Phyllis and I were sitting in one of the numerous cozy corners. I had danced badly and out of time. The music and the babel of tongues had become murmurous and indistinct.
"And so that is the Princess Hildegarde?" she said, after a spell.
"Yes; she is your double. Is she not beautiful?"
"Is that a left-handed compliment to me?" Phyllis was smiling, but she was colorless.
"No," said I. "I could never give you a left-handed compliment."
"How strange and incomprehensible!" said she, opening her fan.
"What?—that I have never, and could never, give you a—"
"No, no! I was thinking of the likeness. It rather unnerved me. It seemed as though I was looking into a mirror."
"What do you think of her?" suppressing the eagerness in my voice.
"She is to be envied," softly.
And I grew puzzled.
"Jack, for a man who has associated with the first diplomatists of the world, who has learned to read the world as another might read a book, you are surprisingly unadept in the art of dissimulation."
"That is a very long sentence," said I, in order to gain time enough to fathom what she meant. I could not. So I said: "What do you mean?"
"Your whole face was saying to the Princess, 'I love you!' A glance told me all. I was glad for your sake that no other woman saw you at that moment. But I suppose it would not have mattered to you."
"Not if all the world had seen the look," moodily.
"Poor Jack, you are very unlucky!" Her voice was full of pity. "I feel so sorry for you, it is all so impossible. And she loves you, too!"
"How do you know?"
"I looked at her while she was looking at you."
"You have wonderful eyes."
"So I have been told. I wonder why she gave you that withered and worm-eaten rose?"
"A whim," I said, staring at the rug. I wondered how she came to surmise that it was Gretchen's rose? Intuition, perhaps.
"Do you love her well enough," asked Phyllis, plucking the lace on her fan, "to sacrifice all the world for her, to give up all your own happiness that she might become happy?"
"She never can be happy without me—if she loves me as I believe." I admit that this was a selfish thought to express.
"Then, why is it impossible—your love and hers? If her love for you is as great as you say it is, what is a King, a Prince, or a principality to her?"
"It is none of those. It is because she has given her word, the word of a Princess. What would you do in her place?" suddenly.
"I?" Phyllis leaned back among the cushions her eyes half-closed and a smile on her lips. "I am afraid that if I loved you I should follow you to the end of the world. Honor is a fine thing, but in her case it is an empty word. If she broke this word for you, who would be wronged? No one, since the Prince covets only her dowry and the King desires only his will obeyed. Perhaps I do not understand what social obligation means to these people who are born in purple."
"Perhaps that is it. Phyllis, listen, and I will tell you a romance which has not yet been drawn to its end. Once upon a time—let me call it a fairy story," said I, drawing down a palm leaf as if to read the tale from its blades. "Once upon a time, in a country far from ours, there lived a Prince and a Princess. The Prince was rather a bad fellow. His faith in his wife was not the best. And he made a vow that if ever children came he would make them as evil as himself. Not long after the good fairy brought two children to her godchild, the Princess. Remembering the vow made by the Prince, the good fairy carried away one of the children, and no one knew anything about it save the Princess and the fairy. When the remaining child was two years old the Princess died. The child from then on grew like a wild flower. The Prince did his best to spoil her, but the good fairy watched over her, just as carefully as she watched over the child she had hidden away. By and by the wicked Prince died. The child reached womanhood. The good fairy went away and left her; perhaps she now gave her whole attention to the other." I let the palm leaf slip back, and drew down a fresh one, Phyllis watching me with interest. "The child the fairy left was still a child, for all her womanhood. She was willful and capricious; she rode, she fenced, she hunted; she was as unlike other women as could be. At last the King, who was her guardian, grew weary of her caprices. So he commanded that she marry. But what had the fairy done with the other child, the twin sister of this wild Princess? Perhaps in this instance the good fairy died and left her work unfinished, to be taken up and pursued by a conventional newspaper reporter. Now this pro tem fairy, who was anything but good, as the word goes, made some curious discoveries. It seems that the good fairy had left the lost Princess in the care of one of a foreign race. Having a wife and daughter of his own, he brought the Princess up as his niece, not knowing himself who she really was. She became wise, respected, and beautiful in mind and form. Fate, who governs all fairy stories, first brought the newspaper reporter into the presence of the lost Princess. She was a mere girl then, and was selling lemonade at—at twenty-five cents a glass. She—"
"Jack," came in wondering tones, "for mercy's sake, what are you telling me?"
"Phyllis, can you not look back, perhaps as in a dream, to an old inn,where soldiers and ministers in a hurry and confusion moved to and fro?No; I dare say you were too young. The Princess Hildegarde ofHohenphalia is your sister." I rose and bowed to her respectfully.
"My sister?—the Princess?—I, a Princess? Jack," indignantly, "you are mocking me! It is not fair!"
"Phyllis, as sure as I stand before you, all I have said is true. And now let me be the first to do homage to Your Serene Highness," taking her hand despite her efforts to withdraw it, and kissing it.
"It is unreal! Impossible! Absurd!" she cried.
"Let me repeat the words of the French philosopher, who said, 'As nothing is impossible, let us believe in the absurd,'" said I.
"But why has Uncle Bob kept me in ignorance all these years?" unconvinced.
"Because, as I have said before, he knew nothing till to-day. I have even spoken to the Chancellor, who has promised to aid in recovering your rights."
"And does she know—the Princess Hildegarde? My sister? How strange the word feels on my tongue."
"No; she does not know, but presently she will."
Then Phyllis asked in an altered tone, "And what is all this to you that you thrust this greatness upon me?—a greatness, I assure you, for which I do not care?"
I regarded her vaguely. I saw a precipice at my feet. I could not tell her that in making her a Princess I was making Gretchen free. I could not confess that my motive was purely a selfish one.
"It was a duty," said I, evasively.
"And in what way will it concern the Princess Hildegarde's affairs—and yours?" She was rather merciless.
"Why should it concern any affair of mine?" I asked.
"You love her, and she loves you; may she not abdicate in my favor?"
"And if she should?" with an accent of impatience.
Phyllis grew silent. "Forgive me, Jack!" impulsively. "But all this is scarcely to be believed. And then you say there are no proofs."
"Not in the eyes of the law," I replied; "but nature has written it in your faces." I was wondering why she had not gone into raptures at the prospect of becoming a Princess.
"It is a great honor," she said, after some meditation, "and it is very kind of you. But I care as little for the title as I do for this rose." And she cast away one of Pembroke's roses. It boded ill for my cousin's cause.
Presently we saw the giver of the rose loom up in the doorway. He was smiling as usual.
"It is supper, Jack," he said; "I'm afraid you'll have to go."
"Does he know?" whispered Phyllis as we rose.
"Yes."
She frowned. And as they went away I mused upon the uncertainty of placing valuable things in woman's hands.
The next person I saw was the Chancellor.
"Well?" I interrogated.
"There can be no doubt," he said, "but—" with an expressive shrug.
"Life would run smoother if it had fewer 'buts' and 'its' and 'perhapses.' What you would say," said I, "is that there are no proofs. Certainly they must be somewhere."
"But to find them!" cried he.
"I shall make the effort; the pursuit is interesting."
The expression in his eyes told me that he had formed an opinion in regard to my part. "Ah, these journalists!" as he passed on.
Everything seemed so near and yet so far. Proofs? Where could they be found if Wentworth had them not? If only there had been a trinket, a kerchief, even, with the Hohenphalian crest upon it! I shook my fists in despair. Gretchen was so far away, so far!
I went in search of her. She was still surrounded by men. The women were not as friendly toward her as they might have been. The Prince was standing near. Seeing me approach, his teeth gleamed for an instant.
"Ah," said Gretchen, "here is Herr Winthrop, who is to take me in to supper."
It was cleverly done, I thought. Even the Prince was of the same mind. He appreciated all these phases. As we left them and passed in toward the supper room, I whispered:
"I love you!"
When I whispered these words I expected a gentle pressure from Gretchen's fingers, which rested lightly on my arm. But there was no sign, and I grew troubled. The blue-green eyes sparkled, and the white teeth shone between the red lips. Yet something was lacking.
"Let us go into the conservatory," she said. "It was merely a ruse of mine. I want no supper. I have much to say to you."
Altogether, I had dreamed of a different reception. When I entered the doorway, and she first saw me, it was Gretchen; but now it was distinctly a Princess, a woman of the world, full of those devices which humble and confuse us men.
Somehow we selected, by mutual accord, a seat among the roses. There was a small fountain, and the waters sang in a murmurous music. It seemed too early for words, so we drew our thoughts from the marble and the water. As for me, I looked at, but did not see, the fountain. It was another scene. There was a garden, in which the roses grew in beautiful disorder. The sunbeams straggled through the chestnuts. Near by a wide river moved slowly, and with a certain majesty. There was a man and a woman in the garden. She was culling roses, while the man looked on with admiring eyes.
"Yes," said the Princess, "all that was a pretty dream. Gretchen was a fairy; and now she has gone from your life and mine—forever. My dear friend, it is a prosaic age we live in. Sometimes we forget and dream; but dreams are unreal. Perhaps a flash of it comes back in after days, that is all; and we remember that it was a dream, and nothing more. It is true that God designs us, but the world molds us and fate puts on the finishing touches." She was smiling into my wonder-struck face. "We all have duties to perform while passing. Some of us are born with destinies mapped out by human hands; some of us are free to make life what we will. I am of the first order, and you are of the second. It is as impossible to join the one with the other as it is to make diamonds out of charcoal and water. Between Gretchen and the Princess Hildegarde of Hohenphalia there is as much difference as there is between—what simile shall I use?—the possible and the impossible?"
"Gretchen—" I began.
"Gretchen?" The Princess laughed amusedly. "She is flown. I beg you not to waste a thought on her memory."
Things were going badly for me. I did not understand the mood. It brought to mind the woman poor Hillars had described to me in his rooms that night in London. I saw that I was losing something, so I made what I thought a bold stroke. I took from my pocket a withered rose. I turned it from one hand to the other.
"It appears that when Gretchen gave me this it was as an emblem of her love. Still, I gave her all my heart."
"If that be the emblem of her love, Herr, throw it away; it is not worth the keeping."
"And Gretchen sent me a letter once," I went on.
"Ah, what indiscretion!"
"It began with 'I love you,' and ended with that sentence. I have worn the writing away with my kisses."
"How some men waste their energies!"
"Your Highness," said I, putting the rose back into my pocket, "did Gretchen ever tell you how she fought a duel for me because her life was less to her than mine?"
The Princess Hildegarde's smile stiffened and her eyes closed for the briefest instant.
"Ah, shall I ever forget that night!" said I. "I held her to my heart and kissed her on the lips. I was supremely happy. Your Highness has never known what a thing of joy it is to kiss the one you love. It is one of those things which are denied to people who have their destinies mapped out by human hands."
The Princess opened her fan and hid her lips.
"And do you know," I continued, "when Gretchen went away I had a wonderful dream?"
"A dream? What was it?" The fan was waving to and fro.
"I dreamed that a Princess came in Gretchen's place, and she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me of her own free will."
"And what did she say, Herr?" Certainly the voice was growing more like Gretchen's.
I hesitated. To tell her what the dream Princess had said would undo all I had thus far accomplished, which was too little.
"It will not interest Your Highness," said I.
"Tell me what she said; I command it!" And now I was sure that there was a falter in her voice.
"She said—she said that she loved me."
"Continue."
"And that, as she was a Princess and—and honor bound, it could never be." I had to say it.
"That is it; that is it. It could never be. Gretchen is no more. ThePrincess who, you say, came to you in a dream was then but a woman—"
"Aye, and such a woman!" I interrupted. "As God hears me, I would give ten years of my life to hold her again in my arms, to kiss her lips, to hear her say that she loved me. But, pardon me, what were you going to say?"
"Your dream Princess was but a woman—ah, well; this is Tuesday;Thursday at noon she will wed the Prince. It is written."
"The devil!" I let slip. I was at the start again.
"Sir, you do him injustice."
"Who?—the Prince?" savagely.
"No; the—the devil!" She had fully recovered, and I had no weapon left.
"Gretchen, did you really ever love me?"
There was no answer.
"No; I do not believe you did. If you had loved me, what to you would have been a King, a Prince, a principality? If you broke that promise who would be wronged? Not the King, not the Prince."
"No, I should not have wronged them, but," said the Princess rising, "I should have wronged my people whom I have sworn to protect; I should have wronged my own sense of honor; I should have broken those ties which I have sworn to hold dear and precious as my life; I should have forsaken a sacred duty for something I was not sure of—a man's love!"
"Gretchen!"
"Am I cruel? Look!" Phyllis stood at the other end of the conservatory. "Does not there recur to you some other woman you have loved? You start. Come; was not your love for Gretchen pique? Who is she who thus mirrors my own likeness? Whoever she is, she loves you! Let us return; I shall be missed." It was not the woman but the Princess who spoke.
"You are breaking two hearts!" I cried, my voice full of disappointment, passion and anger.
"Two? Perhaps; but yours will not be counted."
"You are—"
"Pray, do not lose your temper," icily; and she swept toward the entrance.
I had lost.
As the Princess drew near to Phyllis the brown eyes of the one met the blue-green eyes of the other. There was almost an exclamation on Phyllis's lips; there was almost a question on Gretchen's; both paled. Phyllis understood, but Gretchen did not, why the impulse to speak came. Then the brown eyes of Phyllis turned their penetrating gaze to my own eyes, which I was compelled to shift. I bowed, and the Princess and I passed on.
By the grand staircase we ran into the Prince. His face wore a dissatisfied air.
"I was looking for Your Highness," he said to Gretchen. "Your carriage is at the curb. Permit me to assist you. Ah, yes," in English, "it is Herr Winthrop. I regret that the interview of to-morrow will have to be postponed till Monday."
"Any time," said I, watching Gretchen whose eyes widened, "will be agreeable to me."
Gretchen made as though to speak, but the Prince anticipated her.
"It is merely a little discussion, Your Highness," he said, "which HerrWinthrop and I left unfinished earlier in the evening. Good night."
On the way to the cloak room it kept running through my mind that I had lost. Thursday?—she said Thursday was the day of her wedding? It would be an evil day for me.
Pembroke was in the cloak room.
"Going?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Well, let us go together. Where shall it be—Egypt or the steppes ofSiberia?"
"Home first," said I; "then we shall decide."
When we got into the carriage we lit cigars. For some reason Pembroke was less talkative than usual. Suddenly he pulled down the window, and a gust of snow blew in. Then up went the window again, but the cigar was gone.
"Has anything gone wrong?" I asked.
"'One more unfortunate. . . . Make no deep scrutiny!'" he quoted. "Jack, she wouldn't think of it, not for a moment. Perhaps I was a trifle too soon. Yes, she is a Princess, indeed. As for me, I shall go back to elephants and tigers; it's safer."
"'The Bridge of Sighs,'" said I. "Let us cross it for good and all."
"And let it now read 'Sighs Abridged.'"
He asked me no questions, and I silently thanked him. Once in our rooms, he drank a little more brandy than I thought good for one "who may or may not live the year out." I told him so. He laughed. And then I laughed. Both of us did it theatrically; it was laughter, but it was not mirth.
"Cousin," said I, "that's the idea; let us laugh. Love may sit on the windowsill and shiver to death."
"That fellow Anacreon was a fool," said Pembroke. "If the child of Venus had been left then and there, what a lot of trouble might have been averted! What do you say to this proposition; the north, the bears and the wolves? I've a friend who owns a shooting box a few miles across the border. There's bears and gray wolves galore. Eh?"
"I must get back to work," said I, but half-heartedly.
"To the devil with your work! Throw it over. You've got money; your book is gaining you fame. What's a hundred dollars a week to you, and jumping from one end of the continent to the other with only an hour's notice?"
"I'll sleep on it."
"Good. I'll go to bed now, and you can have the hearth and the tobacco to yourself."
"Good night," said I.
Yes, I wanted to be alone. But I did not smoke. I sat and stared into the flickering flames in the grate. I had lost Gretchen. . . . To hold a woman in your arms, the woman you love, to kiss her lips, and then to lose her! Oh, I knew that she loved me, but she was a Princess, and her word was given, and it could not be. The wind sang mournfully over the sills of the window; thick snow whitened the panes; there was a humming in the chimneys. . . . She was jealous of Phyllis; that was why I knew that she loved me. . . . And the subtle change in Phyllis's demeanor towards me; what did it signify? . . . Gretchen was to be married Thursday because there were no proofs that Phyllis was her sister. . . . What if Gretchen had been Phyllis, and Phyllis had been Gretchen. . . . Heigho! I threw some more coals on the fire. The candle sank in the socket. There are some things we men cannot understand; the sea, the heavens and woman. . . . Suddenly I brought both hands down on my knees. The innkeeper! The innkeeper! He knew! In a moment I was rummaging through the stack of time tables. The next south-bound train left at 3:20. I looked at the clock; 2:20. My dress suit began to fly around on various chairs. Yes; how simple it was! The innkeeper knew; he had known it all these years. I threw my white cravat onto the table and picked up the most convenient tie. In ten minutes from the time the idea came to me I was completely dressed in traveling garments. I had a day and a half. It would take twenty hours to fetch the innkeeper. I refused to entertain the possibility of not finding him at the inn. I swore to heaven that the nuptials of the Princess Hildegarde of Hohenphalia and the Prince Ernst of Wortumborg should not be celebrated at noon, Thursday. I went into the bedroom.
"Pembroke?"
"What is it?" came drowsily.
"I am going on a journey."
"One of those cursed orders you get every other day?" he asked.
"No. It's one on my own account this time. I shall be back in twenty-four hours. Goodby!" And I left him there, blinking in the dim light of the candle.
I rushed into the street and looked up and down it. Not a vehicle in sight. I must run for it. The railway station was a long way off. A fine snow pelted my face. I stopped at the first lamp and pulled out my watch. It was twenty minutes to three. What if the time-tables had been changed? A prayer rose to my lips; there was so much in the balance. Down this street I ran, rounding this corner and that. I knocked down a drunken student, who cursed me as he rolled into the gutter. I never turned, but kept on. One of the mounted police saw me rushing along. He shaded his eyes for a moment, then called to me to stop. I swore under my breath.
"Where are you going at such a pace and at this time of morning?" he demanded.
"To the station. I beg of you not to delay me. I am in a great hurry to catch the 3:20 south-bound train. If you doubt me, come to the station with me." An inspiration came to me. "Please see," I added impressively, "that no one hinders me. I am on the King's business."
"His Majesty's business? Ach! since when has His Majesty chosen an Englishman to dispatch his affairs? I will proceed with you to the station."
And he kept his word. When he saw the gateman examine my ticket and passports and smile pleasantly, he turned on his heel, convinced that there was nothing dangerous about me. He climbed on his horse and galloped away. He might have caused me no end of delay, and time meant everything in a case like mine. Scarcely had I secured a compartment in a first-class carriage than the wheels groaned and the train rolled out of the station. My brow was damp; my hands trembled like an excited woman's. Should I win? I had a broken cigar in my pocket. I lit the preserved end at the top of the feeble carriage lamp. I had the compartment alone. Sleep! Not I. Who could sleep when the car wheels and the rattling windows kept saying, "The innkeeper knows! The innkeeper knows!" Every stop was a heartache. Ah, those eight hours were eight separate centuries to me. I looked careworn and haggard enough the next morning when I stepped on the station platform. I wanted nothing to eat; not even a cup of coffee to drink.
To find conveyance to the inn was not an easy task. No one wanted to take the drive. Finally I secured a horse. There was no haggling over the price. And soon I was loping through the snowdrifts in the direction of the old inn. The snow whirled and eddied over the stubble fields; the winds sang past my ears; the trees creaked and the river flowed on, black and sluggish. It was a dreary scene. It was bitter cold, but I had no mind for that. On, on I went. Two miles were left in the rear. The horse was beginning to breathe hard. Sometimes the snow was up to his knees. What if the old man was not there? The blood sank upon my heart. Once the horse struck a slippery place and nearly fell, but I caught him in time. I could now see the inn, perhaps a mile away, through the leafless trees. It looked dismal enough. The vines hung dead about it, the hedges were wild and scrawny, the roses I knew to be no more, and the squirrel had left his summer home for a warmer nest in the forest. A wave of joy swept over me as I saw a thin stream of smoke winding above the chimney. Some one was there. On, on; presently I flew up the roadway. A man stood on the porch. It was Stahlberg. When I pushed down my collar his jaw dropped. I flung the reins to him.
"Where is the innkeeper?" I cried with my first breath.
"In the hall, Herr. But—"
I was past him and going through the rooms. Yes, thank God, there he was, sitting before the huge fireplace, where the logs crackled and seethed, his grizzled head sunk between his shoulders, lost in some dream. I tramped in noisily. He started out of his dream and looked around.
"Gott!" he cried. He wiped his eyes and looked again. "Is it a dream or is it you?"
"Flesh and blood!" I cried. "Flesh and blood!"
I closed the door and bolted it. He followed my movements with a mixture of astonishment and curiosity in his eyes.
"Now," I began, "what have you done with the proofs which you took from your wife—the proofs of the existence of a twin sister of the Princess Hildegarde of Hohenphalia?"
The suddenness of this demand overwhelmed him, and he fell back into the chair, his eyes bulging and his mouth agape.
"Do you hear me?" I cried. "The proofs!" going up to him with clenched fists. "What have you done with those proofs? If you have destroyed them I'll kill you."
Then, as a bulldog shakes himself loose, the old fellow got up and squared his shoulders and faced me, his lips compressed and his jaws knotted. I could see by his eyes that I must fight for it.
"Herr Winthrop has gone mad," said he. "The Princess Hildegarde never had a sister."
"You lie!" My hands were at his throat.
"I am an old man," he said.
I let my hands drop and stepped back.
"That is better," he said, with a grim smile. "Who told you this impossible tale, and what has brought you here?"
"It is not impossible. The sister has been found."
"Found!" I had him this time. "Found!" he repeated. "Oh, this is not credible!"
"It is true. And to-morrow at noon the woman you profess to love will become the wife of the man she abhors. Why? Because you, you refuse to save her!"
"I? How in God's name can I save her?" the perspiration beginning to stand out on his brow.
"How? I will tell you how. Prince Ernst marries Gretchen for her dowry alone. If the woman I believe to be her sister can be proved so, the Prince will withdraw his claims to Gretchen's hand. Do you understand? He will not marry for half the revenues of Hohenphalia. It is all or nothing. Now, will you produce those proofs? Will you help me?" The minute hand of the clock was moving around with deadly precision.
"Are you lying to me?" he asked, breathing hard.
"You fool! can't you see that it means everything to Gretchen if you have those proofs? She will be free, free! Will you get those proofs, or shall your god-child live to curse you?"
This was the most powerful weapon I had yet used.
"Live to curse me?" he said, not speaking to me, but to the thought. He sat down again and covered his face with his hands. The minute which passed seemed very long. He flung away his hands from his eyes with a movement which expressed despair and resignation. "Yes, I will get them. It is years and years ago," he mused absently; "so long ago that I had thought it gone and forgotten. But it was not to be. I will get the proofs," turning to me as he left the chair. "Wait here." He unbolted the door and passed forth. . . . It was a full confession of the deception, written by the mother herself, and witnessed by her physician, the innkeeper and his wife. Not even the King could contest its genuineness.
"Where is this Dr. Salzberg?"
The innkeeper leaned against the side of the fireplace, staring into the flames.
"He is dead," briefly.
"Who was he?"
"Her late Highness's court-physician. Oh, have no fear, Herr; this new-found Princess of yours will come into her own," with a bitter smile.
"And why have you kept silent all these years?" I asked.
"Why?" He raised his arms, then let them fall dejectedly. "I loved the Princess Hildegarde. I was jealous that any should share her greatness. I have kept silent because I carried her in my arms till she could walk. Because her father cursed her, and refused to believe her his own. Because she grew around my heart as a vine grows around a rugged oak. And the other? She was nothing to me. I had never seen her. My wife spirited her away when it was night and dark. I took the proofs of her existence as a punishment to my wife, who, without them, would never dare to return to this country again. Herr, when a man loads you with ignominy and contempt and ridicule for something you are not to blame, what do you seek? Revenge. The Prince tried to crush this lonely child of his. It was I who brought her up. It was I who taught her to say her prayers. It was I who made her what she is to-day, a noble woman, with a soul as spotless as yonder snowdrift. That was my revenge."
"Who are you?" I cried. For this innkeeper's affection and eloquence seemed out of place.
"Who am I?" The smile which lit his face was wistful and sad. "The law of man disavows me—the bar sinister. In the eyes of God, who is accountable for our being, I am Gretchen's uncle, her father's brother."
"You?" I was astounded.
"And who knows of this?"
"The King, the Prince—and you."
I thrust a hand toward him. "You are a man."
"Wait. Swear to God that Her Highness shall never know."
"On my honor."
Then he accepted my clasp and looked straight into my eyes.
"And all this to you?"
"I love her."
"And she?"
"It is mutual. Do you suppose she would have put her life before mine if not? She knew that the lieutenant would have killed me."
"Ach! It never occurred to me in that light. I understood it to be a frolic of hers. Will you make her happy?"
"If an honest man's love can do it," said I. "Now, get on your hat and coat. You must go to the capital with me. The King would send for you in any case. The next train leaves at five, and to save Gretchen, these proofs must be in the Chancellor's hands to-morrow morning."
"Yes, my presence will be necessary. Perhaps I have committed a crime; who knows?" His head fell in meditation. "Herr, and this other sister, has she been happy?"
"Happier than ever Gretchen."
He had the sleigh brought around. Stahlberg was to ride my horse back to the village and return with the sleigh. We climbed into the seat, there was a crunching of snow, a jangle of bells, and we were gliding over the white highway. As I lay back among the robes, I tried to imagine that it was a dream, that I was still in New York, grinding away in my den, and not enacting one of the principal roles in a court drama; that I was not in love with a woman who spoke familiarly to kings and grand dukes and princes, that I was not about to create a Princess of whom few had vaguely heard and of whom but one had really known; that Phyllis and I were once more on the old friendly grounds, and that I was to go on loving her till the end of time—till the end of time.
"You have known this sister?" asked the innkeeper.
"For many years," said I.
And those were the only words which passed between us during that five-mile drive. At the station I at once wired the Chancellor that the proofs had been found, and requested him to inform the King and Prince Ernst. And then another eight hours dragged themselves out of existence. But Gretchen was mine!
The King was dressed in a military blouse, and, save for the small cross suspended from his neck by a chain of gold, there was nothing about him to distinguish his rank. He strode back and forth, sometimes going the whole length of the white room. The Chancellor sat at a long mahogany table, and the Prince and Mr. Wentworth were seated at either side of him. The innkeeper stood before the Chancellor, at the opposite side of the table. His face might have been cut from granite, it was so set and impressive. I leaned over the back of a chair in the rear of the room. The King came close to me once and fixed his keen blue eyes on mine.
"Was this the fellow, Prince," he asked, "who caused you all the trouble and anxiety?"
I felt uneasy. My experience with Kings was not large.
"No, Your Majesty," answered the Prince. "The gentleman to whom you refer has departed the scene." The Prince caught the fire in my eye, and laughed softly.
"Ah," said the King, carelessly. "It is a strange story. Proceed," with a nod to the Chancellor.
"What is your name?" the Chancellor asked, directing his glance at the innkeeper.
The innkeeper gazed at the King for a space. The Prince was watching him with a mocking smile.
"Hermann Breunner, Your Excellency."
The King stood still. He had forgotten the man, but not the name.
"Hermann Breunner," he mused.
"Yes, Your Majesty," said the innkeeper.
"The keeper of the feudal inn," supplemented the Prince.
The glance the innkeeper shot him was swift. The Prince suddenly busied himself with the papers.
"Are you aware," went on the Chancellor, who had not touched the undercurrent, "that you are guilty of a grave crime?"
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"Which is punishable by long imprisonment?"
The innkeeper bent his head.
"What have you to say in your defense?"
"Nothing," tranquilly meeting the frowning eyes of the King.
"What was your object in defrauding the Princess—" the Chancellor opened one of the documents which lay before him—"the Princess Elizabeth of her rights?"
"I desired the Princess Hildegarde to possess all," was the answer. Itwas also a challenge to the Prince to refute the answer if he dared."I acknowledge that I have committed a crime. I submit to HisMajesty's will," bowing reverentially.
The King was stroking his chin, a sign of deep meditation in him.
"Let Their Highnesses be brought in," he said at last.
The Chancellor rose and passed into the anteroom. Shortly he returned, followed by Gretchen. I could see by the expression in her face that she was mystified by the proceeding.
"Her Highness the Princess Elizabeth is just leaving the carriage," announced the Chancellor, retiring again.
Gretchen looked first at the King, then at the Prince. As she saw the innkeeper, a wave of astonishment rippled over her face.
"Be seated, Your Highness," said the King, kindly.
She knew that I was in the room, but her eyes never left the King.
The Prince was plucking at his imperial. The innkeeper's eyes were riveted on the door. He was waiting for the appearance of her whom he had wronged. Presently Phyllis came in. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. Wentworth nodded reassuringly. The innkeeper was like one stricken dumb. He stared at Phyllis till I thought his eyes would start from their sockets.
"Your Majesty has summoned me?" said Gretchen.
"Yes. Explain," said the King to the Chancellor.
"Your Highness," began the Chancellor, "it has been proved by these papers here and by that man there," pointing to the innkeeper, "that your mother of lamented memory gave birth to twins. One is yourself; the other was spirited away at the request of your mother. We shall pass over her reasons. It was all due to the efforts of this clever journalist here—" Gretchen was compelled to look at me now, while the King frowned and the Prince smiled—"that your sister has been found."
Gretchen gave a cry and started to go to Phyllis with outstretched arms; but as Phyllis stood motionless she stopped, and her arms fell.
"Your Highness," said the King to Phyllis, "it is your sister, thePrincess Hildegarde. Embrace her, I beg you."
The King willed it. But it occurred to me that there was a warmth lacking in the embrace. Gretchen lightly brushed with her lips the cheek of her sister, and the kiss was as lightly returned. There was something about it all we men failed to understand.
"Moreover," said the King, "she desires you to remain the sovereignPrincess of Hohenphalia."
"Nay, Your Majesty," said Gretchen, "it is I who will relinquish my claims. Your Majesty is aware that I have many caprices."
"Indeed, yes," said the King. "And I can assure you that they have caused me no small anxiety. But let us come to an understanding, once and for all. Do you wish to abdicate in favor of your sister?"
Gretchen gave me the briefest notice.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Phyllis was regarding me steadfastly.
"This is final?" said the King.
"It is."
"And what is your will?" to Phyllis. "Yes, the likeness is truly remarkable," communing aloud to his thought.
I could not suppress the appeal in my eyes.
"Your Majesty," said Phyllis, "if my sister will teach me how to become a Princess, I promise to accept the responsibility."
"You will not need much teaching," replied the King, admiringly.
"You will do this?—you, my sister?" asked Gretchen eagerly.
"Yes." There was no color now in Phyllis's cheeks; they were as white as the marble faun on the mantel.
"Remember, Your Highness," said the King, speaking to Gretchen, "there shall be no recall."
"Sire," said the Prince, rising, "I request a favor."
"And it shall be granted," said the King, "this being your wedding day."
It was Gretchen who now paled; the hands of the innkeeper closed; I clutched the chair, for my legs trembled. To lose, after all!
"Ah," said the Prince, "I thank Your Majesty. The favor I ask is that you will postpone this marriage—indefinitely."
"What!" cried the King. He was amazed. "Have I heard you aright, or do my ears play me false?"
"It is true. I thank Your Majesty again," said the Prince, bowing.
"But this is beyond belief," cried the King in anger. "I do not understand. This marriage was at your own request, and now you withdraw. Since when," proudly, "was the hand of the Princess Hildegarde to be ignored?"
"It is a delicate matter," said the Prince, turning the ring on his finger. "It would be impolite to state my reasons before Her Highness. Your Highness, are you not of my opinion, that, as matters now stand, a marriage between us would be rather absurd?"
"Now, as at all times," retorted Gretchen, scornfully. "It has never been my will," a furtive glance at the King.
"But—" began the King. He was wrathful.
"Your Majesty," said the innkeeper, "you are a great King; be a generous one."
All looked at him as though they expected to see the King fly at him and demolish him—all but I. The King walked up to the bold speaker, took his measure, then, with his hands clasped behind his back, resumed his pacing. After a while he came to a standstill.
"Your Highness," he said to Phyllis, "what shall I do with this man who has so grossly wronged you?"
"Forgive him."
The King passed on. I was not looking at him, but at the innkeeper. I saw his lip tremble and his eyes fill. Suddenly he fell upon his knees before Phyllis and raised her hand to his lips.
"Will Your Highness forgive a sinner who only now realizes the wrong he has done to you?"
"Yes, I forgive you," said Phyllis. "The only wrong you have done to me is to have made me a Princess. Your Majesty will forgive me, but it is all so strange to me who have grown up in a foreign land which is dearer to my heart than the land in which I was born."
I felt a thrill of pride, and I saw that Mr. Wentworth's lips had formed into a "God bless her!"
"It is a question now," said the King, "only of duty."
"And Your Majesty's will regarding my marriage?" put in the Prince, holding his watch in his hand. It was ten o'clock.
"Well, well! It shall be as you desire." Then to me: "I thank you in the name of Their Highnesses for your services. And you, Mr. Wentworth, shall always have the good will of the King for presenting to his court so accomplished and beautiful a woman as Her Highness the Princess Elizabeth. Hermann Breunner, return to your inn and remain there; your countenance brings back disagreeable recollections. I shall expect Your Highnesses at dinner this evening. Prince, I leave to you the pleasant task of annulling your nuptial preparations. Good morning. Ah! these women!" as he passed from the room. "They are our mothers, so we must suffer their caprices."
And as we men followed him we saw Gretchen weeping silently onPhyllis's shoulder.
The innkeeper touched the Prince.
"I give you fair warning," he said. "If our paths cross again, one of us shall go on alone."
"I should be very lonely without you," laughed the Prince. "However, rest yourself. As the King remarked, your face recalls unpleasant memories. Our paths shall not cross again."
When the innkeeper and the Chancellor were out of earshot, I said: "She is mine!"
"Not yet," the Prince said softly. "On Tuesday morn I shall kill you."
The affair caused considerable stir. The wise men of diplomacy shook their heads over it and predicted grave things in store for Hohenphalia. Things were bad enough as they were, but to have a woman with American ideas at the head—well, it was too dreadful to think of. And the correspondents created a hubbub. The news was flashed to Paris, to London, thence to New York, where the illustrated weeklies printed full-page pictures of the new Princess who had but a few months since been one of the society belles. And everybody was wondering who the "journalist" in the case was. The Chancellor smiled and said nothing. Mr. Wentworth said nothing and smiled. A cablegram from New York alarmed me. It said: "Was it you?" I answered, "Await letter." The letter contained my resignation, to take effect the moment my name became connected with the finding of the Princess Elizabeth. A week or so later I received another cablegram, "Accept resignation. Temptation too great." In some manner they secured a photograph of mine, and I became known as "The reporter who made a Princess;" and for many days the raillery at the clubs was simply unbearable. But I am skipping the intermediate events, those which followed the scene in the King's palace.
I was very unhappy. Three days passed, and I saw neither Phyllis nor Gretchen. The city was still talking about the dramatic ending of Prince Ernst's engagement to the Princess Hildegarde, Twice I had called at the Hohenphalian residence to pay my respects. Once I was told that Their Highnesses were at the palace. The second time I was informed that Their Highnesses were indisposed. I became gloomy and disheartened. I could not understand. Gretchen had not even thanked me for my efforts in saving her the unhappiness of marrying the Prince. And Phyllis, she who had called me "Jack," she whom I had watched grow from girlhood to womanhood, she, too, had forsaken me. I do not know what would have become of me but for Pembroke's cheerfulness.
Monday night I was sitting before the grate, reading for the hundredth time Gretchen's only letter. Pembroke was buried behind the covers of a magazine. Suddenly a yellow flame leaped from a pine log, and in it I seemed to read all. Gretchen was proud and jealous. She believed that I loved Phyllis and had made her a Princess because I loved her. It was the first time I had laughed in many an hour. Pembroke looked over his magazine.
"That sounds good. What caused it?"
"A story," I answered. "Some day I shall tell you all about it. Have you noticed how badly I have gone about lately?"
"Have I!" he echoed. "If I haven't had a time of it, I should like to know!"
"Well, it is all over," said I, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling into his questioning eyes. "Now if you will excuse me, cousin mine, I'll make a call on her Serene Highness the Princess Hildegarde."
Just then the door opened and Pembroke's valet came in. He handed a card to me, and I read upon it, "Count von Walden." I cast it into Pembroke's lap.
"That's the man. He is the inseparable of the Prince of Wortumborg."Then to the valet, "Show him up."
"What's it all about?" asked Pembroke.
"Honestly, I should like to run away," I said musingly. The snow on the housetops across the way sparkled in the early moonshine. "It's about a woman. If I live—ah!" I went to the door and swung it open. The Count gravely passed over the threshold.
"Good evening," he said, with a look of inquiry at Pembroke.
"This gentleman," said I, as I introduced him, "will second me in the affair to-morrow morning. I suppose you have come to make the final arrangements?"
"Pardon me," began Pembroke, "but I do not understand—"
"Oh, I forgot. You are," I responded, "to be my second in a duel to-morrow morning. Should anything happen to me, it were well to have a friend near by, better still a relative. Well, Count?"
"The Prince desires me to inform you that he has selected pistols at your request, and despite the fact that he has only the use of his left hand, he permits you to use either of yours. There will be one shot each, the firing to be drawn for on the grounds. The time is six, the place one mile out on the north road, in the rear of the Strasburg inn. I trust this is entirely satisfactory to you?"
"It is," I answered.
"Then allow me to bid you good night." He bowed and backed toward the door. He remained a moment with his hand on the knob, gazing into my eyes. I read in his a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "Good night," and he was gone.
Pembroke stared at me in bewilderment. "What the devil—"
"It is a matter of long standing," said I.
"But a duel!" he cried, impatiently. "Hang me if I'll be your second or let you fight. These are not the days of Richelieu. It is pure murder. It is against the law."
"But I cannot draw back honorably," I said. "I cannot."
"I'll notify the police and have them stop it," he said with determination.
"And have us all arrested and laughed at from one end of the continent to the other. My dear cousin, that man shot the dearest friend I had in the world. I am going to try to kill him at the risk of getting killed myself. He has also insulted the noblest woman that ever lived. If I backed down, I should be called a coward; the people who respect me now would close their doors in my face."
"But you have everything to lose, and he has nothing to gain."
"It cannot be helped," said I. "The woman I love once fought a duel for me; I cannot do less for her. You will be my second?"
"Yes. But if he wounds you, woe to him."
"Very well, I'll leave you," said I.
It was not far to the residence of Their Highnesses, so I walked. It was a fine night, and the frost sang beneath my heels. I had never fought a duel. This time no one would stand between. I was glad of this. I wanted Gretchen to know that I, too, was brave, but hitherto had lacked the opportunity to show it. It was really for her sake, after all, even though it would be something to avenge poor Hillars. And I wondered, as I walked along, would Gretchen and Phyllis love each other? It was difficult to guess, since, though sisters, they were utter strangers in lives and beliefs. Soon my journey came to an end, and I found myself mounting the broad marble steps of the Hohenphalian mansion. My heart beat swiftly and I had some difficulty in finding the bell.
The liveried footman took my card.
"Present it to her Highness the Princess Hildegarde," I said, as I passed into the hall.
"Her Serene Highness has left town, I believe, Your Excellency. HerSerene Highness the Princess Elizabeth is dining at the palace."
"Gone?" said I.
"Yes, Your Excellency." He examined my card closely. "Ah, allow me to deliver this note to you which Her Serene Highness directed me to do should you call."
My hands shook as I accepted the missive, and the lights began to waver. I passed out into the cold air. Gone? And why? I walked back to the rooms in feverish haste. Pembroke was still at his reading.
"Hello! What brings you back so soon?"
"She was not at home," I answered. I threw my coat and hat on the sofa. I balanced the envelope in my hand. For some moments I hesitated to open it. Something was wrong; if all had been well Gretchen would not have left the city. I glanced at Pembroke. He went on with his reading, unconcerned. Well, the sooner it was over, the better. I drew forth the contents and read it.
"Herr Winthrop—Forgive the indiscretion of a Princess. On my honor, I am sorry for having made you believe that you inspired me with the grand passion. Folly finds plenty to do with idle minds. It was a caprice of mine which I heartily regret. There is nothing to forgive; there is much to forget. However, I am under great obligations to you. I am positive that I shall love my sister as I have never loved a human being before. She is adorable, and I can well comprehend why you should love her deeply. Forgive me for playing with what the French call your summer affections. I am about to leave for Hohenphalia to prepare the way for the new sovereign. Will you kindly destroy that one indiscreet letter which I, in the spirit of mischief, wrote you last autumn?
"The Princess Hildegarde."
The envelope reminded me of a rusty scabbard; there was a very keen weapon within. I lit my pipe and puffed for a while.
"Cousin," said I, "I have a premonition that I shall not kill PrinceErnst of Wortumborg at six o'clock to-morrow morning."
"What put that into your head? You are not going to back down, after all, are you?"
"Decidedly not. Something strikes me that I shall miss fire."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Pembroke. "I have been thinking it over, and I've come to the conclusion that it would not be a bad plan to rid this world of a man like your Prince. It'll all come out right in the end. You will wed the Princess Hildegarde just as sure as—as I will not wed her sister." He spoke the last words rapidly, as though afraid of them.
"I shall never marry the Princess Hildegarde," said I. "She has gone."
"Gone? Where?"
"It matters not where. Suffice it is that she has gone. Pembroke, you and I were very unfortunate fellows. What earthly use have Princesses for you and me? The little knowledge of court we have was gotten out of cheap books and newspaper articles. To talk with Kings and Princesses it requires an innate etiquette which commoners cannot learn. We are not to the manner born. These Princesses are but candles; and now that we have singed our mothy wings, and are crippled so that we may not fly again, let us beware. This may or may not be my last night on earth. . . . Let us go to the opera. Let us be original in all things. I shall pay a prima donna to sing my requiem from the footlights—before I am dead."
"Jack!" cried Pembroke, anxiously.
"Oh, do not worry," said I. "I am only trying to laugh—but I can't!"
"Are you truly serious about going to the opera?" he asked.
"Yes. Hurry and dress," said I.
I leaned against the mantel and stared into the flickering tongues of flame. A caprice? I read the letter again, then threw it into the grate and watched the little darts of light devour it. Now and then a word stood out boldly. Finally the wind carried the brown ashes up the chimney, I would keep the other letter—the one she had asked for—and the withered rose till the earth passed over me. She was a Princess; I was truly an adventurer, a feeble pawn on the chess-board. What had I to do with Kings and bishops and knights? The comedy was about to end—perhaps with a tragedy. I had spoken my few lines and was going behind the scenes out of which I had come. As I waited for Pembroke the past two years went by as in a panorama. I thought of the old lawyer and the thousand-dollar check; the night at the opera with Phyllis; the meeting of Hillars and his story. "When there is nothing more to live for, it is time to die." If there was such a place as Elysium in the nether world, Hillars and I should talk it all over there. It is pleasant to contemplate the fact that when we are dead we shall know "the reason why."
"Come along," said Pembroke, entering.
So we went to the opera. They are full of wonderful scenes, these continental opera houses. Here and there one sees the brilliant uniforms, blue and scarlet and brown, glittering with insignias and softened by furs. Old men with sashes crossing the white bosoms of their linen dominate the boxes, and the beauty of woman is often lost in the sparkle of jewels. And hovering over all is an oppressive fragrance. Pembroke's glasses were roving about. Presently he touched my arm.
"In the upper proscenium," he said.
It was Phyllis. The Chancellor and the Grand Duke of S—— were with her.
"We shall visit her during the first intermission," said I.
"You had better go alone," replied Pembroke. "I haven't the courage."
The moment the curtain dropped I left the stall. I passed along the corridor and soon stood outside the box in which Phyllis sat. I knocked gently.
"Enter!" said a soft voice.
"Ah," said the Chancellor, smiling as he saw me. "Duke, I believe their Majesties are looking this way. Let us go to them. I am pleased to see you, Herr Winthrop. Duke, this is the gentleman who has turned us all upside down."
The Duke bowed, and the two left me alone with Phyllis.
There was an embarrassing silence, but she surmounted it.
"Why have you not been to see me?" she asked. "Are you done with me now that you have made me a Princess?"
"I did call, but was told that you were indisposed," said I.
"It was because I did not see your card. I shall never be indisposed to my friends—the old ones. However, they will be crowding in here shortly. Will you come and see me at four to-morrow afternoon?"
"Is it important?" I was thinking of the duel when I said this.
"Very—to you. You have a strange funereal expression for a man who is about to wed the woman he loves."
"Your sister has left town?" not knowing what else to say.
"Only for a few days; at least so she told me. Have you seen her?"
"No, I have not. A Princess!" dropping into a lighter tone. "You carry your honors well. It was to be expected of you. I might have made you a Queen, but that would not have changed you any."
"Thank you. Do you know, a title is a most wonderful drawing apparatus? Since Thursday it has been a continued performance of presentations. And I care absolutely nothing for it all. Indeed, it rests heavily upon me. I am no longer free. Ah, Jack, and to think that I must blame you! I have been longing all the evening for the little garden at home. Yes, it will always be home to me. I am almost an alien. I would rather sell lemonade to poor reporters who had only twenty-five-cent pieces in their pockets than queen it over a people that do not interest me and with whom I have nothing in common." She smiled, rather sadly, I thought, at the remembrance of that garden scene so long ago.
"Time has a cruel way of moving us around," said I, snapping the clasps on my gloves, and pulling the fingers and looking everywhere but at her. I was wondering if I should ever see her again. "When is the coronation to take place?"
"In June. The King does not wish to hurry me. You see, I must learn to be a Princess first. It was kind of him. And you will be at Hohenphalia to witness the event?"
"If nothing happens. We live in a continual uncertainty."
She regarded me somewhat strangely.
"Is there a significance in that last sentence?"
"No," I answered. I felt compelled to add something. "But here come some of your new admirers. Their glittering medals will make me feel out of place if I remain. I shall do my best to accept your invitation."
"Jack, you are hiding something from me. Are you going to leave the city to search for her?"
"No," said I. "The truth is," with a miserable attempt to smile, "I have an engagement to-morrow morning, and it is impossible to tell how long it will last. Good night."
Fate played loose with me that night. As I was turning down the corridor I ran into the Prince. He was accompanied by Von Walden and an attaché whom I knew.
"Good evening," said the Prince. "Do you not prefer the French opera, after all?"
"All good music is the same to me," I answered, calmly returning his amused look with a contemptuous one. "Wagner, Verdi, Gounod, or Bizet, it matters not."
The attaché passed some cigarettes. Only the Prince refused.
"No thanks. I am not that kind of a villain." He laughed as he uttered these words, and looked at me.
I would have given much to possess that man's coolness.
"Till we meet again," he said, as I continued on. "Shall I add pleasant dreams?"
"I am obliged to you," I answered over my shoulder, "but I never have them. I sleep too soundly."
"Cousin," said I, later, "what was that opera?"
"I forgot to bring along a program," said Pembroke.