“Oh, I’m not so rich as all that,” she cried. “Besides, I think it is time for a general clearing-up of the mysteries. Are you Prince Dantan, Prince Frederic, or that other one—Christobal somebody? Come, be fair with me.”
“It seems that all Edelweiss looks upon me as a prince in disguise. You found me in the hills—”
“No; you found me. I have not forgotten, sir.”
“I was a vagabond and a fugitive. My friends are hunted as I am. We have no home. Why everyone should suspect me of being a prince I cannot understand. Every roamer in the hills is not a prince. There is a price upon my head, and there is a reward for the capture of every man who was with me in the pass. My name is Paul Baldos, Miss Calhoun. There is no mystery in that. If you were to mention it in a certain city, you would quickly find that the name of Baldos is not unknown to the people who are searching for him. No, your highness, I regret exceedingly that I must destroy the absurd impression that I am of royal blood. Perhaps I am spoiling a pretty romance, but it cannot be helped. I was Baldos, the goat-hunter; I am now Baldos, the guard. Do you think that I would be serving as a Graustark guard if I were any one of the men you mention?”
Beverly listened in wonder and some disappointment, it must be confessed. Somehow a spark of hope was being forever extinguished by this straightforward denial. He was not to be the prince she had seen in dreams. “You are not like anyone else,” she said. “That is why we thought of you as—as—as—”
“As one of those unhappy creatures they call princes? Thank fortune, your highness, I am not yet reduced to such straits. My exile will come only when you send me away.”
They were silent for a long time. Neither was thinking of the hour, or the fact that her absence in the castle could not be unnoticed. Night had fallen heavily upon the earth. The two faithful chair-bearers, respectful but with wonder in their souls, stood afar off and waited. Baldos and Beverly were alone in their own little world.
“I think I liked you better when you wore the red feather and that horrid patch of black,” she said musingly.
“And was a heart-free vagabond,” he added, something imploring in his voice.
“An independent courtier, if you please, sir,” she said severely.
“Do you want me to go back to the hills? I have the patch and the feather, and my friends are—”
“No! Don’t suggest such a thing—yet.” She began the protest eagerly and ended it in confusion.
“Alas, you mean that some day banishment is not unlikely?”
“You don’t expect to be a guard all your life, do you?”
“Not to serve the princess of Graustark, I confess. My aim is much higher. If God lets me choose the crown I would serve, I shall enlist for life. The crown I would serve is wrought of love, the throne I would kneel before is a heart, the sceptre I would follow is in the slender hand of a woman. I could live and die in the service of my own choosing. But I am only the humble goat-hunter whose hopes are phantoms, whose ideals are conceived in impotence.”
“That was beautiful,” murmured Beverly, looking up, fascinated for the moment.
“Oh, that I had the courage to enlist,” he cried, bending low once more. She felt the danger in his voice, half tremulous with some thing more than loyalty, and drew her hand away from a place of instant jeopardy. It was fire that she was playing with, she realized with a start of consciousness. Sweet as the spell had grown to be, she saw that it must be shattered.
“It is getting frightfully late,” she sharply exclaimed. “They’ll wonder where I’ve gone to. Why, it’s actually dark.”
“It has been dark for half an hour, your highness,” said he, drawing himself up with sudden rigidness that distressed her. “Are you going to return to the castle?”
“Yes. They’ll have out a searching party pretty soon if I don’t appear.”
“You have been good to me today,” he said thoughtfully. “I shall try to merit the kindness. Let me—”
“Oh, please don’t talk in that humble way! It’s ridiculous! I’d rather have you absolutely impertinent, I declare upon my honor I would. Don’t you remember how you talked when you wore the red feather? Well, I liked it.”
Baldos laughed easily, happily. His heart was not very humble, though his voice and manner were.
“Red is the color of insolence, you mean.”
“It’s a good deal jauntier than blue,” she declared.
“Before you call the bearers, Miss—your highness, I wish to retract something I said awhile ago,” he said very seriously.
“I should think you would,” she responded, utterly misinterpreting his intent.
“You asked me to tell you what my message to Ravone contained and I refused. Subsequently the extent of his message to me led us into a most thorough understanding. It is only just and right that you should know what I said to him.”
“I trust you, Baldos,” she protested simply.
“That is why I tell this to you. Yesterday, your highness, the castle guard received their month’s pay. You may not know how well we are paid, so I will say that it is ten gavvos to each. The envelope which I gave to Ravone contained my wages for the past six weeks. They need it far more than I do. There was also a short note of good cheer to those poor comrades of mine, and the assurance that one day our luck may change and starvation be succeeded by plenty. And, still more, I told him that I knew you to be Miss Calhoun and that you were my angel of inspiration. That was all, your highness.”
“Thank you, Baldos, for telling me,” she said softly. “You have made me ashamed of myself.”
“On the contrary, I fear that I have been indulging in mock heroics. Truth and egotism—like a salad—require a certain amount of dressing.”
“Since you are Baldos, and not a fairy prince, I think you may instruct the men to carry me back, being without the magic tapestry which could transplant me in a whiff. Goodness, who’s that?”
Within ten feet of the sedan chair and directly behind the tall guard stood a small group of people. He and Beverly, engrossed in each other, had not heard their approach. How long they had been silent spectators of the little scene only the intruders knew. The startled, abashed eyes of the girl in the chair were not long in distinguishing the newcomers. A pace in front of the others stood the gaunt, shadowy form of Count Marlanx.
Behind him were the Princess Yetive, the old prime minister, and Baron Dangloss.
CHAPTER XIX
THE NIGHT FIRES
“Why, good evening. Is that you?” struggled somewhat hysterically through Beverly’s lips. Not since the dear old days of the stolen jam and sugar-bits had she known the feelings of a culprit caught red-handed. The light from the park lamps revealed a merry, accusing smile on the face of Yetive, but the faces of the men were serious. Marlanx was the picture of suppressed fury.
“It is the relief expedition, your highness,” said Yetive warmly. “We thought you were lost in the wilds of the jungle.”
“She is much better protected than we could have imagined,” said the Iron Count, malevolently mild and polite.
“Can’t I venture into the park without being sent for?” asked Beverly, ready to fly into the proper rage. The pink had left her cheeks white. “I am proud to observe, however, that the relief expedition is composed of the most distinguished people in all Graustark. Is there any significance to be attached to the circumstance?”
“Can’t we also go strolling in the park, my dear?” plaintively asked Yetive.
“It depends upon where we stroll, I fancy,” suggested Marlanx derisively. Beverly flashed a fierce look at the head of the army. “By the way, Baron Dangloss, where is the incomparable Haddan?”
Baldos shot a startled glance at the two men and in an instant comprehension came to him. He knew the secret of Haddan’s constant companionship. An expression of bitter scorn settled upon his mouth, Dangloss mumbled a reply, at which the Iron Count laughed sarcastically.
“I am returning
to the castle,” said Beverly coldly, “Pray don’t let me interfere with your stroll. Or is it possible that you think it necessary to deliver me safely to my nurse, now that you have found me?”
“Don’t be angry, dear,” whispered Yetive, coming close to her side. “I will tell you all about it later on. It was all due to Count Marlanx.”
“It was all done to humiliate me,” replied Beverly, indignation surpassing confusion at last. “I hate all of you.”
“Oh, Beverly!” whispered the princess, in distress.
“Well, perhaps you were led into it,” retracted Beverly, half mollified. “Look at that old villain whispering over there. No wonder his wives up and died. They just had to do it. I hate all but you and Count Halfont and Baron Dangloss,” which left but one condemned.
“And Baldos?” added Yetive, patting her hand.
“I wish you’d be sensible,” cried Beverly, most ungraciously, and Yetive’s soft laugh irritated her. “How long had you been listening to us?”
“Not so much as the tiniest part of a minute,” said Yetive, recalling another disastrous eavesdropping. “I am much wiser than when Baldos first came to serve you. We were quite a distance behind Count Marlanx, I assure you.”
“Then he heard something?” asked Beverly anxiously.
“He has been in a detestable mood ever since we rejoined him. Could he have heard anything disagreeable?”
“No; on the contrary, it was quite agreeable.”
All this time Baldos was standing at attention a few paces off, a model soldier despite the angry shifting of his black eyes. He saw that they had been caught in a most unfortunate position. No amount of explaining could remove the impression that had been forced upon the witnesses, voluntary or involuntary as the case might be. Baldos could do nothing to help her, while she was compelled to face the suspicions of her best friends. At best it could be considered nothing short of a clandestine meeting, the consequences of which she must suffer, not he. In his heated brain he was beginning to picture scandal with all the disgusting details that grow out of evil misrepresentation.
Count Halfont separated himself from the group of three and advanced to the sedan-chair. Marlanx and Dangloss were arguing earnestly in low tones.
“Shall we return, your highness?” asked Halfont, addressing both with one of his rarest smiles. “If I remember aright, we were to dine en famille tonight, and it is well upon the hour. Besides, Count Marlanx is a little distressed by your absent-mindedness, Miss Beverly, and I fancy he is eager to have it out with you.”
“My absent-mindedness? What is it that I have forgotten?” asked Beverly, puckering her brow.
“That’s the trouble, dear,” said Yetive. “You forgot your promise to teach him how to play that awful game called poker. He has waited for you at the castle since six o’clock. It is now eight. Is it any wonder that he led the searching party? He has been on nettles for an hour and a half.”
“Goodness, I’ll wager he’s in a temper!” exclaimed Beverly, with no remorse, but some apprehension.
“It would be wisdom to apologize to him,” suggested Yetive, and her uncle nodded earnestly.
“All right. I think I can get him into good humor without half trying. Oh, Count Marlanx! Come here, please. You aren’t angry with me, are you? Wasn’t it awful for me to run away and leave you to play solitaire instead of poker? But, don’t you know, I was so wretchedly tired after the ride, and I knew you wouldn’t mind if I—” and so she ran glibly on, completely forestalling him, to the secret amusement of the others. Nevertheless, she was nervous and embarrassed over the situation. There was every reason to fear that the Iron Count had heard and seen enough to form a pretty good opinion of what had passed between herself and Baldos in this remote corner of the park. A deep sense of shame was taking possession of her.
Marlanx, smiling significantly, looked into her brave little face, and permitted her to talk on until she had run out of breath and composure. Then he bowed with exaggerated gallantry and informed her that he was hers to command, and that it was not for him to forgive but to accept whatever was her gracious pleasure. He called upon the chair-bearers and they took up their burden. Beverly promptly changed her mind and concluded to walk to the castle. And so they started off, the chair going ahead as if out of commission forever. Despite her efforts to do so, the American girl (feeling very much abused, by the way), was unsuccessful in the attempt to keep the princess at her side. Yetive deliberately walked ahead with Halfont and Dangloss. It seemed to Beverly that they walked unnecessarily fast and that Marlanx was provokingly slow. Baldos was twenty paces behind, as was his custom.
“Is it necessary for me to ask you to double the number of lessons I am to have?” Marlanx asked. He was quite too close to her side to please Beverly.
“Can’t you learn in one lesson? Most Americans think they know all about poker after the first game.”
“I am not so quick-witted, your highness.”
“Far be it from me to accelerate your wits, Count Marlanx. It might not be profitable.”
“You might profit by losing, you know,” he ventured, leaning still closer, “Poker is not the only game of chance. It was chance that gave me a winning hand this evening.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It shall be my pleasure to teach you in return for instructions I am to have. I have tried to teach your excellent guard one phase of the game. He has not profited, I fear. He has been blind enough to pick a losing hand in spite of my advice. It is the game of hearts.” Beverly could not but understand. She shrank away with a shudder. Her wits did not desert her, however.
“I know the game,” she said steadily. “One’s object is to cast off all the hearts. I have been very lucky at the game, Count Marlanx.”
“Umph!” was his ironical comment. “Ah, isn’t this a night for lovers?” he went on, changing tack suddenly. “To stroll in the shadows, where even the moon is blind, is a joy that love alone provides. Come, fair mistress, share this joy with me.”
With that his hand closed over her soft arm above the elbow and she was drawn close to his side. Beverly’s first shock of revulsion was succeeded by the distressing certainty that Baldos was a helpless witness of this indignity. She tried to jerk her arm away, but he held it tight.
“Release my arm, sir!” she cried, hoarse with passion.
“Call your champion, my lady. It will mean his death. I have evidence that will insure his conviction and execution within an hour. Nothing could Call him, I say, and—”
“I will call him. He is my sworn protector, and I will command him to knock you down if you don’t go away,” she flared, stopping decisively.
“At his peril—”
“Baldos!” she called, without a second’s hesitation. The guard came up with a rush just as Marlanx released her arm and fell away with a muttered imprecation.
“Your highness!” cried Baldos, who had witnessed everything.
“Are you afraid to die?” she demanded briefly; and clearly.
“No!”
“That is all,” she said, suddenly calm. “I merely wanted to prove it to Count Marlanx.” Tact had come to her relief most opportunely. Like a flash she saw that a conflict between the commander of the army and a guard could have but one result and that disastrous to the latter. One word from her would have ended everything for Baldos. She saw through the Iron Count’s ruse as if by divine inspiration and profited where he least expected her to excel in shrewdness. Marlanx had deliberately invited the assault by the guard. His object had been to snare Baldos into his own undoing, and a horrible undoing it would have been. One blow would have secured the desired result. Nothing could have saved the guard who had struck his superior officer. But Beverly thought in time.
“To die is easy, your highness. You have but to ask it of me,” said Baldos, whose face was white and drawn.
“She has no intention of demanding such a pleasant sacrifice” observed Count Marlanx, c
overing his failure skilfully. “Later on, perhaps, she may sign your death warrant. I am proud to hear, sir, that a member of my corps has the courage to face the inevitable, even though he be an alien and unwilling to die on the field of battle. You have my compliments, sir. You have been on irksome duty for several hours and must be fatigued as well as hungry. A soldier suffers many deprivations, not the least of which is starvation in pursuit of his calling. Mess is not an unwelcome relief to you after all these arduous hours. You may return to the barracks at once. The princess is under my care for the remainder of the campaign.”
Baldos looked first at her and then at the sarcastic old general. Yetive and her companions were waiting for them at the fountain, a hundred yards ahead.
“You may go, Baldos,” said Beverly in low tones.
“I am not fatigued nor—” he began eagerly.
“Go!” snarled Marlanx. “Am I to repeat a command to you? Do you ignore the word of your mistress?” There was a significant sneer in the way he said it.
“Mistress?” gasped Baldos, his eye blazing, his arm half raised.
“Count Marlanx!” implored Beverly, drawing herself to her full height and staring at him like a wounded thing.
“I humbly implore you not to misconstrue the meaning of the term, your highness,” said the Count affably, “Ah, you have dropped something. Permit me. It is a note of some description, I think.”
He stooped quickly—too quickly—and recovered from the ground at her feet the bit of paper which had fallen from her hand. It was the note from Ravone to Baldos which Beverly had forgotten in the excitement of the encounter.
“Count Marlanx, give me that paper!” demanded Beverly breathlessly.
“Is it a love-letter? Perhaps it is intended for me. At any rate, your highness, it is safe against my heart for the time being. When we reach the castle I shall be happy to restore it. It is safer with me. Come, we go one way and—have you not gone, sir?” in his most sarcastic tone to the guard. Beverly was trembling.
“No, I have not; and I shall not go until I see you obey the command of her highness. She has asked you for that piece of paper,” said Baldos, standing squarely in front of Marlanx.
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 63