The Puppet Crown

by Harold MacGrath

  CHAPTER XXI. A COURT FETE AT THE RED CHATEAU

  At eight o'clock of the following evening, that is to say, thenineteenth of September, Maurice mounted the Thalian pass and left thekingdom in the valley behind him. He was weary, dusty, lame and out ofhumor; besides, he had a new weight on his conscience. The night beforehe had taken the life of a man. True, this had happened before, butalways in warfare. He had killed in a moment of rage and chagrin apoor devil who was at most only a puppet. There was small credit in theperformance. However, the rascal would have suffered death in any event,his act being one of high treason.

  In the long ride he had made up his mind to lock away forever the sillydream, the tender, futile, silly dream. All men die with secrets lockedin their hearts; thus he, too, would die. His fancy leaped across thechasm of intervening years to the day of his death, and the thoughtwas a happy one! He smiled sadly, as young men smile when they pitythemselves. He knew that he would never get over it--in a day. Butto-morrow, or to-morrow's to-morrow..

  He took the pass's decline; the duchy spread away toward the south. Aquarter of a mile below him he saw the barrack and the customs officewhich belonged to Madame the duchess. The corporal inspected him andhis papers, spoke lowly to the customs inspector, who returned to hisoffice.

  "It is all right, Monsieur Carewe," said the corporal; "I ought torecognize the horse a mile away. You will arrive just in time."

  "Just in time for what?"

  "Ah, true. Her Highness gives a grand ball at the chateau to-night. Thecourt has arrived from Brunnstadt. Some will reside at the chateau, someat General Duckwitz's, others at the Countess Herzberg's."

  "Has the duchess arrived at last, then?" was the cynical inquiry.

  "She will arrive this evening," answered the corporal, grinning. "Apleasant journey to you."

  Maurice proceeded. "And that blockhead of an Englishman has not tumbledyet! The court here? A grand ball? What else can it mean but that Madameis celebrating a victory to come? If the archbishop has those consols,she will wage war; and this is the prelude." He jogged along. He hadaccomplished a third of the remaining distance, when he was challenged.The sentry came forward and scrutinized the rider.

  "O, it is Monsieur Carewe!" he cried in delighted tones. He touched hiscap and fell back into the shadows.

  A mile farther, and the great chateau, scintillating with lights, loomedup against the yellow sky. He felt a thrill of excitement. Doubtlessthere would be some bright passages before the night drew to a close. Hewould make furious love to the pretty countess; it would be something inthe way of relaxation. How would they greet him? What would be Madame'sfuture plans in regard to Fitzgerald? How would she get him out of theway, now that he had served her purpose? He laughed.

  "The future promises much," he said, half aloud. "I am really glad thatI came back."

  "Halt!"

  Maurice drew up. A sentry stepped out into the road.

  "O, it is Monsieur Carewe!" he cried. With a short laugh he disappeared.

  "Hang me," grumbled Maurice as he went on, "these fellows haveremarkable memories. I can't recollect any of them." He was mystified.

  Shortly he came upon the patrol. The leader ordered him to dismount, anorder be obeyed willingly, for he was longing to stand again. He shookhis legs, while the leader struck a match.

  "Why, it is Monsieur Carewe!" he cried. "Good! We are coming out to meetyou. This is a pleasure indeed."

  Maurice gazed keenly into the speaker's face, and to his surprise beheldthe baron whose arm he had broken a fortnight since. He climbed on hishorse again.

  "I am glad you deem it a pleasure, baron," he said dryly. "From what youimply, I should judge that you were expecting me."

  "Nothing less! Your departure from Bleiberg was known to us as early astwo o'clock this after-noon," answered the baron. "Permit us to escortyou to the chateau before the ladies see you. 'Tis a gala night; we areall in our best bib and tucker, as the English say. We believed at onetime that you were not going to honor us with a second visit. Nowto dress, both of us; at ten Madame the duchess arrives with GeneralDuckwitz and Colonel Mollendorf, who is no relation to the late ministerof police in Bleiberg."

  Underneath all this Maurice discerned a shade of mockery, and itdisturbed him.

  "First, I should like to know--" he began.

  "Later, later!" cried the baron. "The gates are but a dozen rods away.To your room first; the rest will follow."

  "The only clothes I have with me are on my back," said Maurice.

  "We shall arrange that. Your guard-hussar uniform has been reserved foryou, at the suggestion of the Colonel."

  And Maurice grew more and more disturbed.

  "Were they courteous to you on the road?"

  "Yes. But--"

  "Patience! Here we are at the rear gates."

  Maurice found it impossible to draw back; three troopers blocked therear, the baron and another rode at his sides, and four more were inadvance. The rear gates swung open, and the little troop passed intothe chateau confines. Maurice snatched a glimpse of the front lawnsand terraces. The trees and walls were hung with Chinese lanterns;gay uniforms and shimmering gowns flitted across his vision. Somewherewithin the chateau an orchestra was playing the overture from "Lindadi Chamounix." Indeed, with all these brave officers, old men in blackbedecked with ribbons, handsome women in a brilliant sparkle of jewels,it had the semblance of a gay court. It was altogether a different scenefrom that which was called the court of Bleiberg. There was no restrainthere; all was laughter, music, dancing, and wines. The women were young,the men were young; old age stood at one side and looked on. And thecharming Voiture-verse of a countess, Maurice was determined to seekher first of all. He vaguely wondered how Fitzgerald would carry himselfthroughout the ordeal.

  The troopers dismounted in the courtyard.

  "I'm a trifle too stiff to dance," Maurice innocently acknowledged.

  The baron laughed. "You will have to take luck with me in thestable-barrack; the chateau is filled. The armory has been turned into aballroom, and the guard out of it."

  "Lead on!" said Maurice.

  At the entrance to the guardroom, which occupied the left wing of thestables, stood a Lieutenant of the hussars.

  "This is Monsieur Carewe," said the baron, "who will occupy a corner inthe guardroom."

  "Ah! Monsieur Carewe," waving his hand cavalierly; "happy to see youagain."

  Maurice was growing weary of his name.

  "Enter," said the baron, opening the door.

  Maurice entered, but not without suspicion. However, he was in a hurryto mingle with the gay assembly in the chateau. But that body was doomedto proceed without the honor or the knowledge of his distinguishedpresence. Several troopers were lounging about. At the sight of thebaron they rose.

  "Messieurs," he said, "this is Monsieur Carewe, who was expected."

  "Glad to see you!" they sang out in chorus. They bowed ironically.

  Maurice gazed toward the door. As he did so four pairs of arms envelopedhim, and before he could offer the slightest resistance, he was boundhand and foot, a scarf was tied over his mouth, and he was pushed mostdisrespectfully into a chair. The baron's mouth was twisted out ofshape, and the troopers were smiling.

  "My faith! but this is the drollest affair I ever was in;" and the baronsat on the edge of the table and held his sides. "Monsieur Carewe! Ha!ha! You are a little too stiff to dance, eh? Shall I tender your excusesto the ladies? Ass! did you dream for a moment that such canaille asyou, might show your countenance to any save the scullery maids? Toostiff to dance! Ye gods, but that was rich! And you had the audacityto return here! I must go; the thing is killing me." He slipped off thetable, red in the face and choking. "The telegraph has its uses; it cameahead of you. We trembled for fear you would not come! Men, guard himas your lives, while I report to Madame, I dare say she will make itdroller in the telling."

  He stepped to the door, turned, looking into the prisoner's glaringeyes;
he doubled up again. "We are quits; I forgive you the brokenarm; this laugh will repay me. How Madame the countess will laugh! AndDuckwitz--the General will die of apoplexy! O, but you are a sorry ass;and how neatly we have clipped your ears!" And into the corridor hewent, still laughing, heartily and joyously, as if what had taken placewas one of the finest jests in the world.

  Maurice, white and furious, was positive that he never would laughagain. And the most painful thought was that his honesty had brought himto this pass--or, was it his curiosity?

  * * * * *

  Fitzgerald stood alone in the library. The music of a Strauss waltz cameindistinctly to him. He was troubled, and the speech of it lay in hiseyes. From time to time he drummed on the window sill, and followed withhis gaze the shadowy forms on the lawns. He was not a part of this fairyscene. He was out of place. So many young and beautiful women eyeing himcuriously confused him. In every glance he innocently read his disgrace.

  At Madame's request he had dressed himself in the uniform of aLieutenant-Colonel, which showed how deeply he was in the toils.Though it emphasized the elegant proportions of his figure, it satuncomfortably upon him. His vanity was not equal to his sense of guilt.The uniform was a livery of dishonor. He could not distort it into avirtue, try as he would. He lacked that cunning artifice which a man ofthe world possesses, that of winning over to the right a misdeed.

  And Carewe, on whose honesty he would have staked his life, Carewe hadbetrayed him. Why, he could not conceive. He saw how frail his houseof love was. A breath and it was gone. What he had until to-day deemedspecial favors were favors common to all these military dandies. They,too, could kiss Madame's hand, and he could do no more. And yet she heldhim. Did she love him? He could not tell. All he knew was that it wasimpossible not to love her. And to-night he witnessed the culminationof the woman beautiful, and it dazzled him, filled him with fears andoppressions.... To bind her hand and foot, to carry her by force to thealtar, if need; to call her his in spite of all.

  If she were playing with him, making a ball of his heart and her fancya cup, she knew not of the slumbering lion within. He himself was butdimly conscious of it. Princess? That did not matter. Since that morningthe veil had fallen from his eyes, but he had said nothing; he waswaiting for her to speak. Would she laugh at him? No, no! The knowledgethat had come to him had transformed wax into iron. Princess? She wasthe woman who had promised to be his wife.

  Only two candles burned on the mantel-piece. The library was a roomapart from the festivities. A soft, rose-colored darkness pervaded theroom. Presently a darker shadow tiptoed over the threshold. He turned,and the shadow approached. Madame's gray eyes, full of lambent fires,looked into his own.

  "I was seeking you," she said. The jewels in her hair threw a kind ofhalo above her head.

  "Have I the happiness to be necessary to you?" he asked.

  "You have not been enjoying yourself."

  "No, Madame; my conscience is, unhappily, too green." He turned to thewindow again for fear he would lose control of himself.

  "I have a confession to make to you," she said humbly. How broad hisshoulders were, was her thought.

  "It can not concern me," he replied.

  "How?"

  "There is only one confession which I care to hear. You made it once,though you are not willing to repeat it. But I have your word, Sylvia;I am content. Not all the world could make me believe that you wouldwillingly retract that word."

  Her name, for the first time coming from his lips, caused her to start.She sent him a penetrating glance, but it broke on a face immobile asmarble.

  "I do not recollect granting you permission to use my given name," shesaid.

  "O, that was before the world. But alone, alone as we are, you and I,it is different." The smile which accompanied these words was franknessitself, but it did not deceive Madame, who read his eyes too well. "Ah,but the crumbs you give this love of mine are so few!" "You are the onlyman in the world permitted to avow love to me. You have kissed my hand."

  "A privilege which seems extended to all."

  Madame colored, but there was not light enough for him to perceive it.

  "The hand you kissed is the hand of the woman; others kiss it to payhomage. Monsieur, forgive me for having deceived you, you were so easyto deceive." His eyes met hers steadily.

  "I am not Madame simply. I am Stephonia Sylvia Auersperg; the name Iassumed was my mother's." His lack of surprise alarmed her.

  "I am well aware of that," he said. "You are the duchess."

  Something in his tone warned her of a crisis, and she put forth hercunning to avert it. "And, you--you will not love me less?" her voicevibrant as the string of a viol. "I am a princess, but yet a woman. Inme there are two, the woman and the princess. The princess is proud andambitious; to gain her ends she stops at nothing. As a princess she maystoop to trickery and deceit, and step back untouched. But the woman-ah,well; for this fortnight I have been most of all the woman."

  "And all this to me-is a preamble to my dismissal, since my promiseremains unfulfilled? Madame, do not think that because fate has willedthat my promise should become void, that my conscience acquits me ofdishonor. For love of you I have thrown honor to the winds. But do Iregret it? No. For I am mad, and being mad, I am not capable of reason.I have broken all those ties which bind a man's respect to himself.I have burned all bridges, but I laugh at that. It is only with theknowledge that your love is mine that I can hold high my head.

  "As the princess in you is proud, so is the man in me. A princess? Thatis nothing; I love you. Were you the empress of all the Russias, themost unapproachable woman in the world, I should not hesitate to professmy love, to find some means of declaring it to you. I love you. To whatfurther depths can I fall to prove it?" Again he sought the window, andleaned heavily on the sill. He waited, as a man waits for an expectedblow.

  As she listened a delicious sensation swept through her heart, asensation elusive and intangible. She surrendered without question. Atthis moment the Eve in her evaded all questions. Here was a man. Themood which seized her was as novel as this love which asked nothing butlove, and the willingness to pay any price; and the desire to test bothmood and love to their full strength was irresistible. She was loved forherself alone; hitherto men had loved the woman less and the princessmore. To surrender to both mood and love, if only for an hour or a day,to see to what length this man would go at a sign from her.

  He was almost her equal in birth; his house was nearly if not quite asold and honored as her own; in his world he stood as high as she stoodin hers. She had never committed an indiscretion; passion had neverswayed her; until now she had lived by calculation. As she looked athim, she knew that in all her wide demesne no soldier could stand beforehim and look straight into his eyes. So deep and honest a book it was,so easily readable, that she must turn to its final pages. Love him? No.Be his wife? No. She recognized that it was the feline instinct to playwhich dominated her. Consequences? Therein lay the charm of it.

  "Patience, Monsieur," she said. "Did I promise to be your wife? DidI say that I loved you? _Eh, bien_, the woman, not the princess, madethose vows. I am mistress not only of my duchy, but of my heart." Sheceased and regarded him with watchful eyes. He did not turn. "Look atme, John!" The voice was of such winning sweetness that St. Anthonyhimself, had he heard it, must have turned. "Look at me and see if I ammore a princess than a woman."

  He wheeled swiftly. She was leaning toward him, her face was upturned.No jewel in her hair was half so lustrous as her eyes. From the threadedruddy ore of her hair rose a perfume like the fabulous myrrhs ofOlympus. Her lips were a cup of wine, and her eyes bade him drink,and the taste of that wine haunted him as long as he lived. He made asthough to drain the cup, but Madame pushed down his arms, uttered a low,puzzled laugh, and vanished from the room. He was lost! He knew it; yethe did not care. He threw out his arms, dropped them, and settled hisshoulders. A smile, a warm, contented smile, came into his face anddwelt there. For ano
ther such kiss he would have bartered eternity.

  And Madame? Who can say?