The Puppet Crown

by Harold MacGrath

  CHAPTER XVI. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE ARCHBISHOP'S PALACE AND AFTER

  Maurice, as he labored before his mirror, wondered why in the world ittook him so long to dress. An hour had passed since he began his eveningtoilet; yet here he was, still tinkering, so to speak, over the lastof a dozen cravats. The eleven others lay strewn about, hopelesslycrumpled; mute witnesses of angry fingers and impassioned mutterings.Usually he could slip into his evening clothes in less than thirtyminutes. Something was wrong. But perhaps this occasion was not usual.

  First, the hems of his trousers were insurgent; they persisted inhitching on the tops of his button shoes. Laces were substituted. Thencame a desultory period, during which gold buttons were exchanged forpearl and pearl for gold, and two-button shirts for three-button. ForMaurice was something of a dandy. He could not imagine what was thematter with his neck, all the collars seemed so small. For once hismishaps did not appeal to his humor. The ascent from his shoes to hiscollar was as tortuous as that of the alpine Jungfrau.

  Ah, Madam, you may smile as much as you please, but it is a terriblething for a man to dress and at the same time think kindly of hisfellow-beings. You set aside three hours for your toilet, and devote twohours to the little curl which droops over the tip of your dainty ear;but with a man who has no curl, who knows nothing of the practice ofsmiles and side glances, the studied carelessness of a pose, it is adismal, serious business up to the last moment.

  With a final glance into the mirror, and convinced that if he touchedhimself it would be only to disarrange the perfection which he hadstriven so hard to attain, Maurice went down stairs. He had still anhour to while away before presenting himself at the archbishop's palace.So he roamed about the verandas, twirled his cane, and smoked like acaptain who expects to see his men in active engagement the very nextmoment. This, together with the bad hour in his room, was an indicationthat his nerves were finely strung.

  He was nervous, not because he was to see strange faces, not because hisinterest in the kingdom's affairs was both comic and tragic, nor becausehe was to present himself at the archbishop's in a peculiar capacity,that of a prisoner on parole. No, it was due to none of these. Hispulse did not stir at the prospect of meeting the true king. Diplomaticfunctions were every-day events with him. He had passed several years ofhis life in the vicinity of emperors, kings, viceroys, and presidents,and their greatness had long ago ceased to interest or even to amusehim. He was conscious only of an agitation which had already passedthrough the process of analysis. He loved, he loved the impossibleand the unattainable, and it was the exhilaration of this thought thatagitated him. He never would be the same again--he would be better.Neither did he regret this love.

  Even now he could see himself back in his rooms in Vienna, smokingbefore the fire, and building castles that tumbled down. It was worthwhile, if only to have something to dream about. He did not regret thelove, he regretted its futility. How could he serve her? What could hedo against all these unseen forces which were crumbling her father'sthrone? So she remembered what he had said to her in the archbishop'sgarden? He looked at his watch. It was nine.

  "Let us be off," he said. He started for the Platz. "How uncertain lifeis. It seems that I did not come to Bleiberg carelessly in the way ofamusement, but to work out a part of my destiny." He arrested his stepsat the fountain and listened to the low, musical plash of the water,each drop of which fell with the light of a dazzling jewel. The coldstars shone from above. They were not farther away than she. A princess,a lonely and forlorn princess, hemmed in by the fabric of royal laws; aprincess yet possessing less liberty than the meanest of her peasants.Nothing belonged to her, not even her heart, which was merchandise, acommodity of exchange, turned over to the highest bidder. "Royalty," hemused, "is a political slave-dealer; the slaves are those who wear thecrowns."

  Once inside the palace, he became a man of the world, polished,nonchalant, handsome, and mildly curious. Immediately after the usherannounced his name, he crossed the chamber and presented his respects tothe prelate, who, he reasoned not unwisely, expected him. The friendlygreeting of the archbishop confirmed this reasoning.

  "I am delighted to see you, Monsieur," he said, showing his remarkablywell preserved teeth in the smile that followed his words. "A serviceto her Royal Highness is a service to me. Amuse yourself; you will findsome fine paintings in the west gallery."

  "I trust her Royal Highness is none the worse for the fright," Mauricereplied. He also remarked (mentally) that he did not see her Highnessanywhere. Several introductions followed, and he found himself chattingwith the British minister.

  "Carewe?" the Englishman repeated thoughtfully. "Are you not MauriceCarewe, of the American Legation in Vienna?"

  "Yes."

  "May I ask you a few questions?"

  "A thousand."

  "A fellow-countryman of mine has mysteriously disappeared. He leftVienna for Bleiberg, saying that if nothing was heard of him within aweek's time, to make inquiries about him. This request was left withthe British ambassador, who has just written me, adding that a personalfriend of the gentleman in question was in Bleiberg, and that thisfriend was Maurice Carewe, attache to the American Legation. Are youacquainted with Lord Fitzgerald, son of my late predecessor?"

  "I am indeed. I saw him in Vienna," said Maurice; "but he said nothingto me about coming here," which was true enough. "Is there any cause forapprehension?"

  "Only his request to be looked up within a certain time. The truth is,he was to have come here on a peculiar errand," with lowered voice. "Didyou ever hear of what is called 'Fitzgerald's folly?'"

  "Yes; few haven't heard of it." Maurice could never understand why heresisted the impulse to tell the whole affair. A dozen words to the manat his side, and the catastrophes, even embryonic, would be averted."You must tell me who most of these people are," he said, in order toget around a disagreeable subject. "I am a total stranger."

  "With pleasure. That tall, angular old man, in the long, gray frock,with decorations, is Marshal Kampf. You must meet him; he is thewittiest man in Bleiberg. The gentleman with the red beard is Mollendorfof the police. And beside him--yes, the little man with glasses and aloose cravat--is Count von Wallenstein, the minister of finance. Thatis the chancellor talking to the archbishop. Ah, Mr. Carewe, thesereceptions are fine comedies. The Marshal, the count and Mollendorfrepresent what is called the Auersperg faction under the rose. It is acontinual battle of eyes and tongues. One smiles at his enemy, knows himto be an enemy, yet dares not touch him.

  "Confidentially, this play has never had the like. To convict hisenemies of treason has been for ten years the labor of the chancellor;yet, though he knows them to be in correspondence with the duchess,he can find nothing on the strength of which to accuse openly. It is aconspiracy which has no papers. One can not take out a man's brains andsay, `Here is proof!' They talk, they walk on thin ice; but so fineis their craft that no incautious word ever falls, nor does any one gothrough the ice.

  "I have watched the play for ten years. I should not speak to you aboutit, only it is one of those things known to all here. Those gentlementalking to the chancellor's wife are the ministers from Austria,Prussia, France, and Servia. You will not find it as lively here as itis in Vienna. We meet merely to watch each other," with a short laugh."Good. The Marshal is approaching."

  They waited.

  "Marshal," said the minister, "this is Monsieur Carewe, who rescued herHighness's dog from the students."

  "Ah!" replied the Marshal, grimly. "Do not expect me to thank you,Monsieur; only day before yesterday the dog snapped at my legs. I amliving out of pure spite, to see that dog die before I do. Peace to hisashes--the sooner the better."

  The minister turned to Maurice and laughed.

  "Eh!" said the Marshal.

  "I prophesied that you would speak disparagingly of the dog."

  "What a reputation!" cried the old soldier. "I dare say that you havebeen telling Monsieur Carewe that I am a wit. Monsieur, never
attemptto be witty; they will put you down for a wit, and laugh at anything yousay, even when you put yourself out to speak the truth. If I possess anywit it is like young grapes--sour. You are connected in Vienna?"

  "With the American Legation."

  "Happy is the country," said the Marshal, "which is so far away thatEurope can find no excuse to meddle with it."

  "And even then Europe would not dare," Maurice replied, withimpertinence aforethought.

  "That is not a diplomatic speech."

  "It is true."

  "I like your frankness."

  "Let that go toward making amends for saving the dog."

  "Are all American diplomats so frank?" inquired the Marshal, with an airof feigned wonder.

  "Indeed, no," answered Maurice. "Just at present I am not in adiplomatic capacity; I need not look askance at truth. And there is noreason why we should not always be truthful."

  "You are wrong. It's truth's infrequency which makes her so charming andrefreshing. However, I thank you for your services to her Highness; yourservices to her dog I shall try to forget." And with this the Marshalmoved away, shaking his head as if he had inadvertently stumbled on anintricate problem.

  Not long after, Maurice was left to his own devices. He viewed thescene, silent and curious. Conversation was carried on in low tones,and laughter was infrequent and subdued. The women dressed withoutostentation. There were no fair arms and necks. Indeed, these belongwholly to youth, and youth was not a factor at the archbishop'sreceptions. Most of the men were old and bald, and only the wives of theFrench and British ministers were pretty or young. How different fromVienna, where youth and beauty abound! There were no music, no longtables of refreshments, no sparkling wines, no smoking-room, goodstories and better fellowship. There was an absence of the flash ofjewels and color which make court life attractive.

  There seemed to be hanging in the air some invisible power, the forecastof a tragedy, the beginning of an unknown end. And yet the prelatesmiled on enemies and friends alike. As Maurice observed that smile hegrew perplexed. It was a smile such as he had seen on the faces of menwho, about to die, felt the grim satisfaction of having an enemy forcompany. The king lay on his death bed, in all probabilities the thronetottered; yet the archbishop smiled.

  The princess did not know that her father was dying; this was a secretwhich had not yet been divulged to her. And this was the only societyshe knew. Small wonder that she was sad and lonely. To be young, and tofind one's self surrounded by the relics of youth; what an existence!She had never known the beauty of a glittering ballroom, felt the musicof a waltz mingle with the quick throbs of the heart, the pleasureof bestowing pleasure. She had never read the mute yet intelligentadmiration in a young man's eyes. And what young woman does not yearnfor the honest adoration of an honest man? Poor, lonely princess indeed.For, loving the world as he himself did, Maurice understood what wasslipping past her. Every moment the roots of love were sinking deeperinto his heart and twining firmly about, as a vine to a trellis.

  Is there a mental telegraphy, an indefinable substance which is affectedby the close proximity of a presence, which, while we do not see,we feel? Perhaps; at any rate, Maurice suddenly became aware of thatpeculiar yet now familiar agitation of his nerves. Instinctively heturned his head. In the doorway which separated the chamber from theconservatory stood her Royal Highness. She was dressed entirely inblack, which accentuated the whiteness--the Carrara marble whiteness--ofher exquisite skin. In the dark, shining coils swept back from her browlay the subtle snare of a red rose. There was no other color except onthe full lips. She saw Maurice, but she was so far away that the faintreflection of the rose on her cheeks was gone before he reached herside.

  "I was afraid," she said, lowering her eyes as she uttered the fib,"that you would not come after all."

  "It would have been impossible for me to stay away," he replied, hiseyes ardent. The princess looked away. "And may I ask after the healthof the dog?"

  "Thanks to you, Monsieur; he is getting along finely. Poor dog; hewill always limp. What is it that makes men inflict injuries on dumbcreatures?"

  "It is the beast that is envious of the brute."

  "And your hand?" with a glance sympathetic and inquiring.

  "My hand?"

  "Yes; did you not injure it?"

  "O!" He laughed and held out two gloved hands for her inspection. "Thatwas only a scratch. In fact, I do not remember which hand it was."

  "You are very modest. I should have made much of it."

  He could not translate this; so he said: "There was nothing injured butmy hat. I seem unfortunate in that direction."

  She smiled, recalling the incident in the archbishop's garden.

  "I shall keep the hat, however," he said, "as a souvenir."

  "Souvenirs, Monsieur," she replied carelessly, "and old age aresynonymous. You and I ought not to have any souvenirs. Have you seenthe picture gallery? No? Then I shall have the pleasure of showing itto you. Monseigneur is very proud of his gallery. He has a Leonardo, aBotticelli, a Murillo, and a Rembrandt. And they really show better inartificial light, which softens the effect of time."

  Half an hour was passed in the gallery. It was very pleasant tolisten to her voice as she described this and that painting, and thearchbishop's adventures in securing them. It did not seem possible tohim that she was a princess, perhaps destined to become a queen, so freewas she from the attributes of royalty, so natural and ingenuous. Hecaught each movement of her delicate head, each gesture of her hand, thecountless inflections of her voice, the lights which burned or died awayin the dark wine of her eyes.

  Poor devil! he mused, himself in mind; poor fool! He forgot the world,he forgot that he was a prisoner on parole, he forgot the strife betweenthe kingdom and the duchy, he forgot everything but the wild impossiblelove which filled his senses. He forgot even Prince Frederick ofCarnavia.

  In truth, the world was "a sorry scheme of things." It was grotesquewith inequalities. He had no right to love her; it was wrong to givein to the impulses of the heart, the natural, human impulses. A man canbeat down the stone walls of a fort, scale the impregnable heights ofa citadel, master the earth and the seas, but he can not surmountthe invisible barriers which he himself erected in the past ages--thequality of birth. Ah! if only she had been a peasant, unlettered andunknown, and free to be won! The tasks of Hercules were then but play tohim!

  Next she led him through the aisles of potted plants in theconservatory. She was very learned. She explained the origin of eachflower, its native soil, the time and manner of its transportation.Perhaps she was surprised at his lack of botanical knowledge, he askedso many questions. But it was not the flowers, it was her voice, whichurged him to these interrogations.

  They were on the point of re-entering the reception chamber, when thejingle of a spur on the mosaic floor caused them to turn. Maurice couldnot control the start; he had forgotten all about Beauvais. The soldierwore the regulation full dress of the cuirassiers, white trousers,tucked into patent leather half-boots, a gray jacket with gold lace anddecorations, red saber straps and a gray pelisse hanging from the leftshoulder. A splendid soldier, Maurice grudgingly admitted. What wouldthe Colonel say? The situation was humorous rather than otherwise, andMaurice smiled.

  "I was looking for your Highness," said Beauvais, as he came up, "topay my respects. I am leaving." His glance at Maurice was one of politecuriosity.

  "Colonel Beauvais," said the princess, coldly, "Monsieur Carewe, of theAmerican Legation in Vienna."

  She was not looking at the Colonel, but Maurice was, and the Colonel'stotal lack of surprise astonished him. The gaze of the two men plungedinto each other's eyes like flashes of lightning, but that was all.

  "I am charmed," said the Colonel, a half-ironical smile under hismustache. "Your name is not unfamiliar to me."

  "No?" said Maurice, with studied politeness.

  "No. It is connected with an exploit. Was it not you who faced thestudents this
afternoon and rescued her Highness's dog?"

  "Ah!" said Maurice, in a tone which implied that exploits were everyday events with him; "it was but a simple thing to do. The students werelike so many sheep."

  The princess elevated her brows; she felt an undercurrent of somethingwhich she did not understand. Indeed, she did not like the manner inwhich the two men eyed each other. Her glance passed from the stalwartsoldier to the slim, athletic form of the civilian.

  Conversation drifted aimlessly. Maurice had the malice to cast the bruntof it on the Colonel's shoulders. The princess, like a rose coming incontact with a chill air, drew within herself. She was cold, brief, andserenely indifferent. It was evident to Maurice that she had resumed herroyal mantle, and that she had shown him unusual consideration.

  Presently she raised her hand to her head, as sometimes one will dounconsciously, and the rose slipped from her hair and dropped to thefloor. Both men stooped. Maurice was quickest. With a bow he offered toreturn it.

  "You may keep it, Monsieur;" and she laughed.

  They joined her. Maurice knew why the Colonel laughed, and the Colonelknew why Maurice laughed; but neither could account for the laughter ofthe princess. That was her secret.

  All things come to an end, even diplomatic receptions. Soon the guestsbegan to leave.

  Said the princess to Maurice: "Your invitation is a standing one,Monsieur. To our friends there are no formalities. Good night; ah, yes,the English fashion," extending her hand, which Maurice barely touched."Good night, Monsieur," to Beauvais, with one of those nods which witheras effectually as frost.

  The Colonel bent gracefully.

  "Decidedly the Colonel is not in high favor tonight," thought Maurice;"a fact which is eminently satisfactory to me. Ah; he looks as if he hadsomething to say to me. Let us wait."

  "Monsieur, have you any other engagement this evening?" asked Beauvais,swinging his pelisse over both shoulders. "If not, my rooms are quitehandy. I have capital cigars and cognacs. Will you do me the honor? Ishould like to have you regale me with some Vienna gossip; it is so longsince I was there."

  "Thanks," said Maurice. "I shall be happy to smoke your cigars and drinkyour cognacs." He was in the mood for any adventure, comic or serious.He had an idea what the Colonel wanted to say to him, and he was notunwilling to listen. Besides, he had no fear; he now wore an amuletclose to his heart.

  "Come, then," said Beauvais, gaily; and the two made off. "It is awonderful game of chess, this world of ours."

  "Yes," said Maurice, "we do keep moving."

  "And every now and then one or the other of us steps out into the dark."

  "So we do." Maurice glanced from the corner of his eye and calculatedhis chances in a physical contest with the Colonel. The soldier wastaller and broader, but it was possible for him to make good thisdeficiency with quickness. But, above all, where and under whatcircumstances had he met this man before?

  "Here we are!" cried the Colonel, presently.

  He led Maurice into one of the handsome dwellings which faced the palaceconfines from the east. They passed up the stairs into a large room,Oriental in its appointments, and evidently the living room. The wallswere hung with the paraphernalia of a soldier, together with portraitsof opera singers, horses and celebrities of all classes. On the mantelMaurice saw, among other things, the glint of a revolver barrel. Hethought nothing of it then. It occurred to him as singular, however,that the room was free from central obstruction. Had the Colonelexpected to meet him at the archbishop's and anticipated his acceptanceof a possible invitation?

  Two chairs stood on either side of the grate. Between them was anoctagon on which were cigars, glasses and two cognac bottles. TheColonel's valet came in and lit the tapers in the chandelier and wokeup the fire.... Maurice was convinced that the Colonel had arranged theroom thus for his especial benefit, and he regretted his eagerness foradventure.

  "Francois," said Beauvais, throwing his shako and pelisse on the loungeand motioning to Maurice to do likewise, "let no one disturb us."

  The valet bowed and noiselessly retired. The two men sat down withoutspeaking. Beauvais passed the cigars. Maurice selected one, lit it, andblew rings at the Chinese mandarin which leered down at him from themantel.

  Several minutes marched into the past.

  "Maurice Carewe," said the Colonel, as one who mused.

  "It is very droll," said Maurice.

  "I can not say that it strikes me as droll, though I am not deficient inthe sense of humor."

  "'Twould be a pity if you were; you would miss so much. Through humorphilosophy reaches its culmination; humor is the foundation upon whichthe palace of reason erects itself. The two are inseparable."

  "How came you to be mixed up in this affair, which is no concern ofyours?"

  "That question is respectfully referred to Madame the duchess. I wasthrown into it, head foremost, bound hand and foot. It was a cleverstroke, though eventually it will embarrass her."

  "You may give me the certificates," said Beauvais.

  Maurice contemplated him serenely. "Impossible," with a fillip at theend of his cigar.

  "You refuse?" coldly.

  "I do not refuse. Simply, I haven't got them."

  "What!" The Colonel half sprang from his chair.

  His astonishment was genuine; Maurice saw that it was, and he reflected.Madame nor Fitzgerald had been dishonest with him.

  "No. Some one has forestalled me."

  "Are you lying to me?" menacingly.

  "And if I were?" coolly.

  Beauvais measured his antagonist, his eyes hard and contemptuous.

  "I repeat," said Maurice, "the situation is exceedingly droll. I am notafraid of you, not a bit. I am not a man to be intimidated. You mighthave inferred as much by my willingness to accompany you here. I amalone with you."

  "It is true that you are alone with me," in a voice, which, though itdid not alarm Maurice, caused him to rest less comfortably in his chair."In the first place, you know too much."

  "The knowledge was not of my own seeking. You will agree with me inthat." He took a swallow of the cognac. "However, since I am in theaffair--"

  "Well?"

  "I'll see it to its end."

  "Perhaps. We shall not cross purposes. When men plot as I do, they stopat nothing, not even at that infinitesimal minutiae called the spark oflife. It becomes a matter of self-preservation. I am in too deep water;I must keep on. I can not now turn back; the first shore is too faraway."

  "Even villainy has its inconveniences," Maurice observed.

  "What do you call villainy?"

  "An act in which a man accepts pay from one to ruin him for another.That is villainy, without a single saving grace, for you are a nativeneither of the kingdom nor the duchy."

  "That is plain language. You do not take into consideration thevillain's motives. There may be certain ends necessary as his life'sblood, which may be gained only by villainy, which, after all, is a hardname for political conspiracy."

  "Oh, I do not suppose you are worse than the majority. But it appealsto me as rather a small, unmanly game when your victims are a man who isdying and a girl who knows nothing of the world nor its treachery."

  An almost imperceptible smile passed over Beauvais's countenance. "Soher Highness has captured your sympathies?" with a shade of banter.

  "I admit that; she would capture the sympathies of any man who has agood pair of eyes in his head. But you do not seem to be in favor justat present," banter for banter.

  The Colonel studied the end of his cigar. "What is to be your stand inthis affair?"

  "Neutral as possible, for the simple reason that I have passed my wordto Madame; compulsorily, it is true; I shall abide by it. That is notto say that my sympathies are not wholly with the Osians. Madame is abrilliant woman, resourceful, initiative; she has as many sides as a cutdiamond; moreover, her cause is just. But I do not like the way she hasgone about the recovery of her throne. She has broken, or will break, afine h
onest heart; she tried to break another, but, not being abovethe pantry maid, the subject of her attention failed to appreciate theconsideration."

  Beauvais laughed at this. "You are very good company. Let me advise youto remain neutral. I wish you no harm. But if you change your mind andstand in my path--"

  "Well, and if I stood in your path?"

  "Pouf! you would vanish. O, I should not stoop to murder; that is avulgar word and practice. I should place a sword in your hand and giveyou the preference of a gentleman's death. I see nothing to prevent mefrom carrying out that this very night," with a nod toward the rapierswhich hung from the opposite wall.

  "You might be surprised at the result," said Maurice, stretching hislegs. "But at present I have no desire to quarrel with you, or to putyour skill to a test. Once Madame gives me back my word, why, I do notsay." He dipped his hand toward the ash-pan. "Human nature is full offreaks. A man will commit all sorts of crimes, yet stand by his word.Not that I have committed any crimes against the ten commandments."

  And so they fenced.

  "You picked up a rose to-night," said the Colonel.

  "So I did." Maurice blew a puff of smoke into the chimneyplace andwatched it sail upward and vanish. "Moreover, I propose to keep it. Haveyou any objections?"

  "Only this: her Highness intended the rose for me."

  "No, no, my friend," easily. "She would not have laughed had you pickedit up."

  "That is to say I lie?"

  "It is," laconically.

  There was no eluding a statement so bald as this. Beauvais sat upright."To call me a liar is a privilege which I extend to no man."

  "I did not call you a liar," undisturbed. "You wrote it down yourself,and I simply agreed to it. A duel? Well, I shall not fight you. Duelingis obsolete, and it never demonstrated the right or wrong of a cause.Since my part in this affair is one of neutrality, and since to gainthat knowledge was the object of your invitation, I will take my leaveof you."

  He rose and looked at the porcelain clock. As he did so his gaze restedon a small photograph standing at the side of it. He scanned it eagerly.It was a face of dark Castilian beauty. He turned and looked at Beauvaislong and earnestly. There was an answering gaze, an immobility ofcountenance. Maurice experienced a slight shock. The haze over hismemory was dispersed. The whole scene, in which this man loomed in theforeground, came back vividly.

  "Your stare, Monsieur, is annoying."

  "I shouldn't wonder," replied Maurice, leaning against the mantel.

  "Do me the honor to explain it."

  Maurice, never dreaming of the trap, fell head foremost into it. "I havetraveled a good deal," he began. "I have been--even to South America."

  "Ah!" This ejaculation expressed nothing. In fact, Beavais was smiling.There was a sinister something behind that smile, but Maurice wasunobservant.

  He went on. "Yes, to South America. I was there in a diplomaticcapacity, during one of the many revolutions. This country was theparadise of adventurers, the riff-raff of continental social outcasts.I distinctly remember the leader of this revolution. Up to the very lastday, Captain Urquijo was the confidential friend of the president whomhe was about to ruin. Through the president's beautiful daughter Urquijopicked up his threads and laid his powder train. The woman loved him aswomen sometimes love rascals. The president was to be assassinatedand his rival installed. Captain Urquijo was to be made General of thearmies.

  "One fine day the troops lined both sides of the plaza, the squarealso about which lay the government buildings. It was the event of somecelebration; I believe the throwing off of the yoke of Spain. Thecity flocked into the plaza. Strangely enough, those who weredisaffected--the soldiers under Urquijo--faced the loyal troops. Bya preconceived plan, the artillery was under the command of Urquijo.Suddenly this Captain's murderous and traitorous guns swept the plaza,mangling women and children. There was a flaw, however, in the stroke.Urquijo fled, a reward posted for his head--mind you, his head; they didnot want him alive.

  "The daughter expiates her foolish love in a convent. Her disgracesproved too much for her father, who blew out his brains. The successorsecured extradition papers in all the leading capitals of the world. Thestory was the sensation of the day; the newspapers made much of it. Allgovernments offered to assist the republic in hounding down this rascal.To whatever country he belonged, that country promised to disown him."

  Maurice took the photograph and cast it into Beauvais's lap. "Doyou recognize that face? Is it not a mute accusation to your warpedconscience?" The voice, changing from the monotone of narrative, grewstrong and contemptuous. "I know you. I recognized you the moment I laideyes on you, only I could not place you. Perhaps it was because itdid not seem possible that you would dare show your face to civilizedpeople. That photograph has done its work. By the Lord, but you're afine rascal! Not a bit changed. Have you forgotten your Spanish? As Godhears me, I shall hold you up."

  "You are a very young man," said Beauvais, rising. He was still smiling."Do you know why I asked you here? For this very reason. Madame divinedyou well. She said that you had a dash of what romanticists call valor,but that you never saw an inch before your nose. I knew that you wouldbe at the archbishop's; I knew that you would follow me to this room.Indeed, you might have suspected as much by the unusual arrangement ofthe fixtures of the room. I placed that photograph there, trusting toyour rather acute eyesight.

  "My memory seems to be better than yours. I knew you the first timeI saw you in Bleiborg. I was waiting only to see how much you hadremembered. I am not Colonel Beauvais; I am not Urquijo; I am the lastof a noble Austrian house, in exile, but on the eve of recall. Yourknowledge would, of course, be disastrous to my ambitions. That is whyI wanted to find out how much you know. You know too much, too much byhalf; and since you have walked into the lion's den, you shall neverleave it alive." With this he sprang to the wall and tore down therapiers, one of which he flung at Maurice's feet.

  Maurice felt the hand of paralysis on his nerves. He looked at therapier, then at Beauvais, dazed and incapable of movement. It had beenso sudden.

  "And when they find you in some alley in the lower town they will putit down to thieves. You are young and thoughtless," Beauvais went onbanteringly. "A little discretion and you might have gone with a wholeskin. We never forget a woman's face, and I knew that you would notforget hers. Don't trouble yourself about leaping through the windows;the fall will kill you less effectually than I shall."

  Maurice pulled himself together. The prospect of death brought backlucidity of mind. He at once saw the hopelessness of his position. Hecursed his lack of forethought. He became pale and furious, but hishead cleared. His life hung in the balance. He now translated Beauvais'ssmile.

  "So you wish to add another to the list?" he said.

  "To shield one crime, a man must commit many others. O, this will not bemurder. It will be a duel, in which you will have no chance. Pick up thesword, if only for form's sake." Beauvais caught the wrist thong of therapier between his teeth and rapidly divested himself of his jacket andsaber straps. With his back toward the door, he rolled up his sleeve anddiscovered a formidable forearm. He tried the blade and thrust severaltimes into the air.

  "What promise have I," said Maurice, "that you will not run me throughwhen I stoop for the sword?" This question did not serve.

  Beauvais laughed. "I never get angry in moments like these. I am givingyou a sword to ease my conscience. I do not assassinate boys."

  "But supposing I should kill you by chance?"

  Beauvais laughed again. "That is not possible."

  Maurice had faced death before, but with more confidence. The thoughtthat he had poked his head into a trap stirred him disagreeably. He sawthat Beauvais possessed a superabundance of confidence, and confidenceis half of any battle. He picked up the sword and held it between hisknees, while he threw off his coat and vest, and unbuttoned his collarand cuffs. What he had to sell would be sold as dearly as possible. Hetested the blade, to
ok in a deep breath, fell easily into position--andwaited.