“Ah, you are still a woman,” he said, smiling at her pretty vanity. “Nothing could impress me more pleasantly.”
She stepped carelessly and impulsively upon the royal platform, leaned against the arm of the throne, and with the charming blush of consciousness turned to him with the quickness of a guilty conscience, eager to hear his praise but fearful lest he secretly condemned her conceit. His eyes were burning with the admiration that knows no defining, and his breath came quick and sharp through parted lips. He involuntarily placed a foot upon the bottom step as if to spring to her side.
“You must not come up here!” she cried, shrinking back, her hands extended in fluttering remonstrance. “I cannot permit that, at all!”
“I beg your pardon,” he cried, “That is all the humble plebeian can say. That I may be more completely under this fairy spell, pray cast about yourself the robe of rank and take up the sceptre. Perhaps I may fall upon my face.”
“And hurt your head all over again,” she said, laughing nervously. She hesitated for a moment, a perplexed frown crossing her brow. Then she jerked a rich robe from the back of the throne and placed it about her shoulders as only a woman can. Taking up the scepter she stood before the great chair, and, with a smile on her lips, held it above his head, saying softly:
“Graustark welcomes the American prince.”
He sank to his knee before the real princess, kissed the hem of her robe and arose with face pallid. The chasm was now endless in its immensity. The princess gingerly seated herself on the throne, placed her elbow on the broad arm, her white chin in her hand, and tranquilly surveyed the voiceless American prince.
“You have not said, ‘Thank you,’” she said, finally, her eyes wavering beneath his steady gaze.
“I am only thinking how easy it would be to cross the gulf that lies between us. With two movements of my body I can place it before you, with a third I can be sitting at your side. It is not so difficult after all,” he said, hungrily eyeing the broad chair.
“No man, unless a prince, ever sat upon this throne,” she said.
“You have called me a prince.”
“Oh, I jested,” she cried quickly, comprehending his intention. “I forbid you!”
The command came too late, for he was beside her on the throne of Graustark! She sat perfectly rigid for a moment, intense fear in her eyes.
“Do you know what you have done?” she whispered, miserably.
“Usurped the throne,” he replied, assuming an ease and complacence he did not feel. Truly he was guilty of unprecedented presumption.
“You have desecrated—desecrated! Do you hear?” she went on, paying no attention to his remark.
“Peccavi. Ah, Your Highness, I delight in my sin. For once I am a power; I speak from the throne. You will not have me abdicate in the zenith of my glory? Be kind, most gracious one. Besides, did you not once cry because your uncle refused to sit with you? Had he been the possessor of a dangerous wound, as I am, and had he found himself so weak that he could stand no longer, I am sure he would have done as I have—sat down in preference to falling limp at your feet. You do not know how badly I am wounded,” he pleaded, with the subtlest double meaning.
“Why should you wound me?” she asked, plaintively. “You have no right to treat the throne I occupy as a subject for pranks and indignities. I did not believe you could be so—forgetful.” There was a proud and pitiful resentment in her voice that brought him to his senses at once. He had defiled her throne. In shame and humiliation he cried:
“I am a fool—an ingrate, You have been too gentle with me. For this despicable act of mine I cannot ask pardon and it would be beneath you to grant it. I have hurt you, and I can never atone. I forgot how sacred is your throne. Let me depart in disgrace.” He stood erect as if to forsake the throne he had stained, but she, swayed by a complete reversal of feeling, timidly, pleadingly touched his arm.
“Stay! It is my throne, after all. I shall divide it, as well as the sin, with you. Sit down again, I beg of you. For a brief spell I would rule beside a man who is fit to be a king but who is a desecrator. There can be no harm and no one shall be the wiser for this sentimental departure from royal custom. We are children, anyhow—mere children.”
With an exclamation of delight, he resumed his position beside her. His hand trembled as he took up hers to carry it to his lips. “We are children—playing with fire,” he murmured, this ingrate, this fool!
She allowed her hand to lie limply in his, her head sinking to the back of the chair. When her hand was near his feverish lips, cool and white and trusting, he checked the upward progress. Slowly he raised his eyes to study her face, finding that hers were closed, the semblance of a smile touching her lips as if they were in a happy dream.
The lips! The lips! The lips! The madness of love rushed into his heart; the expectant hand was forgotten; his every hope and every desire measured themselves against his discretion as he looked upon the tempting face. Could he kiss those lips but once his life would be complete.
With a start she opened her eyes, doubtless at the command of the masterful ones above. The eyes of blue met the eyes of gray in a short, sharp struggle, and the blue went down in surrender. His lips triumphed slowly, drawing closer and closer as if restrained and impelled by the same emotion—arrogant love.
“Open your eyes, darling,” he whispered, and she obeyed. Then their lips met—her first kiss of love!
She trembled from head to foot, perfectly powerless beneath the spell. Again he kissed a princess on her throne. At this second kiss her eyes grew wide with terror, and she sprang from his side, standing before him like one bereft of reason.
“Oh, my God! What have you done?” she wailed. He staggered to his feet, dizzy with joy.
“Ha!” cried a gruff voice from the doorway, and the guilty ones whirled to look upon the witness to their blissful crime. Inside the curtains, with carbine leveled at the head of the American, stood Allode, the guard, his face distorted by rage. The Princess screamed and leaped between Lorry and the threatening carbine.
“Allode!” she cried, in frantic terror.
He angrily cried out something in his native tongue and she breathlessly, imploringly replied. Lorry did not understand their words, but he knew that she had saved him from death at the hand of her loyal, erring guard. Allode lowered his gun, bowed low and turned his back upon the throne.
“He—he would have killed you,” she said, tremulously, her face the picture of combined agony and relief. She remembered the blighting kisses and then the averted disaster.
“You—what did you say to him?” he asked.
“I—I—oh, I will not tell you,” she cried.
“I beg of you!”
“I told him that he was to—was to put down his gun.”
“I know that, but why?” he persisted.
“I—Ach, to save you, stupid!”
“How did you explain the—the—” He hesitated, generously.
“I told him that I had not been—that I had not been—”
“Say it!”
“That I had not been—offended!” she gasped, standing stiff and straight, with eyes glued upon the obedient guard.
“You were not?” he rapturously cried.
“I said it only to save your life!” she cried, turning fiercely upon him. “I shall never forgive you! Never! You must go—you must leave here at once! Do you hear? I cannot have you near me now—I cannot see you again. Ach, God! What have I given you the right to say of me?”
“Stop! It is as sacred as—”
“Yes, yes—I understand! I trust you, but you must go! Find some excuse to give your friend and go today! Go now!” she cried, intensely, first putting her hands to her temples, then to her eyes.
Without waiting to hear his remonstrance, if indeed he had the power to utter one, she glided swiftly toward the curtains, allowing him to follow at his will. Dazed and crushed at the sudden end to everything, he dragged his f
ootsteps after. At the door she spoke in low, imperative tones to the motionless Allode, who dropped to his knees and muttered a reverential response. As Lorry passed beneath the hand that held the curtain aside, he glanced at the face of the man who had been witness to their weakness. He was looking straight ahead, and, from his expression, it could not have been detected that he knew there was a man on earth save himself. In the hall she turned to him, her face cold and pale.
“I have faithful guards about me now. Allode has said he did not see you in the throne room. He will die before he will say otherwise,” she said, her lips trembling with shame.
“By your command?”
“By my request. I do not command my men to lie.”
Side by side they passed down the quiet hall, silent, thoughtful, the strain of death upon their hearts.
“I shall obey the only command you have given, then. This day I leave the castle. You will let me come again—to see you? There can be no harm—”
“No! You must leave Graustark at once!” she interrupted, the tones low.
“I refuse to go! I shall remain in Edelweiss, near you, just so long as I feel that I may be of service to you.”
“I cannot drive you out as I would a thief,” she said, pointedly.
At the top of the broad staircase he held out his hand and murmured:
“Good-by, your Highness!”
“Good-by,” she said, simply, placing her hand in his after a moment’s hesitation. Then she left him.
An hour later the two Americans, one strangely subdued, the other curious, excited and impatient, stood before the castle waiting for the carriage. Count Halfont was with them, begging them to remain, as he could see no reason for the sudden leave-taking. Lorry assured him that they had trespassed long enough on the Court’s hospitality, and that he would feel much more comfortable at the hotel. Anguish looked narrowly at his friend’s face, but said nothing. He was beginning to understand.
“Let us walk to the gates. The Count will oblige us by instructing the coachman to follow,” said Lorry, eager to be off.
“Allow me to join you in the walk, gentlemen,” said Count Caspar, immediately instructing a lackey to send the carriage after them. He and Lorry walked on together, Anguish lingering behind, having caught sight of the Countess Dagmar. That charming and unconventional piece of nobility promptly followed the prime minister’s example and escorted the remaining guest to the gate.
Far down the walk Lorry turned for a last glance at the castle from which love had banished him. Yetive was standing on the balcony, looking not at the monastery but at the exile.
She remained there long after the carriage had passed her gates, bearing the Americans swiftly over the white Castle Avenue, and there were tears in her eyes.
CHAPTER XV
THE BETROTHAL
Harry Anguish was a discreet, forbearing fellow. He did not demand a full explanation of his friend. There was enough natural wit in his merry head to see that in connection with their departure there was something that would not admit of discussion, even by confidential friends. He shrewdly formed his own conclusions and held his peace. Nor did he betray surprise when Lorry informed him, in answer to a question, that he intended to remain in Edelweiss for some time, adding that he could not expect him to do likewise if he preferred to return to Paris. But Mr. Anguish preferred to remain in Edelweiss. Had not the Countess Dagmar told him she would always be happy to see him at the castle, and had he any reason to renounce its walls? And so it was that they tarried together.
Lorry loitered aimlessly, moodily about the town, spending gloomy days and wretched nights. He reasoned that it were wisdom to fly, but a force stronger than reason held him in Edelweiss. He ventured several times to the castle wall, but turned back resolutely. There was hope in his breast that she might send for him; there was, at least, the possibility of seeing her should she ride through the streets. Anguish, on the other hand, visited the castle daily. He spent hours with the pretty Countess, undismayed by the noble moths that fluttered about her flame, and he was ever persistent, light-hearted and gay. He brought to Lorry’s ears all that he could learn of the Princess. Several times he had seen her and had spoken with her. She inquired casually after the health of his friend, but nothing more. From the Countess he ascertained that Her Highness was sleeping soundly, eating heartily and apparently enjoying the best of spirits—information decidedly irritating to the one who received it second-hand.
They had been at the hotel for over a week when one afternoon Anguish rushed into the room, out of breath and scarcely able to control his excitement.
“What’s up?” cried Lorry. “Has the Countess sacked you?”
“Not on your coin! But something is up, and I am its discoverer. You remember what you said about suspecting Prince Gabriel of being the chief rascal in the abduction job? Well, my boy, I am now willing to stake my life that he is the man.” The news-bearer sat down on the edge of the bed and drew the first long breath he had had in a long time.
“Why do you think so?” demanded the other, all interest.
“Heard him talking just now. I didn’t know who the fellow was at first, but he was talking to some strange-looking soldiers as I passed. As soon as I heard his voice I knew he was Michael. There isn’t any question about it, Lorry. I am positive. He did not observe me, but I suppose by this time he has learned that his little job was frustrated by two Americans who heard the plot near the castle gates. He has nerve to come here, hasn’t he?”
“If he is guilty, yes. Still, he may feel secure because he is a powerful prince and able to resent any accusation with a show of force. Where is he now?”
“I left him there. Come on! We’ll go down and you can see for yourself.”
They hurried to the corridor, which was swarming with men in strange uniforms. There were a few Graustark officers, but the majority of the buzzing conversationalists were dressed in a rich gray uniform.
“Who are these strangers?” asked Lorry.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Prince Lorenz is also here, and these gray fellows are a part of his retinue. Lorenz has gone on to the castle. What’s the matter?” Lorry had turned pale and was reaching for the wall with unsteady hand.
“He has come for his answer,” he said, slowly, painfully.
“That’s right! I hadn’t thought of that. I hope she turns him down. But there’s Gabriel over yonder. See those three fellows in blue? The middle one is the prince.”
Near the door leading to the piazza stood several men, gray and blue. The man designated as Gabriel was in the center, talking gaily and somewhat loudly, puffing at a cigarette between sentences. He was not tall, but he was strongly and compactly built. His hair and cropped beard were as black as coal, his eyes wide, black and lined, It was a pleasure-worn face, and Lorry shuddered as he thought of the Princess in the power of this evil-looking wretch. They leisurely made their way to a spot near the talkers. There was no mistaking the voice. Prince Gabriel and Michael were one and the same, beyond all doubt. But how to prove it to the satisfaction of others?
Skepticism would follow any attempt to proclaim the prince guilty because his voice sounded like that of the chief conspirator. In a matter where whole nations were concerned the gravest importance would be attached to the accusation of a ruler. Satisfying themselves as to the identity of that peculiar voice, the friends passed through to the piazza.
“What’s to be done?” asked Anguish, boiling over with excitement.
“We must go to Baron Dangloss, tell him of our positive discovery, and then consult Count Halfont.”
“And Her Royal Highness, of course.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Lorry, flicking the ashes from his cigar with a finger that was now steady. He was serving the Princess again.
They hurried to the Tower, and were soon in the presence of the fierce little chief of police. Lorry had spent many hours with Dangloss of late, and they had become friends. His grim old face
blanched perceptibly as he heard the assertions of the young men. He shook his head despairingly.
“It may be as you say, gentlemen, but I am afraid we can do nothing. To charge a prince with such a crime and on such evidence would be madness. I am of your belief, however. Prince Gabriel is the man I have suspected. Now I am convinced. Before we can do anything in such a grave matter it will be necessary to consult the Princess and her ministers. In case we conclude to accuse the Prince of Dawsbergen, it must be after careful and judicious thought. There are many things to consider, gentlemen. For my part, I would be overjoyed to seize the villain and to serve him as we did his tools, but my hands are tied, you see. I would suggest that you go at once to the Princess and Count Halfont, tell them of your suspicions—”
“Not suspicions, my lord,—facts,” interrupted Anguish.
“Well, then, facts, and ascertain how they feel about taking up a proposition that may mean war. May I ask you to come at once to me with their answer. It is possible that they will call for a consultation with the ministers, nobles and high officers. Still, I fear they will be unwilling to risk much on the rather flimsy proof you can give. Gabriel is powerful and we do not seek a war with him. There is another foe for whom we are quietly whetting our swords.” The significant remark caused both listeners to prick up their ears. But he disappointed, their curiosity, and they were left to speculate as to whom the other foe might be. Did he mean that Graustark was secretly, slyly making ready to resist, treaty or no treaty?
It required prolonged urging on the part of Anguish to persuade Lorry to accompany him to the castle, but, when once determined to go before the Princess with their tale, he was eager, impatient to cross the distance that lay between the hotel and the forbidden grounds. They walked rapidly down Castle Avenue and were soon at the gates. The guard knew them, and they were admitted without a word. As they hurried through the park they saw many strange men in gray, gaudy uniforms, and it occurred to Lorry that their visit, no matter how great its importance, was ill-timed. Prince Lorenz was holding the center of the stage.
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 35