[Illustration: Detail of Belvane with castle in the background]
Udo awoke, slightly refreshed, and decided to take a firm line with the Countess at once. He had no difficulty about finding his way down to her. The Palace seemed to be full of servants, all apparently busy about something which brought them for a moment in sight of the newly arrived Prince, and then whisked them off, hand to mouth and shoulders shaking. By one of these, with more control over her countenance than the others, an annoyed Udo was led into Belvane's garden.
She was walking up and down the flagged walk between her lavender hedges, and as he came in she stopped and rested her elbows on her sundial, and looked mockingly at him, waiting for him to speak. "Between the showers I mark the hours," said the sundial (on the suggestion of Belvane one wet afternoon), but for the moment the Countess was in the way.
"Ah, here we are," said Udo in rather a nasty voice.
"Here we are," said Belvane sweetly. "All of us."
Suddenly she began to laugh.
"Oh, Prince Udo," she said, "you'll be the death of me. Count me as one more of your victims."
It is easy to be angry with any one who will laugh at you all the time, but difficult to be effective; particularly when—but we need not dwell upon Udo's handicap again.
"I don't see anything to laugh at," he said stiffly. "To intelligent people the outside appearance is not everything."
"But it can be very funny, can't it?" said Belvane coaxingly. "I wished for something humorous to happen to you, but I never thought——"
"Ah," said Udo, "now we've got it."
He spoke with an air of a clever cross-examiner who has skilfully extracted an admission from a reluctant witness. This sort of tone goes best with one of those keen legal faces; perhaps that is why Belvane laughed again.
"You practically confess that you did it," went on Udo magnificently.
"Did what?"
"Turned me into a—a——"
"A rabbit?" said Belvane innocently.
A foolish observation like this always pained Udo.
"What makes you think I'm a rabbit?" he asked.
"I don't mind what you are, but you'll never dare show yourself in the country like this."
"Be careful, woman; don't drive me too far. Beware lest you rouse the lion in me."
"Where?" asked Belvane, with a child-like air.
With a gesture full of dignity and good breeding Udo called attention to his tail.
"That," said the Countess, "is not the part of the lion that I'm afraid of."
For the moment Udo was nonplussed, but he soon recovered himself.
"Even supposing—just for the sake of argument—that I am a rabbit, I still have something up my sleeve; I'll come and eat your young carnations."
Belvane adored her garden, but she was sustained by the thought that it was only July just now. She pointed this out to him.
"It needn't necessarily be carnations," he warned her.
"I don't want to put my opinion against one who has (forgive me) inside knowledge on the subject, but I think I have nothing in my garden at this moment that would agree with a rabbit."
"I don't mind if itdoesn'tagree with me," said Udo heroically.
This was more serious. Her dear garden in which she composed, ruined by the mastications—machinations—what was the word?—of an enemy! The thought was unbearable.
"You aren't a rabbit," she said hastily; "you aren't really a rabbit. Because—because you don'twoffleyour nose properly."
"I could," said Udo simply. "I'm just keeping it back, that's all."
"Show me how," cried Belvane, clasping her hands eagerly together.
It was not what he had come into the garden for, and it accorded ill with the dignity of the Royal House of Araby, but somehow one got led on by this wicked woman.
"Like this," said Udo.
The Countess looked at him critically with her head on one side.
"No," she said, "that's quite wrong."
"Naturally I'm a little out of practice."
"I'm sorry," said Belvane. "I'm afraid I can't pass you."
Udo couldn't think what had happened to the conversation. With a great effort he extracted himself from it.
"Enough of this, Countess," he said sternly. "I have your admission that it was you who put this enchantment on me."
"It was I. I wasn't going to have you here interfering with my plans."
"Your plans to rob the Princess."
Belvane felt that it was useless to explain the principles of largesse-throwing to Udo. There will always be men like Udo and Roger Scurvilegs who take these narrow matter-of-fact views. One merely wastes time in arguing with them.
"My plans," she repeated.
"Very well. I shall go straight to the Princess, and she will unmask you before the people."
Belvane smiled happily. One does not often get such a chance.
"And who," she asked sweetly, "will unmask your Royal Highness before the people, so that they may see the true Prince Udo underneath?"
"What do you mean?" said Udo, though he was beginning to guess.
"That noble handsome countenance which is so justly the pride of Araby—how shall we show that to the people? They'll form such a mistaken idea of it if they all see you like this, won't they?"
Udo was quite sure now that he understood. Hyacinth had understood at the very beginning.
[Illustration: He forgot his manners, and made a jump towards her][Illustration: She glided gracefully behind the sundial in a pretty affectation of alarm]
"You mean that if the Princess Hyacinth falls in with your plans, you will restore me to my proper form, but that otherwise you will leave me like this?"
"One's actions are very much misunderstood," sighed Belvane. "I've no doubt that that is how it will appear to future historians."
(To Roger, certainly.)
It was too much for Udo. He forgot his manners and made a jump towards her. She glided gracefully behind the sundial in a pretty affectation of alarm . . . and the next moment Udo decided that the contest between them was not to be settled by such rough-and-tumble methods as these. The fact that his tail had caught in something helped him to decide.
Belvane was up to him in an instant.
"There, there!" she said soothingly, "Letmeundo it for your Royal Highness." She talked pleasantly as she worked at it. "Every little accident teaches us something. Now if you'd been a rabbit this wouldn't have happened."
"No, I'm not even a rabbit," said Udo sadly. "I'm just nothing."
Belvane stood up and made him a deep curtsey.
"You are his Royal Highness Prince Udo of Araby. Your Royal Highness's straw is prepared. When will your Royal Highness be pleased to retire?"
It was a little unkind, I think. I should not record it of her were not Roger so insistent.
"Now," said Udo, and lolloped sadly off. It was his one really dignified moment in Euralia.
On his way to his apartment he met Wiggs.
"Wiggs," he said solemnly, "if ever you can do anything to annoy that woman, such as making her an apple-pie bed, oranythinglike that, I wish you'd do it."
Whereupon he retired for the night. Into the mysteries of his toilet we had perhaps better not inquire.
* * * * *
As the chronicler of these simple happenings many years ago, it is my duty to be impartial. "These are the facts," I should say, "and it is for your nobilities to judge of them. Thus and thus my characters have acted; how say you, my lords and ladies?"
I confess that this attitude is beyond me; I have a fondness for all my people, and I would not have you misunderstand any of them. But with regard to one of them there is no need for me to say anything in her defence. About her at any rate we agree.
I mean Wiggs. We take the same view as Hyacinth: she was the best little girl in Euralia. It will come then as a shock to you (as it did to me on the morning after I had staggered home with Roger's seventeen volumes) to learn that on her day Wiggs could be as bad as anybody. I mean really bad. To tear your frock, to read books which you ought to be dusting, these are accidents which may happen to anybody. Far otherwise was Wiggs's fall.
She adopted, in fact, the infamous suggestion of Prince Udo. Three nights later, with malice aforethought and to the comfort of the King's enemies and the prejudice of the safety of the realm, she made an apple-pie bed for the Countess.
It was the most perfect apple-pie bed ever made. Cox himself could not have improved upon it; Newton has seen nothing like it. It took Wiggs a whole morning; and the results, though private (that is the worst of an apple-pie bed), were beyond expectation. After wrestling for half an hour the Countess spent the night in a garden hammock, composing a bitter Ode to Melancholy.
Of course Wiggs caught it in the morning; the Countess suspected what she could not prove. Wiggs, now in for a thoroughly bad week, realised that it was her turn again. What should she do?
An inspiration came to her. She had been really bad the day before; it was a pity to waste such perfect badness as that. Why not have the one bad wish to which the ring entitled her?
She drew the ring out from its hiding-place round her neck.
"I wish," she said, holding it up, "I wish that the Countess Belvane——" she stopped to think of something that would really annoy her—"I wish that the Countess shall never be able to write another rhyme again."
She held her breath, expecting a thunderclap or some other outward token of the sudden death of Belvane's muse. Instead she was struck by the extraordinary silence of the place. She had a horrid feeling that everybody else was dead, and realising all at once that she was a very wicked little girl, she ran up to her room and gave herself up to tears.
MAY YOU, DEAR SIR OR MADAM, REPENT AS QUICKLY!
However, this is not a moral work. An hour later Wiggs came into Belvane's garden, eager to discover in what way her inability to rhyme would manifest itself. It seemed that she had chosen the exact moment.
In the throes of composition Belvane had quite forgotten the apple-pie bed, so absorbing is our profession. She welcomed Wiggs eagerly, and taking her hand led her towards the roses.
"I have just been talking to my dear roses," she said. "Listen:
Whene'er I take my walks about,I like to see the roses out;I like them yellow, white, and pink,But crimson are the best, I think.The butterfly——"
But we shall never know about the butterfly. It may be that Wiggs has lost us here a thought on lepidoptera which the world can ill spare; for she interrupted breathlessly.
"When did you write that?"
"I was just making it up when you came in, dear child. These thoughts often come to me as I walk up and down my beautiful garden. 'The butterfly——'"
But Wiggs had let go her hand and was running back to the Palace. She wanted to be alone to think this out.
What had happened? That it was truly a magic ring, as the fairy had told her, she had no doubt; that her wish was a bad one, that she had been bad enough to earn it, she was equally certain. What then had happened? There was only one answer to her question. The bad wish had been granted to someone else.
To whom? She had lent the ring to nobody. True, she had told the Princess all about it, but——
Suddenly she remembered. The Countess had had it in her hands for a moment. Yes, and she had sent her out of the room, and—
So many thoughts crowded into Wiggs's mind at this moment that she felt she must share them with somebody. She ran off to find the Princess.
[Illustration: Detail of Wiggs curtsying]
Hyacinth was with Udo in the library. Udo spent much of his time in the library nowadays; for surely in one of those many books was to be found some Advice to a Gentleman in Temporary Difficulties suitable to a case like his. Hyacinth kept him company sadly. It had been such a brilliant idea inviting him to Euralia; how she wished now that she had never done it.
"Well, Wiggs," she said, with a gentle smile, "what have you been doing with yourself all the morning?"
Udo looked up from his mat and nodded to her.
"I've found out," said Wiggs excitedly; "it was theCountesswho did it."
Udo surveyed her with amazement.
"The Princess Hyacinth," he said, "has golden hair. One discovers these things gradually." And he returned to his book.
Wiggs looked bewildered.
"He means, dear," said Hyacinth, "that it is quite obvious that the Countess did it, and we have known about it for days."
Udo wore, as far as his face would permit, the slightly puffy expression of one who has just said something profoundly ironical and is feeling self-conscious about it.
"Oh—h," said Wiggs in such a disappointed voice that it seemed as if she were going to cry.
Hyacinth, like the dear that she was, made haste to comfort her.
"We didn't reallyknow," she said; "we only guessed it. But now that you have found out, I shall be able to punish her properly. No, don't come with me," she said, as she rose and moved towards the door; "stay here and help his Royal Highness. Perhaps you can find the book that he wants; you've read more of them than I have, I expect."
Left alone with the Prince, Wiggs was silent for a little, looking at him rather anxiously.
"Do you knowallabout the Countess?" she asked at last.
"If there's anything I don't know, it must beverybad."
"Then you know that it's all my fault that you are like this? Oh, dear Prince Udo, I am so dreadfully sorry."
"What do you mean—yourfault?"
"Because it was my ring that did it."
Udo scratched his head in a slightly puzzled but quite a nice way.
"Tell me all about it from the beginning," he said. "You have found out something after all, I believe."
So Wiggs told her story from the beginning. How the fairy had given her a ring; how the Countess had taken it from her for five minutes and had a bad wish on it; and how Wiggs had found her out that very morning.
Udo was intensely excited by the story. He trotted up and down the library, muttering to himself. He stopped in front of Wiggs as soon as she had finished.
"Is the ring still going?" he asked. "I mean, can you have another wish on it?"
"Yes, just one."
"Then wish her to be turned into a——" He tried to think of something that would meet the case. "What about a spider?" he said thoughtfully.
"But that's abadwish," said Wiggs.
"Yes, but it'sherturn."
"Oh, but I'm only allowed a good wish now." She added rapturously, "And I know what it's going to be."
So did Udo. At least he thought he did.
"Oh, you dear," he said, casting an affectionate look on her.
"Yes, that's it. That I might be able to dance like a fairy."
Udo could hardly believe his ears, and they were adequate enough for most emergencies.
"But how is that going to helpme?" he said, tapping his chest with his paw.
"But it'smyring," said Wiggs. "And so of course I'm going to wish that I can dance like a fairy. I've always meant to, as soon as I've been good for a day first."
The child was absurdly selfish. Udo saw that he would have to appeal to her in another way.
"Of course," he began, "I've nothing to say against dancingasdancing, but I think you'll get tired of it. Just as I shall get tired of—lettuce."
Wiggs understood now.
"You mean that I might wish you to be a Prince again?"
"Well," said Udo casually, "it just occurred to me as an example of what might be called the Good Wish."
"Then I shall never be able to dance like a fairy?"
"Neither shall I, if it comes to that," said Udo. Really, the child was very stupid.
"Oh, it's too cruel," said Wiggs, stamping her foot. "I did so want to be able to dance."
Udo glanced gloomily into the future.
"To live for ever behind wire netting," he mused; "to be eternally frightened by pink-eyed ferrets; to be offered bran-mash—bran-mash—bran-mash wherever one visited week after week, month after month, year after year, century after—how longdorabbits live?"
But Wiggs was not to be moved.
"Iwon'tgive up my wish," she said passionately.
Udo got on to his four legs with dignity.
"Keep your wish," he said. "There are plenty of other ways of getting out of enchantments. I'll learn up a piece of poetry by our Court Poet Sacharino, and recite it backwards when the moon is new. Something like that. I can do this quite easily by myself. Keep your wish."
He went slowly out. His tail (looking more like a bell-rope than ever) followed him solemnly. The fluffy part that you pull was for a moment left behind; then with a jerk it was gone, and Wiggs was left alone.
"I won't give up my wish," cried Wiggs again. "I'll wish it now before I'm sorry." She held the ring up. "I wish that——" She stopped suddenly. "Poor Prince Udo he seems very unhappy. I wonder if itisa good wish to wish to dance when people are unhappy." She thought this out for a little, and then made her great resolve. "Yes," she said, "I'll wish him well again."
Once more she held the ring up in her two hands.
"I wish," she said, "that Prince Udo——"
I know what you're going to say. It was no good her wishing her good wish, because she had been a bad girl the day before—making the Countess an apple-pie bed and all—disgraceful! How could she possibly suppose——
She didn't. She remembered just in time.
"Oh, bother," said Wiggs, standing in the middle of the room with the ring held above her head. "I've got to be good for a day first.Bother!"
* * * * *
So the next day was Wiggs's Good Day. The legend of it was handed down for years afterwards in Euralia. It got into all the Calendars—July 20th it was—marked with a red star; in Roger's portentous volumes it had a chapter devoted to it. There was some talk about it being made into a public holiday, he tells us, but this fell through. Euralian mothers used to scold their naughty children with the words, "Why can't you be like Wiggs?" and the children used to tell each other that there never was a real Wiggs, and that it was only a made-up story for parents. However, you have my word for it that it was true.
She began by getting up at five o'clock in the morning, and after dressing herself very neatly (and being particularly careful to wring out her sponge) she made her own bed and tidied up the room. For a moment she thought of waking the grown-ups in the Palace and letting them enjoy the beautiful morning too, but a little reflection showed her that this would not be at all a kindly act; so, having dusted the Throne Room and performed a few simple physical exercises, she went outside and attended to the smaller domestic animals.
[Illustration: When anybody of superior station or age came into the room she rose and curtsied, verso][Illustration: When anybody of superior station or age came into the room she rose and curtsied, recto]
At breakfast she had three helps of something very nutritious, which the Countess said would make her grow, but only one help of everything else. She sat up nicely all the time, and never pointed to anything or drank with her mouth full. After breakfast she scattered some crumbs on the lawn for the robins, and then got to work again.
First she dusted and dusted and dusted; then she swept and swept and swept; then she sewed and sewed and sewed. When anybody of superior station or age came into the room she rose and curtsied and stood with her hands behind her back, while she was being spoken to. When anybody said, "I wonder where I put my so-and-so," she jumped up and said, "Letmefetch it," even if it was upstairs.
After dinner she made up a basket of provisions and took them to the old women who lived near the castle; to some of them she sang or read aloud, and when at one cottage she was asked, "Now won't you give me a little dance," she smiled bravely and said, "I'm afraid I don't dance very well." I think that was rather sweet of her; if I had been the fairy I should have let her off the rest of the day.
When she got back to the Palace she drank two glasses of warm milk, with the skin on, and then went and weeded the Countess's lawn; and once when she trod by accident on a bed of flowers, she left the footprint there instead of scraping it over hastily, and pretending that she hadn't been near the place, as you would have done.
And at half-past six she kissed everybody good-night (including Udo) and went to bed.
So ended July the Twentieth, perhaps the most memorable day in Euralian history.
* * * * *
Udo and Hyacinth spent the great day peacefully in the library. A gentleman for all his fur, Udo had not told the Princess about Wiggs's refusal to help him. Besides, a man has his dignity. To be turned into a mixture of three animals by a woman of thirty, and to be turned back again by a girl of ten, is to be too much the plaything of the sex. It was time he did something for himself.
"Now then, how did that bit of Sacharino's go? Let me see." He beat time with a paw. "'Blood for something, something, some——' Something like that. 'Blood for—er—blood for—er——' No, it's gone again. I know there was a bit of blood in it."
"I'm sure you'll get it soon," said Hyacinth. "It sounds as thought it's going to be just the sort of thing that's wanted."
"Oh, I shall get it all right. Some of the words have escaped me for the moment, that's all. 'Blood—er—blood.' You must have heard of it, Princess: it's about blood for he who something; you must know the one I mean.
"I know I've heard of it," said the Princess, wrinkling her forehead, "only I can't quite think of it for the moment. It's about a—a——"
"Yes, that's it," said Udo.
Then they both looked up at the ceiling with their heads on one side and murmured to themselves.
But noon came and still they hadn't thought of it.
After a simple meal they returned to the library.
"I think I'd better write to Coronel," said Udo, "and ask him about it."
"I thought you said his name was Sacharino."
"Oh, this is not the poet, it's just a friend of mine, but he's rather good at this sort of thing. The trouble is that it takes such a long time for a letter to get there and back."
At the word "letter," Hyacinth started suddenly.
"Oh, Prince Udo," she cried, "I can never forgive myself. I've just remembered the very thing. Father told me in his letter that a little couplet he once wrote was being very useful for—er—removing things."
"What sort of things?" said Udo, not too hopefully.
"Oh, enchantments and things."
Udo was a little annoyed at the "and things"—as those turning him back into a Prince again was as much in the day's work as removing rust from a helmet.
"It goes like this," said Hyacinth.
"Bo, boll, bill, bole.Wo, woll, will, wole."
"It sounds as though it would removeanything," she added, with a smile.
Udo sat up rather eagerly.
"I'll try," he said. "Is there any particular action that goes with it?"
"I've never heard of any. I expect you ought to say it as if you meant it."
Udo sat up on his back paws, and, gesticulating freely with his right paw, declaimed:
"Bo, boll, bill, bole.Wo, woll, will, wole."
He fixed his eyes on his paws, waiting for the transformation.
He waited.
And waited.
Nothing happened.
"It must be all right," said Hyacinth anxiously, "because I'm sure Father would know. Try saying it more like this."
She repeated the lines in a voice so melting, yet withal so dignified, that the very chairs might have been expected to get up and walk out.
Udo imitated her as well as he could.
At about the time when Wiggs was just falling asleep, he repeated it in his fiftieth different voice.
"I'm sorry," said Hyacinth; "perhaps it isn't so good as Father thought it was."
"There's just one chance," said Udo. "It's possible it may have to be said on an empty stomach. I'll try it to-morrow before breakfast."
Upstairs Wiggs was dreaming of the dancing that she had given up for ever.
And what Belvane was doing I really don't know.
[Illustration: Detail of Wiggs dancing]
So the next morning before breakfast Wiggs went up on to the castle walls and wished. She looked over the meadows, and across the peaceful stream that wandered through them, to the forest where she had met her fairy, and she gave a little sigh. "Good-bye, dancing," she said; and then she held the ring up and went on bravely, "Please I was a very good girl all yesterday, and I wish that Prince Udo may be well again."
For a full minute there was silence. Then from the direction of Udo's room below there came these remarkable words:
"Take the beastly stuff away, and bring me a beefsteak and a flagon of sack!"
Between smiles and tears Wiggs murmured, "Hesoundsall right. Iamg—glad."
And then she could bear it no longer. She hurried down and out of the Palace—away, away from Udo and the Princess and the Countess and all their talk, to the cool friendly forest, there to be alone and to think over all that she had lost.
It was very quiet in the forest. At the foot of her own favourite tree, a veteran of many hundred summers who stood sentinel over an open glade that dipped to a gurgling brook and climbed gently away from it, she sat down. On the soft green yonder she might have danced, an enchanted place, and now—never, never, never. . . .
How long had she sat there? It must have been a long time—because the forest had been so quiet, and now it was so full of sound. The trees were murmuring something to her, and the birds were singing it, and the brook was trying to tell it too, but it would keep chuckling over the very idea so that you could hardly hear what it was saying, and there were rustlings in the grass—"Get up, get up," everything was calling to her; "dance, dance."
She got up, a little frightened. Everything seemed so strangely beautiful. She had never felt it like this before. Yes, she would dance. She must say, "Thank you," for all this somehow; perhaps they would excuse her if it was not very well expressed.
"This will just be for 'Thank you'" she said as she got up. "I shall never dance again."
[Illustration: And then she danced, verso][Illustration: And then she danced, recto]
And then she danced. . . .
Where are you, Hyacinth? There is a lover waiting for you somewhere, my dear.
It is the first of Spring. The blackbird opens his yellow beak, and whistles cool and clear. There is blue magic in the morning; the sky, deep-blue above, melts into white where it meets the hills. The wind waits for you up yonder—will you go to meet it? Ah, stay here! The hedges have put on their green coats for you; misty green are the tall elms from which the rooks are chattering. Along the clean white road, between the primrose banks, he comes. Will you be round this corner?——or the next? He is looking for you, Hyacinth.
(She rested, breathless, and then danced again.)
It is summer afternoon. All the village is at rest save one. "Cuck-oo!" comes from the deep dark trees; "Cuck-oo!" he calls again, and flies away to send back the answer. The fields, all green and gold, sleep undisturbed by the full river which creeps along them. The air is heavy with the scent of may. Where are you, Hyacinth? Is not this the trysting-place? I have waited for you so long! . . .
She stopped, and the watcher in the bushes moved silently away, his mind aflame with fancies.
Wiggs went back to the Palace to tell everybody that she could dance.
* * * * *
"Shall we tell her how it happened?" said Udo jauntily. "I just recited a couple of lines—poetry, you know—backwards, and—well, here I am!"
"O——oh!" said Wiggs.
[Illustration: Detail of Belvane in an elaborate gown]
The entrance of an attendant into his room that morning to bring him his early bran-mash had awakened Udo. As soon as she was gone he jumped up, shook the straw from himself, and said in a very passion of longing,
Bo, boll, bill, bole.Wo, woll, will, wole.
He felt it was his last chance. Exhausted by his effort, he fell back on the straw and dropped asleep again. It was nearly an hour later that he became properly awake.
Into his feelings I shall not enter at any length; I leave that to Roger Scurvilegs. Between ourselves Roger is a bit of a snob. The degradation to a Prince of Araby to be turned into an animal so ludicrous, the delight of a Prince of Araby at regaining his own form, it is this that he chiefly dwells upon. Really, I think you or I would have been equally delighted. I am sure we can guess how Udo felt about it.
He strutted about the room, he gazed at himself in every glass, he held out his hand to an imaginary Hyacinth with "Ah, dear Princess, and how are we this morning?" Never had he felt so handsome and so sure of himself. It was in the middle of one of his pirouettings, that he caught sight of the unfortunate bran-mash, and uttered the remarkable words which I have already recorded.
The actual meeting with Hyacinth was even better than he had expected. Hardly able to believe that it was true, she seized his hands impulsively and cried:
"Oh, Prince Udo! oh, my dear, Iamso glad!"
Udo twirled his moustache and felt a very gay dog indeed.
At breakfast (where Udo did himself extremely well) they discussed plans. The first thing was to summon the Countess into their presence. An attendant was sent to fetch her.
"If you would like me to conduct the interview," said Udo, "I've no doubt that——"
"I think I shall be all right now that you are with me. I shan't feel so afraid of her now."
The attendant came in again.
"Her ladyship is not yet down, your Royal Highness."
"Tell her that I wish to see her directly sheisdown," said the Princess.
The attendant withdrew.
"You were telling me about this army of hers," said Udo. "One of my ideas—I had a good many while I was—er—in retirement—was that she could establish the army properly at her own expense, and that she herself should be perpetual orderly-sergeant."
"Isn't that a nice thing to be?" asked Hyacinth innocently.
"It's ahorriblething to be. Another of my ideas was that——"
The attendant came in again.
"Her ladyship is a little indisposed, and is staying in bed for the present."
"Oh! Did her ladyship say when she thought of getting up?"
"Her ladyship didn't seem to think of getting up at all to-day. Her ladyship told me to say that she didn't seem to knowwhenshe'd get up again."
The attendant withdrew, and Hyacinth and Udo, standing together in a corner, discussed the matter anxiously.
"I don't quite see what we cando," said Hyacinth. "We can'tpullher out of bed. Besides, she may really be ill. Supposing she stays there for ever!"
"Of course," said Udo. "It would be rather——"
"You see if we——"
"We might possibly——"
"Goodmorning, all!" said Belvane, sweeping into the room. She dropped a profound curtsey to the Princess. "Your Royal Highness! And dear Prince Udo, looking his own charming self again!"
She had made a superb toilet. In her flowing gold brocade, cut square in front to reveal the whitest of necks, with her black hair falling in two braids to her knees and twined with pearls which were caught up in loops at her waist, she looked indeed a Queen; while Hyacinth and Udo, taken utterly by surprise, seemed to be two conspirators whom she had caught in the act of plotting against her.
[Illustration: "Good morning," said Belvane, verso][Illustration: "Good morning," said Belvane, recto]
"I—I thought you weren't well, Countess," said Hyacinth, trying to recover herself.
"I not well?" cried Belvane, clasping her hands to her breast. "I thought it was his Royal Highness who—— Ah, but he's looking a true Prince now."
She turned her eyes upon him, and there was in that look so much of admiration, humour, appeal, impudence—I don't know what (and Roger cannot tell us, either)—that Udo forgot entirely what he was going to say and could only gaze at her in wonder.
Her mere entry dazzled him. There is no knowing with a woman like Belvane; and I believe she had purposely kept herself plain during these last few days so that she might have the weapon of her beauty to fall back upon in case anything went wrong. Things had indeed gone wrong; Udo had become a man again; and it was against the man that this last weapon was directed.
Udo himself was only too ready. The fact that he was once more attractive to women meant as much as anything to him. To have been attractive to Hyacinth would have contented most of us, but Udo felt a little uncomfortable with her. He could not forget the last few days, nor the fact that he had once been an object of pity to her. Now Belvane had not pitied him.
Hyacinth had got control of herself by this time.
"Enough of this, Countess," she said with dignity. "We have not forgotten the treason which you were plotting against the State; we have not forgotten your base attack upon our guest, Prince Udo. I order you now to remain within the confines of the Palace until we shall have decided what to do with you. You may leave us."
Belvane dropped her eyes meekly.
"I am at your Royal Highness's commands. I shall be in my garden when your Royal Highness wants me."
She raised her eyes, gave one fleeting glance to Prince Udo, and withdrew.
"A hateful woman," said Hyacinth. "What shall we do with her?"
"I think," said Udo, "that I had better speak to her seriously first. I have no doubt that I can drag from her the truth of her conspiracy against you. There may be others in it, in which case we shall have to proceed with caution; on the other hand, it may be just misplaced zeal on her part, in which case——"
"Was it misplaced zeal which made her turn you into a——?"
Udo held up his hand hastily.
"I have not forgotten that," he said. "Be sure that I shall exact full reparation. Let me see;whichis the way to her garden?"
Hyacinth did not know quite what to make of her guest. At the moment when she first saw him in his proper form the improvement on his late appearance had been so marked that he had seemed almost the handsome young Prince of her dreams. Every minute after that had detracted from him. His face was too heavy, his manner was too pompous; one of these days he would be too fat.
Moreover he was just a little too sure of his position in her house. She had wanted his help, but she did not want so much of it as she seemed to be likely to get.
Udo, feeling that it was going to be rather a nice day, went into Belvane's garden. He had been there once before; it seemed to him a very much prettier garden this morning, and the woman who was again awaiting him much more desirable.
Belvane made room for him on the seat next to her.
"This is where I sit when I write my poetry," she said. "I don't know if your Royal Highness is fond of poetry?"
"Extremely," said Udo. "I have never actually written any or indeed read much, but I have a great admiration for those who—er—admire it. But it was not to talk about poetry that I came out here, Countess."
"No?" said Belvane. "But your Royal Highness must have read the works of Sacharino, the famous bard of Araby?"
"Sacharino, of course. 'Blood for something, something——He who something——' I mean, it's a delightful little thing. Everybody knows it. But it was to talk about something very different that I——"
"Blood for blood and shoon for shoon,He who runs may read my rune,"
quoted Belvane softly. "It is perhaps Sacharino's most perfect gem."
"That's it," cried Udo excitedly. "I knew I knew it, if only I could——" He broke off suddenly, remembering the circumstances in which he had wanted it. He coughed importantly and explained for the third time that he had not come to talk to her about poetry.
"But of course I think his most noble poem of all," went on Belvane, apparently misunderstanding him, "is the ode to your Royal Highness upon your coming-of-age. Let me see, how does it begin?
"Prince Udo, so dashing and bold,Is apparently eighteen years old.It is eighteen years sinceThis wonderful PrinceWas born in the Palace, I'm told."
"These Court Poets," said Udo, with an air of unconcern, "flatter one, of course."
If he expected a compliment he was disappointed.
"There I cannot judge," said Belvane, "until I know your Royal Highness better." She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. "Is your Royal Highness very—dashing?"
"I—er—well—er—one—that is to say." He waded on uncomfortably, feeling less dashing every moment. He should have realised at once that it was an impossible question to answer.
"Your Royal Highness," said Belvane modestly, "must not be too dashing with us poor Euralians."
For the fourth time Udo explained that he had come there to speak to her severely, and that Belvane seemed to have mistaken his purpose.
"Oh, forgive me, Prince Udo," she begged. "I quite thought that you had come out to commune soul to soul with a fellow-lover of the beautiful."
"N—no," said Udo; "not exactly."
"Then what is it?" she cried, clasping her hands eagerly together. "I know it will be something exciting."
Udo stood up. He felt that he could be more severe a little farther off. He moved a few yards away, and then turned round towards her, resting his elbow on the sundial.
"Countess," he began sternly, "ten days ago, as I was starting on my journey hither, I was suddenly——"
"Just a moment," said Belvane, whispering eagerly to herself rather than to him, and she jumped up with a cushion from the seat where she was sitting, and ran across and arranged it under his elbow. "He would have beensouncomfortable," she murmured, and she hurried back to her seat again and sat down and gazed at him, with her elbows on her knees and her chin resting on her hands. "Now go on telling me," she said breathlessly.
Udo opened his mouth with the obvious intention of obeying her, but no words came. He seemed to have lost the thread of his argument. He felt a perfect fool, stuck up there with his elbow on a cushion, just as if he were addressing a public meeting. He looked at his elbow as if he expected to find a glass of water there ready, and Belvane divined his look and made a movement as if she were about to get it for him. It would be just like her. He flung the cushion from him ("Oh, mind my roses," cried Belvane) and came down angrily to her. Belvane looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.
"You—you—oh,don'tlook like that!"
"Like that?" said Belvane, looking like it again.
"Don'tdoit," shouted Udo, and he turned and kicked the cushion down the flagged path. "Stop it."
Belvane stopped it.
"Do you know," she said, "I'm rather frightened of you when you're angry with me."
"Iamangry. Very, very angry. Excessively annoyed."
"I thought you were," she sighed.
"And you know very well why."
She nodded her head at him.
"It's my dreadful temper," she said. "I do such thoughtless things when I lose my temper."
She sighed again and looked meekly at the ground.
"Er, well, you shouldn't," said Udo weakly.
"It was the slight to my sex that made me so angry. I couldn't bear to think that we women couldn't rule ourselves for such a short time, and that a man had to be called in to help us." She looked up at him shyly. "Of course I didn't know then what the man was going to be like. But now that I know——"
Suddenly she held her arms out to him beseechingly.
"Stay with us, Prince Udo, and help us! Men are so wise, so brave, so—so generous. They know nothing of the little petty feelings of revenge that women indulge."
"Really, Countess, we—er—you—er—— Of course there is a good deal in what you say, and I—er——"
"Won't you sit down again, Prince Udo?"
Udo sat down next to her.
"And now," said Belvane, "let's talk it over comfortably as friends should."
"Of course," began Udo, "I quite see your point. You hadn't seen me; you didn't know anything about me; to you I might have been just any man."
"I knew a little about you when you came here. Beneath the—er—outward mask I saw how brave and dignified you were. But even if I could have got you back into your proper form again, I think I should have been afraid to; because I didn't know then how generous, how forgiving you were."
It seemed to be quite decided that Udo was forgiving her. When a very beautiful woman thanks you humbly for something you have not yet given her, there is only one thing for a gentleman to do. Udo patted her hand reassuringly.
"Oh, thank you, your Royal Highness." She gave herself a little shake and jumped up. "And now shall I show you my beautiful garden?"
"A garden with you in it, dear Countess, is always beautiful," he said gallantly. And it was not bad, I think, for a man who had been living on watercress and bran-mash only the day before.
They wandered round the garden together. Udo was now quite certain it was going to be a nice day.
It was an hour later when he came into the library. Hyacinth greeted him eagerly.
"Well?" she said.
Udo nodded his head wisely.
"I have spoken to her about her conduct to me," he said. "There will be no more trouble in that direction, I fancy. She explained her conduct to me very fully, and I have decided to overlook it this time."
"But her robberies, her plots, her conspiracy againstme!"
Udo looked blankly at her for a moment and then pulled himself together.
"I am speaking to her about that this afternoon," he said.