XXXII
The Princess Sarolta, Prince Illehazy, Countess Vilma Festetics, Alexandra Abbott, and Count Zrinyi sat in agitated conclave in the palace of Buda. The Countess Piroska Zápolya was officially in bed with an attack of influenza.
The five friends sat close together in the blue drawing-room. Sarolta had related the story of the appalling interview between the Emperor and Ranata as reported to herself by a faithful maid of the Archduchess; whohad almost fainted in a window-curtain. The woman had escaped to invoke the aid of the powerful Obersthofmeisterin before orders had been issued for the isolation of the Archduchess’s servants.
“There you are!” exclaimed Sarolta, who frequently expressed herself in English for the sake of its facile idiom. “God help us, what a lashing she must have given him! It was not the first, poor dear man, but I doubt if he ever had it quite so straight; for Ranata’s brain would always preserve her from the usual feminine tangents. But—but—our poor princess! she is a prisoner! Do you realize it? He will keep his word, the more rigorously as he now no doubt thinks she is mad. AndAloys Franz! If I didn’t love Ranata, nothing would amuse me more than to look on at his attempts to reduce her to submission. But the situation is not humorous; it is tragic! What in Heaven’s name are we to do to help her? We shall not be able even to get a word of consolation to her; not one of us will be allowed to visit her; she will receive no letters; she will be shut up for months, perhaps, withMaria Leopoldina, for whom I feel an even more acute sympathy than for herself. And she, with that active brain, that nervous temperament—no exercise, no society, no change—Good God! she may lose her reason.”
“That need not concern us,” said Alexandra. “Nor Aloys Franz. They’ll never marry her, with or without antediluvian methods. But the rest is bad enough. Surely the Emperor will let her exercise in the riding-school. She would still be in the Hofburg and sufficiently guarded.”
“I am sure the Emperor will not hear of it. The official announcement has been made that she is suffering from a light attack of influenza—light, you will understand, that neither suspicion nor too much sympathymay be awakened. If she went as far as the riding-school there would be too many people in the secret. She is confined to five rooms and a corridor, and there I am afraid she will stay. Refractory princesses have been shut up since the beginning of kings, and will be until all the kings have gone to the guillotine. Poor dear!”
“I shall telegraph to my brother at once. We have a code. He will get her out. Be sure of that. If he doesn’t he may look upon his life as a failure. He will, however.”
“Would it not be better,” suggested Prince Illehazy, “if Mr. Abbott did not take any step in the matter? It might create a scandal and do the Princess a lasting injury. She has a severe ordeal before her, but I think there is no doubt she will win. Her will is stronger than the King’s. I think it would be better to leave the matter to Time.”
“Time!—a woman like Ranata for six months, a year, in confinement and uncertainty! She must be got out at once, and there is only one person who can make the deliverance final. Now I am going to say something that will make you all jump. My brother intends to marry Ranata.”
They did jump, with the exception of Vilma.
“Ach so!” Sarolta’s tones were guttural with irony, but her fingers shook slightly as she lit a cigar.
“But, mademoiselle,” murmured Prince Illehazy politely, “you know, of course, that it is impossible. No one can sympathize more than I with the romance of youth, and I have been deeply interested; but marriage—between an Archduchess of Austria and Princess of Hungary and, pardon me, an American—you who know your Europe must surely have discouraged Mr. Abbott.”
“I never set myself impossible tasks. Fessenden willmarry Ranata; of that I have not the slightest doubt. I know now that I have always anticipated it—and so has my father!—although as far as I am concerned I thought of it until lately as a dream, rather. I know now that it was a belief, and founded on my intimate knowledge of both and of their fitness for each other; as well as on that very knowledge of Europe which assures me that if I live I shall see greater social revolutions than the marriage of an American with a princess of the blood. You are dumfounded because you know Europe only. Go over and live in the United States for a while and you will come back with the future in your brain as well as the past.”
“I have never been in the United States, but I think this strange love-affair is the most beautiful thing in the world, and I would help them if I could!”
It was Vilma who spoke, and she was leaning forward with her hands gripping the arms of her chair. The grayish pallor of her skin had never been more noticeable, and the lines about her mouth were tense. Not only had every nerve been on edge since Ranata’s departure two days ago, but she was possessed by the exaltation of the martyr; she was not going to the stake for the ideals of the proud aristocracy of her ancient country, but in sacrificing those ideals in the hope to compass the happiness of two exceptional beings she felt that she had made good her claim to the martyr’s crown. But the time had come when her morbidity might prove more useful than the healthy impatience of Alexandra, who had little talent for intrigue; and who looked upon Vilma as one of the unfortunate products of a too conservative aristocracy.
“Princess,” she continued, appealing to her chief, “you do not approve, of course. But you would not betray us if we attempted to help her?”
Sarolta bit the end of her cigar. “I would do all I could to help her out of this difficulty; but connive at her marriage with an American—never! I have outgrown romantic nonsense; and I am also a loyal subject of my king, although I do think he is an—”
“But what you did not know, dear Princess, you would not feel obliged to discover, now that you are no longer Obersthofmeisterin,” said Vilma wheedlingly. “Why not leave it to her? You do not believe, do you, that she would make such a marriage?”
“I do not. There at least my faith is unshaken.”
“Then take me to Vienna with you, and close your eyes if I try to communicate with her. Only I can, for I am quite unknown in Vienna, insignificant in appearance, and if the King has ever seen me he would not recognize me. I cannot go unless you take me, but go I must.”
Sarolta, whose heart, as the astute Vilma well knew, was aching, appeared to consider deeply. Finally she shrugged her shoulders. “I cannot see what you could accomplish; but you might let her see you occasionally in the Franzensplatz and give her a little comfort. The rest of us cannot go near it. Alex, of course you will return with me as soon as I have closed the palace. Zrinyi, I think you and Vienna had better be strangers for the present.”
“I go to Vienna the day you do,” announced Zrinyi. “The King, on second thoughts, will do nothing more to irritate Hungary. If he ordered me out of Vienna I should return here and tell the whole story. Molnár would go off his head and demand the liberty and return of the Princess as the price of peace in the country. In any case he could set the tongues of all Europe wagging, and the King would find himself outwitted. He is shrewd enough to know this—or his ministers are. They will pursue a very moderate and conservativecourse outside the Hofburg. After all, this is the twentieth century.”
“Who would have thought it!” said Alexandra. “Will you come with me, Count, while I write my telegram, and then send it yourself?”
“I would take it to Berlin if I could get there as quickly,” said Zrinyi gallantly.
“Count,” murmured his tormentor as they left the room, “you are a brick. I am a grateful soul. I feel uncommonly like rewarding you.”