“She is Miss Calhoun, an American going to be a guest at the castle,”—not the princess, but Miss Calhoun. Once more the memory of the clear gray eyes leaped into life; again he saw her asleep in the coach on the road from Ganlook; again he recalled the fervent throbs his guilty heart had felt as he looked upon this fair creature, at one time the supposed treasure of another man. Now she was Miss Calhoun, and her gray eyes, her entrancing smile, her wondrous vivacity were not for one man alone. It was marvelous what a change this sudden realization wrought in the view ahead of him. The whole situation seemed to be transformed into something more desirable than ever before. His face cleared, his spirits leaped higher and higher with the buoyancy of fresh relief, his confidence in himself crept back into existence. And all because the fair deceiver, the slim girl with the brave gray eyes who had drawn him into a net, was not a princess!
Something told him that she had not drawn him into his present position with any desire to injure or with the slightest sense of malice. To her it had been a merry jest, a pleasant comedy. Underneath all he saw the goodness of her motive in taking him from the old life, and putting him into his present position of trust. He had helped her, and she was ready to help him to the limit of her power. His position in Edelweiss was clearly enough defined. The more he thought of it, the more justifiable it seemed as viewed from her point of observation. How long she hoped to keep him in the dark he could not tell. The outcome would be entertaining; her efforts to deceive. If she kept them up, would be amusing. Altogether, he was ready, with the leisure and joy of youth, to await developments and to enjoy the comedy from a point of view which she could not at once suspect.
His subtle efforts to draw Haddan into a discussion of the princess and her household resulted unsatisfactorily. The young guard was annoyingly unresponsive. He had his secret instructions and could not be inveigled into betraying himself. Baldos went to sleep that night with his mind confused by doubts. His talk with Haddan had left him quite undecided as to the value of old Franz’s warning. Either Franz was mistaken, or Haddan was a most skilful dissembler. It struck him as utterly beyond the pale of reason that the entire castle guard should have been enlisted in the scheme to deceive him. When sleep came, he was contenting himself with the thought that morning doubtless would give him clearer insight to the situation.
Both he and Beverly Calhoun were ignorant of the true conditions that attached themselves to the new recruit. Baron Dangloss alone knew that Haddan was a trusted agent of the secret service, with instructions to shadow the newcomer day and night. That there was a mystery surrounding the character of Baldos, the goat-hunter, Dangloss did not question for an instant: and in spite of the instructions received at the outset, he was using all his skill to unravel it.
Baldos was not summoned to the castle until noon. His serene indifference to the outcome of the visit was calculated to deceive the friendly but watchful Haddan. Dressed carefully in the close-fitting uniform of the royal guard, taller than most of his fellows, handsomer by far than any, he was the most noticeable figure in and about the barracks. Haddan coached him in the way he was to approach the princess, Baldos listening with exaggerated intentness and with deep regard for detail.
Beverly was in the small audience-room off the main reception hall when he was ushered into her presence. The servants and ladies-in-waiting disappeared at a signal from her. She arose to greet him and he knelt to kiss her hand. For a moment her tongue was bound. The keen eyes of the new guard had looked into hers with a directness that seemed to penetrate her brain. That this scene was to be one of the most interesting in the little comedy was proved by the fact that two eager young women were hidden behind a heavy curtain in a corner of the room. The Princess Yetive and the Countess Dagmar were there to enjoy Beverly’s first hour of authority, and she was aware of their presence.
“Have they told you that you are to act as my especial guard and escort?” she asked, with a queer flutter in her voice. Somehow this tall fellow with the broad shoulders was not the same as the ragged goat-hunter she had known at first.
“No, your highness,” said he, easily. “I have come for instructions. It pleases me to know that I am to have a place of honor and trust such as this.”
“General Marlanx has told me that a vacancy exists, and I have selected you to fill it. The compensation will be attended to by the proper persons, and your duties will be explained to you by one of the officers. This afternoon, I believe, you are to accompany me on my visit to the fortress, which I am to inspect.”
“Very well, your highness,” he respectfully said. He was thinking of Miss Calhoun, an American girl, although he called her “your highness.” “May I be permitted to ask for instructions that can come only from your highness?”
“Certainly,” she replied. His manner was more deferential than she had ever known it to be, but he threw a bomb into her fine composure with his next remark. He addressed her in the Graustark language:
“Is it your desire that I shall continue to address you in English?”
Beverly’s face turned a bit red and her eyes wavered. By a wonderful effort she retained her self-control, stammering ever so faintly when she said in English:
“I wish you would speak English,” unwittingly giving answer to his question. “I shall insist upon that. Your English is too good to be spoiled.”
Then he made a bold test, his first having failed. He spoke once more in the native tongue, this time softly and earnestly.
“As you wish, your highness, but I think it is a most ridiculous practice,” he said, and his heart lost none of its courage. Beverly looked at him almost pathetically. She knew that behind the curtain two young women were enjoying her discomfiture. Something told her that they were stifling their mirth with dainty lace-bordered handkerchiefs.
“That will do, sir,” she managed to say firmly. “It’s very nice of you, but after this pay your homage in English,” she went on, taking a long chance on his remark. It must have been complimentary, she reasoned. As for Baldos, the faintest sign of a smile touched his lips and his eyes were twinkling as he bent his head quickly. Franz was right; she did not know a word of the Graustark language.
“I have entered the service for six months, your highness,” he said in English. “You have honored me, and I give my heart as well as my arm to your cause.”
Beverly, breathing easier, was properly impressed by this promise of fealty. She was looking with pride upon the figure of her stalwart protege.
“I hope you have destroyed that horrid black patch,” she said.
“It has gone to keep company with other devoted but deserted friends,” he said, a tinge of bitterness in his voice.
“The uniform is vastly becoming,” she went on, realizing helplessly that she was providing intense amusement for the unseen auditors.
“It shames the rags in which you found me.”
“I shall never forget them, Baldos,” she said, with a strange earnestness in her voice.
“May I presume to inquire after the health of your good Aunt Fanny and—although I did not see him—your Uncle Sam?” he asked, with a face as straight and sincere as that of a judge. Beverly swallowed suddenly and checked a laugh with some difficulty.
“Aunt Fanny is never ill. Some day I shall tell you more of Uncle Sam. It will interest you.”
“Another question, if it please your highness. Do you expect to return to America soon?”
This was the unexpected, but she met it with admirable composure.
“It depends upon the time when Prince Dantan resumes the throne in Dawsbergen,” she said.
“And that day may never come,” said he, such mocking regret in his voice that she looked upon him with newer interest.
“Why, I really believe you want to go to America,” she cried.
The eyes of Baldos had been furtively drawn to the curtain more than once during the last few minutes. An occasional movement of the long oriental hangings attracted his
attention. It dawned upon him that the little play was being overheard, whether by spies or conspirators he knew not. Resentment sprang up in his breast and gave birth to a daring that was as spectacular as it was confounding. With long, noiseless strides, he reached the door before Beverly could interpose. She half started from her chair, her eyes wide with dismay, her lips parted, but his hand was already clutching the curtain. He drew it aside relentlessly.
Two startled women stood exposed to view, smiles dying on their amazed faces. Their backs were against the closed door and two hands clutching handkerchiefs dropped from a most significant altitude. One of them flashed an imperious glance at the bold discoverer, and he knew he was looking upon the real princess of Graustark. He did not lose his composure. Without a tremor he turned to the American girl.
“Your highness,” he said clearly, coolly, “I fear we have spies and eavesdroppers here. Is your court made up of—I should say, they are doubtless a pair of curious ladies-in-waiting. Shall I begin my service, your highness, by escorting them to yonder door?”
CHAPTER XIII
THE THREE PRINCES
Beverly gasped. The countess stared blankly at the new guard. Yetive flushed deeply, bit her lip in hopeless chagrin, and dropped her eyes. A pretty turn, indeed, the play had taken! Not a word was uttered for a full half-minute; nor did the guilty witnesses venture forth from their retreat. Baldos stood tall and impassive, holding the curtain aside. At last the shadow of a smile crept into the face of the princess, but her tones were full of deep humility when she spoke.
“We crave permission to retire, your highness,” she said, and there was virtuous appeal in her eyes. “I pray forgiveness for this indiscretion and implore you to be lenient with two miserable creatures who love you so well that they forget their dignity.”
“I am amazed and shocked,” was all that Beverly could say. “You may go, but return to me within an hour. I will then hear what you have to say.”
Slowly, even humbly, the ruler of Graustark and her cousin passed beneath the upraised arm of the new guard. He opened a door on the opposite side of the room, and they went out, to all appearance thoroughly crestfallen. The steady features of the guard did not relax for the fraction of a second, but his heart was thumping disgracefully.
“Come here, Baldos,” commanded Beverly, a bit pale, but recovering her wits with admirable promptness. “This is a matter which I shall dispose of privately. It is to go no further, you are to understand.”
“Yes, your highness.”
“You may go now. Colonel Quinnox will explain everything,” she said hurriedly. She was eager to be rid of him. As he turned away she observed a faint but peculiar smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Come here, sir!” she exclaimed hotly. He paused, his face as sombre as an owl’s. “What do you mean by laughing like that?” she demanded. He caught the fierce note in her voice, but gave it the proper interpretation.
“Laughing, your highness?” he said in deep surprise. “You must be mistaken. I am sure that I could not have laughed in the presence of a princess.”
“It must have been a—a shadow, then,” she retracted, somewhat startled by his rejoinder. “Very well, then; you are dismissed.”
As he was about to open the door through which he had entered the room, it swung wide and Count Marlanx strode in. Baldos paused irresolutely, and then proceeded on his way without paying the slightest attention to the commander of the army. Marlanx came to an amazed stop and his face flamed with resentment.
“Halt, sir!” he exclaimed harshly. “Don’t you know enough to salute me, sir?”
Baldos turned instantly, his figure straightening like a flash. His eyes met those of the Iron Count and did not waver, although his face went white with passion.
“And who are you, sir?” he asked in cold, steely tones. The count almost reeled.
“Your superior officer—that should be enough for you!” he half hissed with deadly levelness.
“Oh, then I see no reason why I should not salute you, sir,” said Baldos, with one of his rare smiles. He saluted his superior officer a shade too elaborately and turned away. Marlanx’s eyes glistened.
“Stop! Have I said you could go, sir? I have a bit of advice to—”
“My command to go comes from your superior, sir,” said Baldos, with irritating blandness.
“Be patient, general,” cried Beverly in deep distress. “He does not know any better. I will stand sponsor for him.” And Baldos went away with a light step, his blood singing, his devil-may-care heart satisfied. The look in her eyes was very sustaining. As he left the castle he said aloud to himself with an easy disregard of the consequences:
“Well, it seems that I am to be associated with the devil as well as with angels. Heavens! June is a glorious month.”
“Now, you promised you’d be nice to him, General Marlanx,” cried Beverly the instant Baldos was out of the room. “He’s new at this sort of thing, you know, and besides, you didn’t address him very politely for an utter stranger.”
“The insolent dog,” snarled Marlanx, his self-control returning slowly. “He shall be taught well and thoroughly, never fear, Miss Calhoun. There is a way to train such recruits as he, and they never forget what they have learned.”
“Oh, please don’t be harsh with him,” she pleaded. The smile of the Iron Count was not at all reassuring. “I know he will be sorry for what he has done, and you—”
“I am quite sure he will be sorry,” said he, with a most agreeable bow in submission to her appeal.
“Do you want to see Mr. Lorry?” she asked quickly. “I will send for him, general.” She was at the door, impatient to be with the banished culprits.
“My business with Mr. Lorry can wait,” he began, with a smile meant to be inviting, but which did not impress her at all pleasantly.
“Well, anyway, I’ll tell him you’re here,” she said, her hand on the door-knob. “Will you wait here? Good-bye!” And then she was racing off through the long halls and up broad stair-cases toward the boudoir of the princess. There is no telling how long the ruffled count remained in the ante-room, for the excited Beverly forgot to tell Lorry that he was there.
There were half a dozen people in the room when Beverly entered eagerly. She was panting with excitement. Of all the rooms in the grim old castle, the boudoir of the princess was the most famously attractive. It was really her home, the exquisite abiding place of an exquisite creature. To lounge on her divans, to loll in the chairs, to glide through her priceless rugs was the acme of indolent pleasure. Few were they who enjoyed the privileges of “Little Heaven,” as Harry Anguish had christened it on one memorable night, long before the princess was Mrs. Grenfall Lorry.
“Now, how do you feel?” cried the flushed American girl, pausing in the door to point an impressive finger at the princess, who was lying back in a huge chair, the picture of distress and annoyance.
“I shall never be able to look that man in the face again,” came dolefully from Yetive’s humbled lips. Dagmar was all smiles and in the fittest of humors. She was the kind of a culprit who loves the punishment because of the crime.
“Wasn’t it ridiculous, and wasn’t it just too lovely?” she cried.
“It was extremely theatrical,” agreed Beverly, seating herself on the arm of Yetive’s chair and throwing a warm arm around her neck. “Have you all heard about it?” she demanded, naively, turning to the others, who unquestionably had had a jumbled account of the performance.
“You got just what you deserved,” said Lorry, who was immensely amused.
“I wonder what your august vagabond thinks of his princess and her ladies-in-hiding?” mused Harry Anguish. The Count and Countess Halfont were smiling in spite of the assault upon the dignity of the court.
“I’d give anything to know what he really thinks,” said the real princess. “Oh, Beverly, wasn’t it awful? And how he marched us out of that room!”
“I thought it was great,�
�� said Beverly, her eyes glowing. “Wasn’t it splendid? And isn’t he good looking?”
“He is good looking, I imagine, but I am no judge, dear. It was utterly impossible for me to look at his face,” lamented the princess.
“What are you going to do with us?” asked Dagmar penitently.
“You are to spend the remainder of your life in a dungeon with Baldos as guard,” decided Miss Calhoun.
“Beverly, dear, that man is no ordinary person,” said the princess, quite positively.
“Of course he isn’t. He’s a tall, dark mystery.”
“I observed him as he crossed the terrace this morning,” said Lorry. “He’s a striking sort of chap, and I’ll bet my head he’s not what he claims to be.”
“He claims to be a fugitive, you must remember,” said Beverly, in his defense.
“I mean that he is no common malefactor or whatever it may be. Who and what do you suppose he is? I confess that I’m interested in the fellow and he looks as though one might like him without half trying. Why haven’t you dug up his past history, Beverly? You are so keen about him.”
“He positively refuses to let me dig,” explained Beverly. “I tried, you know, but he—he—well, he squelched me.”
“Well, after all is said and done, he caught us peeping today, and I am filled with shame,” said the princess. “It doesn’t matter who he is, he must certainly have a most unflattering opinion as to what we are.”
“And he is sure to know us sooner or later,” said the young countess, momentarily serious.
“Oh, if it ever comes to that I shall be in a splendid position to explain it all to him,” said Beverly. “Don’t you see, I’ll have to do a lot of explaining myself?”
“Baron Dangloss!” announced the guard of the upper hall, throwing open the door for the doughty little chief of police.
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 58