“No. I’m not looking for princes. I’ve seen hundreds of ’em in all parts of the world.”
“Well, you should see Prince Robin before you scoff. He’s the most wonderful little man in all the world.”
“I’ve heard of nothing but him, my good Mr. Spantz. He’s seven years old and he looks like his mother and he’s got a jewelled sword and all that sort of thing. I daresay he’s a nice little chap. Got American blood in him, you see.”
“Do not let any one hear you laugh about him, sir. The people worship him. If you laugh too publicly, you may have your hands full of adventures in a very few minutes—and your body full of fine steel blades. We are very proud of our Prince.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Spantz. I didn’t mean lesé majesté. I’m bored, that’s all. You wouldn’t blame me for being sore if you’d come as far as I have and got as little for your pains. Why, hang it all, this morning that confounded man from Cook’s had a party of twenty-two American school-teachers and Bible students in the Castle grounds and I had to stand on my toes outside the walls for two hours before I could get a permit to enter. American engineers are building the new railroad; American capital controls the telephone and electric light companies; there are two American moving picture shows in Regengetz Circus and an American rush hand laundry two blocks up. And you can get Bourbon whisky anywhere. It’s sickening.”
“The Americans have done much for Edelweiss, sir. We don’t resent their progressiveness. They have given us modern improvements without overthrowing ancient customs. My dear young sir, we are very old here—and very honest. That reminds me that I should accept your kind invitation to the Café garden. If you will bear with me for just one moment, sir.” With this polite request, the old man retired to the rear of the shop and called out to some one upstairs. A woman’s voice answered. The brief conversation which followed was in a tongue unknown to King.
“My niece will keep shop, sir, while I am out,” Spantz explained, taking his hat from a peg behind the door. Truxton could scarcely restrain a smile as he glanced over his queer little old guest. He looked eighty but was as sprightly as a man of forty. A fine companion for a youth of twenty-six in search of adventure!
They paused near the door until the old man’s niece appeared at the back of the shop. King’s first glance at the girl was merely a casual one. His second was more or less in the nature of a stare of amazement.
A young woman of the most astounding beauty, attired in the black and red of the Graustark middle classes, was slowly approaching from the shadowy recesses at the end of the shop. She gave him but a cursory glance, in which no interest was apparent, and glided quietly into the little nook behind the counter, almost at his elbow. His heart enjoyed a lively thump. Here was the first noticeably good-looking woman he had seen in Edelweiss, and, by the powers, she was a sword-maker’s niece!
The old man looked sharply at him for an instant, and a quick little smile writhed in and out among the mass of wrinkles. Instead of passing directly out of the shop, Spantz stopped a moment to give the girl some suddenly recalled instruction. Truxton King, you may be sure, did not precede the old man into the street. He deliberately removed his hat and waited most politely for age to go before youth, in the meantime blandly gazing upon the face of this amazing niece.
Across the square, at one of the tables, he awaited his chance and a plausible excuse for questioning the old man without giving offence. Somewhere back in his impressionable brain there was growing a distinct hope that this beautiful young creature with the dreamy eyes was something more than a mere shopgirl. It had occurred to him in that one brief moment of contact that she had the air, the poise of a true aristocrat.
The old man, over his huge mug of beer, was properly grateful. He was willing to repay King for his little attention by giving him a careful history of Graustark, past, present and future, from the time of Tartar rule to the time of the so-called “American invasion.” ills glowing description of the little Prince might have interested Truxton in his Lord Fauntleroy days, but just at present he was more happily engaged in speculating on the true identify of the girl in the gun-shop. He recalled the fact that a former royal princess of Graustark had gone sight-seeing over the world, incognita, as a Miss Guggenslocker, and had been romantically snatched up by a lucky American named Lorry. What if this girl in the gun-shop should turn out to be a—well, he could hardly hope for a princess; but she might be a countess.
The old mart was rambling on. “The young Prince has lived most of his life in Washington and London and Paris, sir. He’s only seven, sir. Of course, you remember the dreadful accident that made him an orphan and put him on the throne with the three ‘wise men of the East’ as regents or governors. The train wreck near Brussels, sir? His mother, the glorious Princess Yetive, was killed and his father, Mr. Lorry, died the next day from his injuries. That, sir, was a most appalling blow to the people of Graustark. We loved the Princess and we admired her fine American husband. There never will be another pair like them, sir. And to think of them being destroyed as they were—in the most dreadful way, sir. Their coach was demolished, you remember. I—I will not go into the details. You know them, of course. God alone preserved the little Prince. He was travelling with them, on the way from London to Edelweiss. By some strange intervention of Providence he had gone with his governess and other members of the party to the luggage van in the fore part of the train, which had stopped on a side track below the station. The collision was from the rear, a broken rail throwing a locomotive into the Princess’s coach. This providential escape of the young Prince preserved the unbroken line of the present royal family. If he had been killed, the dynasty would have come to an end, and, I am telling no secret, sir, when I say that a new form of government would have followed.”
“What sort of government?”
“A more modern system, sir. Perhaps socialistic. I can’t say. At all events, a new dynasty could not have been formed. The people would have rejected it. But Prince Robin was spared and, if I do say it, sir, he is the manliest little prince in all the world. You should see him ride and fence and shoot—and he is but seven!”
“I say, Mr. Spantz, I don’t believe I’ve told you that your niece is a most remarkably beau—”
“As I was saying, sir,” interrupted Spantz, so pointedly that Truxton flushed, “the little Prince is the idol of all the people. Under the present regency he is obliged to reside in the principality until his fifteenth year, after which he may be permitted to travel abroad. Graustark intends to preserve him to herself if it is in her power to do so. Woe betide the man who thinks or does ill toward little Prince Robin.”
King was suddenly conscious of a strange intentness of gaze on the old man’s part. A peculiar, indescribable chill swept over him; he had a distinct, vivid impression that some subtle power was exercising itself upon him—a power that, for the briefest instant, held him in a grip of iron. What it was, he could not have told; it passed almost immediately. Something in the old man’s eyes, perhaps—or was it something in the queer smile that flickered about his lips?
“My dear Mr. Spantz,” he hastened to say, as if a defence were necessary, “please don’t get it into your head that I’m thinking ill of the Prince. I daresay he’s a fine little chap and I’m sorry he’s—er—lost his parents.”
Spantz laughed, a soft, mirthless gurgle that caused Truxton to wonder why he had made the effort at all. “I imagine His Serene Highness has little to fear from any American,” he said quietly. “He has been taught to love and respect the men of his father’s land. He loves America quite as dearly as he loves Graustark.” Despite the seeming sincerity of the remark, Truxton was vaguely conscious that a peculiar harshness had crept into the other’s voice. He glanced sharply at the old man’s face. For the first time he noticed something sinister—yes, evil—in the leathery countenance; a stealthiness in the hard smile that seemed to transform it at once into a pronounced leer. Like a flash there darted i
nto the American’s active brain a conviction that there could be no common relationship between this flinty old man and the delicate, refined girl he had seen in the shop. Now he recalled the fact that her dark eyes had a look of sadness and dejection in their depths, and that her face was peculiarly white and unsmiling.
Spantz was eyeing him narrowly. “You do not appear interested in our royal family,” he ventured coldly.
Truxton hastened to assure him that he was keenly interested. Especially so, now that I appreciate that the little Prince is the last of his race.”
“There are three regents, sir, in charge of the affairs of state—Count Halfont, the Duke of Perse and Baron Jasto Dangloss, who is minister of police. Count Halfont is a granduncle of the Prince, by marriage. The Duke of Perse is the father of the unhappy Countess Ingomede, the young and beautiful wife of the exiled “Iron Count” Marlanx. No doubt you’ve heard of him.”
“I’ve read something about him. Sort of a gay old bounder, wasn’t he? Seems to me I recall the stories that were printed about him a few years ago. I remember that he was banished from the principality and his estates seized by the Crown.”
“Quite true, sir. He was banished in 1901 and now resides on his estates in Austria. Three years ago, in Buda Pesth, he was married to Ingomede, the daughter of the Duke. Count Marlanx has great influence at the Austrian court. Despite the fact that he is a despised and discredited man in his own country, he still is a power among people high in the government of more than one empire. The Duke of Perse realised this when he compelled his daughter to accept him as her husband. The fair Ingomede is less than twenty-five years of age; the Iron Count is fully sixty-five.”
“She ought to be rescued,” was King’s only comment, but there was no mistaking the gleam of interest in his steady grey eyes.
“Rescued?” repeated the old man, with a broad grin. “And why? She is mistress of one of the finest old castles in Austria, Schloss Marlanx, and she is quite beautiful enough to have lovers by the score when the Count grows a little blinder and less jealous. She is in Edelweiss at present, visiting her father. The Count never comes here.”
“I’d like to see her if she’s really beautiful. I’ve seen but one pretty woman in this whole blamed town—your niece, Herr Spantz. I’ve looked ’em over pretty carefully, too. She is exceedingly attract—”
“Pardon me, sir, but it is not the custom in Graustark to discuss our women in the public drinking places.” King felt as if he had received a slap in the face. He turned a fiery red under his tan and mumbled some sort of an apology. “The Countess is a public personage, however, and we may speak of her,” went on the old man quickly, as the American, in his confusion, called a waiter to replenish the tankards. The steely glitter that leaped into the armourer’s eyes at this second reference to his niece disappeared as quickly as it came; somehow it left behind the impression that he knew how to wield the deadly blades he wrought.
“I’d like to hear more about her,” murmured Mr. King. “Anything to pass the time away, Mr. Spantz. As I said before, I journeyed far to reach this land of fair women and if there’s one to be seen, I’m properly eager to jump at the chance. I’ve been here two days and I’ve seen nothing that could start up the faintest flutter around my heart. I’m sorry to say, my good friend, that the women I’ve seen in the streets of Edelweiss are not beauties. I won’t say that they’d stop a clock, but they’d cause it to lose two or three hours a day, all right enough.”
“You will not find the beautiful women of Edelweiss in the streets, sir.”
“Don’t they ever go out shopping?”
“Hardly. The merchants, if you will but notice, carry their wares to the houses of the noble and the rich. Graustark ladies of quality would no more think of setting foot in a shop or bazaar than they would think of entering a third class carriage. Believe me, there are many beautiful women in the homes along Castle Avenue. Noblemen come hundreds of miles to pay court to them.”
“Just the same, I’m disgusted with the place. It’s not what it’s cracked up to be. Saturday will see me on my way.”
“Tomorrow the garrison at the fortress marches in review before the Prince. If you should happen to be on the avenue near the Castle gate at twelve o’clock, you will see the beauty and chivalry of Graustark. The soldiers are not the only ones who are on parade.” There was an unmistakable sneer in his tone.
“You don’t care much for society, I’d say,” observed Truxton, with a smile.
Spantz’s eyes flamed for an instant and then subtly resumed their most ingratiating twinkle. “We cannot all be peacocks,” he said quietly. “You will see the Prince, his court and all the distinguished men of the city and the army. You will also see that the man who rides beside the Prince’s carriage wheel is an American, while Graustark nobles take less exalted places.”
“An American, eh?”
“Yes. Have you not heard of John Tullis, the Prince’s friend?”
“Another seven-year-old?”
“Not at all. A grown man, sir. He, your countryman, is the real power behind our throne. On his deathbed, the Prince’s father placed his son in this American’s charge and begged him to stand by him through thick and thin until the lad is able to take care of himself. As if there were not loyal men in Graustark who might have done as much for their Prince!”
King looked interested. “I see. The people, no doubt, resent this espionage. Is that it?”
Spantz gave him a withering look, as much as to say that he was a fool to ask such a question in a place so public. Without replying, he got to his feet and made ready to leave the little garden.
“I must return. I have been away too long. Thank you, sir, for your kindness to an old man. Good day, sir, and—”
“Hold on! I think I’ll walk over with you and have another look at that broadsword. I’m—”
“Tomorrow, sir. It is past time to close the shop for today. Come tomorrow. Good day.”
He was crossing the sidewalk nimbly before King could offer a word of remonstrance. With a disappointed sigh, the American sank back in his chair, and watched his odd companion scurry across the square. Suddenly he became conscious of a disquieting feeling that some one was looking at him intently from behind. He turned in his chair and found himself meeting the gaze of a ferocious looking, military appearing little man at a table near by. To his surprise, the little man’s fierce stare maintained its peculiarly personal intentness until he, himself, was compelled to withdraw his own gaze in some little confusion and displeasure. His waiter appeared at his elbow with the change.
“Who the devil is that old man at the table there?” demanded young Mr. King loudly.
The waiter assumed a look of extreme insolence. “That is Baron Dangloss, Minister of Police. Anything more, sir?”
“Yes. What’s he looking so hard at me for? Does he think I’m a pickpocket?”
“You know as much as I, sir,” was all that the waiter said in reply. King pocketed the coin he had intended for the fellow, and deliberately left the place. He could not put off the feeling, however, that the intense stare of Baron Dangloss, the watch-dog of the land, followed him until the corner of the wall intervened. The now incensed American glanced involuntarily across the square in the direction of Spantz’s shop. He saw three mounted soldiers ride up to the curb and hail the armourer as he started to close his doors. As he sauntered across the little square his gaze suddenly shifted to a second-story window above the gun-shop.
The interesting young woman had cautiously pushed open one of the shutters and was peering down upon the trio of red-coated guardsmen. Almost at the same instant her quick, eager gaze fell upon the tall American, now quite close to the horsemen. He saw her dark eyes expand as if with surprise. The next instant he caught his breath and almost stopped in his tracks.
A shy, impulsive smile played about her red lips for a second, lighting up the delicate face with a radiance that amazed him. Then the shutter was clos
ed gently, quickly. His first feeling of elation was followed instantly by the disquieting impression that it was a mocking smile of amusement and not one of inviting friendliness. He felt his ears burn as he abruptly turned off to the right, for, somehow, he knew that she was peeping at him through the blinds and that something about his tall, rangy figure was appealing to her sense of the ridiculous.
You will see at once that Truxton King, imaginative chap that he was, had pounced upon this slim, attractive young woman as the only plausible heroine for his prospective romance, and, as such, she could not be guilty of forwardness or lack or dignity. Besides, first impressions are always good ones: she had struck him at the outset as being a girl of rare delicacy and refinement.
In the meantime, Baron Dangloss was watching him covertly from the edge of the Café garden across the square.
CHAPTER II
A MEETING OF THE CABINET
At this time, the principality of Graustark was in a most prosperous condition. Its affairs were under the control of an able ministry, headed by the venerable Count Halfont. The Duke of Perse, for years a resident of St. Petersburg, and a financier of high standing, had returned to Edelweiss soon after the distressing death of the late Princess Yetive and her American husband, and to him was entrusted the treasury portfolio. He at once proceeded to endear himself to the common people by the advocacy of a lower rate of taxation; this meant the reduction of the standing army. He secured new and advantageous treaties with old and historic foes, putting Graustark’s financial credit upon a high footing in the European capitals. The people smugly regarded themselves as safe in the hands of the miserly but honest old financier. If he accomplished many things by way of office to enhance his own particular fortune, no one looked askance, for he made no effort to blind or deceive his people. Of his honesty there could be no question; of his financial operations, it is enough to say that the people were satisfied to have their affairs linked with his.
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 75