my sacrifices are at anend. I have nothing left."
"What! You forsake me when the end is won?" in astonishment.
"I did not say that I should desert you; I said that I had no moresacrifices to make." The Countess rose. "For your sake, Madame, becauseyou have always been kind to me, and because it is impossible not tolove you, I have degraded myself. I have pretended to love a man who sawthrough the artifice and told me so, to save me further shame. O Madame,it is all execrable!
"And you will use this love which you have gained--this first love ofa man who has known no other and will know no other while he lives!--tobring about his ruin? This other, at whose head you threw me--beware ofhim. He is light-hearted and gay, perhaps. You call him a clown; heis cunning and brave; and unless you judge him at his true value, yourfabric of schemes will fall ere it reaches its culmination. Could evenyou trick him with words? No. You were compelled to use force. Is he nothandsome, Madame?" with a feverish gaiety. "Is there a gentleman at yourcourt who is a more perfect cavalier? Why, he blushes like a woman! Isthere in your court--" But her sentence broke, and she could not go on.
"Elsa, are you mad?"
"Yes, Madame, yes; they call it a species of madness." Then, with asudden gust of wrath: "Why did you not leave me in peace? You havedestroyed me! O, the shame of it!" and she fled into her own room.
Madame sat motionless. This, among other things, she had not reckonedon.
Only the troopers and the servants slept in peace that night.
Maurice was up betimes next morning. The hills and valleys lay under amantle of sparkling rime, and the very air, keen of edge and whistling,glistened in the sunlight. The iron shoes of the horses beat sharplyon the stone flooring of the court yard. Maurice examined his ridingfurniture; pulled at the saddle, tugged at the rein buckles, lifted theleather flaps and tried the stirrup straps. It was not that he doubtedthe ability of the groom; it was because this particular care was secondnature to him.
Fitzgerald watched him, and meditated. Some of his thoughts were notpleasant. His eyes were heavy. At times he would lift his shoulders andpermit half a smile to flicker over his lips; a certain thought causedthis. The Colonel sat astride a broad-chested cavalry horse, spotlesswhite. He was going to accompany Maurice to the frontier. He had imbibedthe exhilarating tonic of the morning, and his spirits ran high. Atlength Maurice leaped into the saddle, caught the stirrups well, andsignaled to the Colonel that he was ready.
"You understand, Maurice?" Fitzgerald asked.
"Yes, John; all the world loves a lover. Besides, it is a gloriousmorning for a ride. Up, portcullis, down drawbridge!" waving his hand tothe Colonel.
And away they went through the gateway, into the frosted road. Mauricefelt the spirit of some medieval ancestor creep into his veins and helonged for an hour of the feudal days, to rescue a princess from somedungeon-keep and to harry an over-lord. After all, she was a wonderfulwoman, and Fitzgerald was only a man. To give up all for the love ofwoman is the only sacrifice a man can make.
"En avant!" cried the Colonel. "A fine day, a fine day for the house ofAuersperg!"
"And a devilish bad one for the houses of Fitzgerald and Carewe. Woman'sambition, coupled with her deceit, is the root of all evil; money issimply an invention of man to protect himself from her encroachments.Eve was ambitious and deceitful; all women are her daughters. When thepages of history grow dull--"
"Time puts a maggot in my lady's brain," supplemented the Colonel. "Itis like a row of dominoes. The power behind the throne, the woman behindthe power; an impulse moves the woman, and lo! how they clatter down.But without woman, history would be poor reading. The greatest battlesin the world, could we but see behind, were fought for women. Men arebut footnotes, and unfortunately history is made up of footnotes. But itis a fine thing to be a footnote; that is my ambition.
"Ah, if you but knew what a pleasure it is for an old man like me tohave a finger in the game time plays! To meddle with affairs, directlyor indirectly! Kingdoms are but judy shows, kings and queens butpuppets; but we who pull the strings--Ah, that is it! To play a game ofchess with crowns!"
"There are exceptions; Madame seems to hold the strings in thisinstance."
"Madame follows my advice in all she does."
Maurice opened his eyes at this statement.
"Would you believe an old man like me could lay such a train? All thiswas my idea. It was difficult to get Madame to agree with my views.War? I am not afraid of it; I am suspicious of it. One day your friendreturned a personal letter of Madame's having written across it, `Ilaugh at you.' It was very foolish. No man laughs at Madame more thanonce. She will, one day, return this letter to him. A crown, a finerevenge, in one fell swoop."
"She will ruin him utterly?"
"Utterly."
"Have you any idea what sort of man my friend is?"
"He lacks the polish of a man of affairs, and he surrenders too easily."
"He will never surrender--Madame."
"How?"
"You remember his father; he will prove his father's son, every inch ofhim. O, my Colonel, the curtain has only risen. One fine morning yourduchy will wake up without a duchess."
"What do you imply--an abduction?" The Colonel laughed.
"That is my secret."
"And the pretty countess?" banteringly.
"It was rather bad taste in Madame. It was putting love and patriotismto questionable purposes. I am a gentleman."
"It was out of consideration for you; Madame was not quite sure aboutyou. But you are right; all of it has rather a dark shade. You may roba man of his valuables and give them back; a broken word is not to bemended. Why did you keep the hiding place so secret? I could have gotthose consols, and all this would have been avoided."
"How should I know where they were? It was none of my affair."
"We are trusting you; I might have gone myself. You will return with thetreasure. Why have I not asked your word? Curiosity will bring you back;curiosity. Besides this, you have an idea that with your presence about,a flaw in the glass may be found. Yes, you will be back. History is tobe made; when you are old you will glance at the page and say: `Lookthere; rather a pretty bit, eh? Well, I helped to make it; indeed, hadit not been for me and my curiosity it would not have been made at all.'Above all things, do not stop to talk to veiled women."
There was a chuckling sound. "I say, your Englishman is clever now andthen. In the gun barrels! Who would have looked for them there? But whydid he come himself? Why did he not trust to his bankers? Why did he notturn over the affair to his representative, the British minister? Therewere a hundred ways of averting the catastrophe. Why did he not usea little fore-thought when he knew how anxious we were for hisdistinguished person?"
"Why do
es the moon rise at night and the sun at dawn? I am no CumaeanSybil. Perhaps it is the impulse which moves the woman behind the powerbehind the throne; they call it fate. Had I been in his place I dare sayI should have followed his footsteps."
Not long after they arrived at the frontier where they were to separate,to meet again under conditions disagreeable to both. The Colonel gavehim additional instructions.
"Go; return as quickly as possible."
"Never fear; I should not like to miss the finale to this opera bouffe."
"Rail on, my son; call it by any name you please, only do not interruptthe prompter;" and with this the Colonel waved him an adieu.
Maurice began the journey through the mountain pass, thinking andplanning and scheming. However he looked at the situation, the endwas the same: the Osians were doomed. If he himself played falseand retained the certificates until too late to be of benefit to theduchess, war would follow; and the kingdom would be soundly beaten....Would Prince Frederick still hold to his agreement and marry her RoyalHighness, however ill the fortunes of war fared? There was a swiftcurrent of blood to his heart. The Voiture-verse of a countess fadedaway.... Supposing Prince Frederick withdrew his claims? Some day herHighness would be free; free, without title or money or shelter. It wasa wild dream. Was there not, when all was said, a faint hope for his ownaffairs in the fall of Fitzgerald?
She was lonely, friendless, personally known to few. Still, she would bean Osian princess for all her misfortunes. But an Osian princess was notso great that love might not possess her. Without royalty she would beonly a woman. What would Austria do; what would Austria say? If Austriahad placed Leopold on the throne, certainly it was to shut out the houseof Auersperg.
And who was this man Beauvais, who served one house openly and anotherunder the rose? Where had he met him before, and why did the thoughtof him cause unrest? To rescue her somehow, to win her love, to see theglory of the world light the heavens in her eyes! If the dream was mad,it was no less pleasant.
He was a commoner; he had nothing in the world but his brain and hisarm. Fitzgerald, now, possessed a famous title and an ancient name.These kings and princes hereabout could boast of but little more thanhe; and there were millions to back him. He could dream of princessesand still be sane. Maurice did not envy the Englishman's riches, but hecoveted his right of way.
How often had he indulged in vain but pleasant dreams! Even in the olddays he was always succoring some proud beauty in distress. Sometimesit was at sea, sometimes in railroad wrecks, sometimes in the heart offlames; but he was ever there, like a guardian angel. It was never thesame heroine, but that did not matter; she was always beautiful andrich, high placed and lovable, and he never failed to brush aside allobstacles that beset the path to the church door. He had dreamed ofpaladins, and here at last was his long-sought opportunity--but he coulddo nothing! He laughed. How many such romances lay beneath the banterand jest of those bald bachelor diplomat friends of his? Had fatereserved him for one of these?
It was noon when he entered the city of Bleiberg. He went directly tohis hotel, where a bath and a change of clothes took the stiffness fromhis limbs. He was in no great hurry to go to the Grand Hotel; there wasplenty of time. Happily there was no mail for him; he was not needed inVienna.
At two o'clock he set out for the lower town. On the way he picked upodd ends of news. The king was rapidly sinking; he had suffered anotherstroke, and was now without voice. There was unusual activity inthe barracks. The students of the university were committing milddepredations, such as building bonfires, holding flambeau processions,and breaking windows which contained the photographs of Prince Frederickof Carnavia, who, strangely enough, was still wrapt in obscurity. WhenMaurice entered the Grand Hotel he looked casually among the porters,but the round-faced one was missing. He approached the desk. Theproprietor did not recognize him.
"No, my friend," said Maurice, affably, as a visitors' book was pushedforward, "I am not going to sign. Instead, I wish to ask a favor. A weekago a party of the king's troopers met upstairs."
The proprietor showed signs of returning memory, together with a strangeagitation.
"There was a slight disturbance," went on Maurice, still using theaffable tone. "Herr--ah--Hamilton, I believe--"
The proprietor grew limp and yellow. "I--I do not know where he is."
"I do," replied Maurice. "Don't you recognize me? Have I changed sosince I came here to doctor a sprained ankle?"
"You?--Before God, Herr, I was helpless; I had nothing to do with it!"terrified at the peculiar smile of the victim.
"The key to this gentleman's room," was the demand.
"I--"
"The key, and be quick about it."
The key came forth. "You will say nothing, Herr; it would ruin mybusiness. It was a police affair."
"Has any one been in this room since?"
"No, Herr; the key has been in my pocket."
"Where is the porter who brought me here?"
"He was not a porter; he was with the police."
Maurice passed up the stairs. He found the room in disorder, but adisorder rather familiar to his eyes. He had been the cause of most ofit. Here was where he broke the baron's arm and thumped three others onthe head. It had been a good fight. Here was a hole in the wall whereone of the empty revolvers had gone--missing the Colonel's head by aninch.
There was a smudge on the carpet made by the falling candles. He sawFitzgerald's pipe and picked it up. No; the chamber maid had not yetbeen there. He went over to the bed, stared at it and shrugged. Heraised the mattress. There was the gun case. He drew it forth and tookout the gun, not, however, without a twist of his nerves.
Four millions of crowns, a woman's love, the fall of one dynasty and therise of another, all wadded in those innocent looking gun barrels!He hesitated for a space, then unlocked the breech and held the tubestoward the window. There was nothing in the barrels, nothing but thegolden sunlight, which glinted along the polished steel.
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