There were three women and a man in the approaching party, and it chanced I knew them all. Courtney had a red rose fastened conspicuously on his breast, and Lady Helen wore a great bunch of them in her hair—another was gowned like her and, so, must be the Marquise de Vierle herself—the fourth was Mademoiselle d'Essoldé.
"If you wish," said I, barring the path and sweeping the ground with my feather, "I'll hunt another rose. I've been searching for you so long that the one I began with has gone to pieces."
"Of course, Your Highness would never think of looking in the Ball Room," said Lady Helen.
Mademoiselle d'Essoldé started and, then, drew a bit back.
"Never, indeed, until I had searched the Garden," I retorted. Then I bowed to Mademoiselle d'Essoldé as the Marquise presented her. I could see she was very much embarrassed, so I tried to reassure her by being extremely cordial.
The Marquise wanted to show Courtney the bridge and the lake, and, when we passed the place where Moore and I had met the Queens—as I had styled them—Mademoiselle d'Essoldé found her opportunity and whispered:
"Will Your Royal Highness ever forgive me?"
"On one condition," I said.
"It's granted—name it."
"That you be nice to him who sits beside you at supper, to-night."
She looked at me a moment—masks are very annoying when one wants to see the face.
"That will be an easy penance," she said—and I understood she had been told who that man was to be.
I bent toward her. "Let him know it, then," I said earnestly.
"Your Highness likes him?" she asked.
"I do more than like him," I said.
She threw a quick glance up at me.
"Maybe I do, too," she laughed.
"Good," said I; then began to speak of something else. There is just as proper a point to quit a subject as to start it.
The grass on the bank of the lake was quite dry and Lady Helen suggested that we sit down.
"This reminds me of a garden in Florence," she said. "Someone might tell us a story from Boccaccio."
The Marquise held up her hands in affected horror.
"Helen! Helen! You're positively shocking," she said.
"Lady Helen evidently believes in living up to our costumes," I ventured.
"Why not?" she laughed, "since the masks hide our faces?"
"Very good, my dear," said Lady Vierle, "you tell the first story; we will take our cue from you."
Lady Helen removed her mask. "Then, that is your first cue," she said.
"I breathe easier," Mademoiselle d'Essoldé remarked.
"We all do," said I—then, suddenly, replaced mine and arose.
"Indulge me for a moment," I said, and sauntered over to the path a little distance away; nor answered the chaffing that was flung after me. I had seen a woman in gypsy dress and a cavalier in white coming slowly down the walk. I did not doubt it was Mrs. Spencer and Lotzen, and I intended to let them know they were recognized.
As we neared each other, I halted and stared at them with the most obvious deliberation. The gypsy made some remark to her companion, to which he nodded. I had little notion they would address me; and, certainly, none that they would stop. But, there (though whether it was pure bravado or because my attitude was particularly irritating, I know not), Lotzen gave me another surprise.
He paused in front of me and looked me over from head to foot.
"Monsieur seems interested," he said, making no effort to disguise his tones.
I made no answer.
"And I hope monsieur will pardon me if I tell him his manners are atrocious," he went on.
Again, no answer.
"Though, of course, no one could ever expect monsieur to understand why," he continued.
Of a sudden, it dawned on my slow brain that Lotzen did not know whether it was Moore or I that confronted him, and he wanted to hear my voice. I saw no utility in obliging him; so, I stood impassive, staring calmly at them.
Lotzen turned to his companion.
"Speak to him, mademoiselle," he said; "perchance the dulcet tones of Beauty may move the Beast to speech."
I smiled at him addressing her as "mademoiselle."
She shook her head. "Methinks it's Balaam not Beauty you need."
He laughed. "Even that does not stir him—the fellow must be deaf."
"Try signs on him." she suggested.
"Good! I'll sign to him we want to see his face."
"How, pray?"
"By pulling off his mask," he answered—and put out his hand, as though to do it. With his fingers almost on it, he paused.
I stood quite still. I felt perfectly sure he would not touch me; but, if he did, I intended to knock him down. And I was not mistaken. After a moment, he dropped his arm.
The woman laughed. "Your nerve failed—his didn't," she said dryly.
"Not at all, mademoiselle. I thought of a better way.—Observe."
He slowly drew the long narrow-bladed sword, that went with his costume, and, taking the point in his left hand, bowed over it in mock courtesy.
"Will monsieur have the extreme kindness to remove his mask," he said.
I admit I was a bit astonished. Surely, this was rushing things with a vengeance—to deliberately raise a situation that meant either a fight or a complete back-down by one of us. And, as he would scarcely imagine I would do the latter, he must have intended to force a duel.
There might have been another reason, assuming that he was interested only in my identity:—this procedure would have told him; for Moore would not have dared draw sword on the Heir Presumptive. But I have never thought such was his idea; for he must have been very well satisfied, by this time, that none but an equal in rank would have acted so toward him.
And, being convinced that it was I that fronted him, he had suddenly seen an opportunity to accomplish in open fight what his hired assassin had bungled. It is notorious that American officers know practically nothing of the art of fence; what easier than to drive me into drawing on him and, then, after a bit of play, to run me neatly through the heart. What mattered it if he were the aggressor? It would be easy to aver he had not known me—that I had chosen to insult him, and, having refused to unmask and apologize, had suffered the consequences of my own rashness and bad manners.
And, even suppose no one believed his story that he did not know me. What mattered it? One does not execute the Heir Presumptive of Valeria for murder. True, the King might rage—and a term of banishment to his mountain estates might follow; yet, what trifling penalties for the end attained. They would be only for the moment, as it were. But the American would be dead—the Crown sure—the Princess still unmarried.
Truly, it was a chance which would never come again; and not to seize it was to mock Fortune to her very face.
It takes far longer to write this than to think it. It all went through my mind in the brief space Lotzen gave me for reply.
"I am waiting, monsieur," he said.
The Gypsy laughed softly.
"You tell him so much he already knows," said she.
Lotzen looked at her—in surprise, I doubt not.
"Mademoiselle is impatient," he remarked.
She shrugged her pretty shoulders.
Then he bowed again to me.
"You see, monsieur," he said, "you tire the Lady; I must ask you to make haste."
If anyone think it easy to stand, stolidly, in one position for a considerable period, and have impertinent things said to him the while, let him try it. He will be very apt to change his notion. But, I stuck to it; and my soldier training helped me—and the mask relieved my face.
"You are stubborn, monsieur, as well as bad mannered. I shall have to spur you, I see," he went on. "I ask you, once again, monsieur, to remove your mask. If you do not, I shall give you a bit of steel in the left leg."
"And, if that be ineffective?" the lady asked.
"Then, I shall touch him in the other leg—and, if he still refuses, then, in the right arm—and, then, if necessary, in the left arm; each time a trifle deeper."
"And, then——?" she inflected, very sweetly.
"Then?" he repeated. "I think there will be no need for a 'then,' mademoiselle," he laughed sneeringly.
She nodded toward me.
"Isn't it about time to begin?" she asked.
"Your wish, my dear, is my law," he said. "You hear, monsieur; your time is up—prepare."
He stepped forward and thrust, very slowly, at my thigh. Even then, I could not think that he would actually dare to touch me with his sword; and I made no motion. I proposed to call his bluff—if it were one.
Closer and closer, inch by inch, drew the point. It reached the velvet—hesitated—passed through—and just pierced my flesh—then, was withdrawn.
And, with that cut, came the blood-lust, like unto the rage of the berserker of old. Yet, somehow, I had the sense to stand quiet and let the red passion burn itself out. I would need all my coolness to meet Lotzen's skill.
"Now, will monsieur remove his mask?" he asked.
"You scarcely touched him," scoffed the Gypsy.
Lotzen held up the sword.
"See the red upon the point?" he asked.
"Blood! You actually cut him!" she exclaimed—then pointed her finger at me, derisively. "And you wear a sword!" she sneered.
It was pretty hard to take. But I had a notion, foolish, possibly, to play the game a little longer.
"Come along, my friend," she went on. "This is poor sport. I hate a coward."
For an instant, I feared he would heed her and go—and that would have obliged me to become the aggressor; which I much preferred not to be.
"A coward!" he laughed—and looked at me. "You hear that, monsieur: a coward." Then he put his hand on her arm. "You are quite right, my dear, it is poor sport," he said. "Yet, stay a moment longer. I shall forego the other cuts and tear off his mask, instead."
"And permit him to wear a sword?" she mocked. "Surely, not! Why don't you break it?"
"A charming suggestion—thank you.—You hear my Lady's wish, Monsieur le Coquin," he said to me, and presenting his blade at my breast. "Will you yield your sword or shall I be obliged to take it from you?"
At last, Lotzen had driven me to action, in pointing his sword at my breast. If he touched it my steel vest would be disclosed, at once; and that was not to my mind. It would explain the failure of his bravo's dagger. More than that I did not care for. Doubtless, he was wearing one himself at that very moment. One usually ascribes to his enemy methods similar to one's own—and, as Lotzen dealt in assassination, he would expect me to do the same.
I waited a moment. Then, stepping quickly out of reach, I drew my own sword.
"Here it is, my Lord," I said. "Which end will you take?"
"The only end that you can give me, monsieur—the hilt," was the answer.
"Come and get it, then," I drawled.
He turned to the Gypsy.
"Will mademoiselle pardon me," he said.
"Will you be long?" she asked.
"Only a moment. I'll make it very short."
"I'll wait," she said carelessly.
He bowed to her—and then faced me.
"Has Monsieur le Coquin any particular spot in which he prefers to receive my point?" he asked.
"None, my Lord," I answered; "I shall leave that to your own good taste."
"Merci, monsieur,merci!" he said, and saluted. "Yet, I may not be outdone in generosity. Therefore, in exchange for your hilt, monsieur, you shall have the whole length of my blade in your heart."
"That, my Lord, is on the Knees of the Gods," I said.
Then our swords fell to talking and our tongues were still.
Then our swords fell to talking in the garden of the masked ball.[Illustration: Then our swords fell to talking in the garden of the masked ball.]
Then our swords fell to talking in the garden of the masked ball.[Illustration: Then our swords fell to talking in the garden of the masked ball.]
The turf was free of brush or trees; and, as I have already said, the illumination was so arranged that, practically, there were no shadows. The Garden seemed almost as bright as day; indeed, save that the light was white, we might, just as well, have been duelling at noon-tide as at midnight.
It had not been hard to gather, from Lotzen's last remarks to his companion, what sort of a fight he proposed making; and, after the usual preliminary testing of strength, I contented myself with the simplest sort of defence and awaited the main attack.
It seems hardly possible that two men could engage in a combat with rapiers, at such an occasion, and not draw a crowd. There is something peculiarly penetrating about the ring of steel on steel at night. Yet, such was the extent of the grounds and, so retired was our locality, that no strangers were attracted. Almost at the first stroke, however, I heard exclamations from the direction of my companions. In a moment, Courtney came running up, his drawn sword in hand—and the others after him.
I had plenty of use for my eyes with the immediate business in hand; but, as I chanced to be facing them, I had a vision of Courtney—his mask off—leaning forward intently watching the fight. Then, he calmly returned sword and drew back.
I heard the Marquise exclaim: "Mon Dieu! Someone is trying to kill His Highness—we must save him!"
But Courtney clapped his hand over her mouth and silenced her. Even in the press of the duel, I think, I smiled.
"Your pardon, my dear Marquise," he said, loudly—so I would hear it, I knew—"His Highness needs no saving."
Then I heard no more—for the Duke assumed the offensive fiercely and his sword began to move like lightning. And well, indeed, was it, for me, that I had learned something of this gentle game of fence, else had that night been my last on Earth.
Then, of a sudden, from out a sharp rally, came the first strokes of Moore'scoup. I had been expecting it. I steadied myself to meet it, giving back just a trifle to lead Lotzen to think it was new to me. He pressed me hotly and, at length, the final position came—the way was open.
"Take it!" he said, savagely—and sent the thrust that should have made good his promise to bury the whole blade in my heart.
But his point never reached me—for, as his sword glided along mine, seemingly unopposed, I caught it exactly as Moore had shown me and wrenched with all the strength of my wrist and arm.
There was a sharp grinding of steel; and then, like a thing alive, the Duke's sword left his hand, sped through the air and settled, thirty feet away, point downward in the turf, where it stuck, quivering and swaying like a reed in the wind.
With a cry of sharp surprise, Lotzen sprang back and watched his sword as it circled and fell. I moved a step toward him. Then, he turned to me.
"It seems, Monsieur le Coquin," he said softly, "that I was in error; and that it is the point of your sword and not the hilt I am to take. So be it."
He draw himself up to attention, and raised his hand in salute.
"I am waiting," he said calmly.
Ferdinand of Lotzen was, doubtless, a bad lot. Once that night he had given me to assassination; and, just now, he himself had deliberately tried to kill me. He deserved no consideration; and, by every law of justification, could I, then and there, have driven my sword into his throat. Maybe I wanted to do it, too. We all are something of the savage at times. And I think he fully expected to die. He had told me frankly he purposed killing me, and he would not look for mercy, himself. The dice had fallen against him. He had lost. And, like a true gambler, he was ready to pay stakes. To give the fellow his due, he was brave; with the sort of bravery that meets death—when it must—with a smiling face and a steady eye.
And, so, for a space, we stood. He, erect and ready. I, with hand on hip and point advanced.
I heard the gasps of women—a sob or two—and then, the rustle of skirts, followed instantly by Courtney's soft command.
"Stay, madame—the matter is for His Highness only to decide."
Lotzen laughed lightly.
"Strike, man," he said, "or the petticoats will steal me from you."
I stepped back and shot my sword into its sheath.
"Go," I ordered. "I do not want your life. Only, depart this house straightway, and take your bravoes with you. They will have no other opportunity to-night. And, mark you, sir, no further meeting with the Gypsy—now, nor hereafter."
He bowed low. "Monsieur is pleased to be generous," he sneered.
But I gave him my back and, removing my mask, went over to my friends.
The Marquise met me with a perfect gale of apologies. But I laughed them aside, telling her it was I who stood in need of pardon for becoming involved in such a breach of hospitality.
"Your Highness might have been killed," she insisted, woman-like.
"But I wasn't," said I, "so, pray, think no more about it."
Just then, Colonel Moore came up and, seeing us without our masks, he dropped his, also. I watched Mademoiselle d'Essoldé's greeting to him. It was all even he could have wished.
"I think it is about the supper hour," said Lady Vierle. "Let us go in."
I offered her my arm and, masking again, we led the way.
"Will Your Highness tell me something?" she asked immediately. "Did you know your antagonist?"
"I didn't see his face," I evaded.
She looked at me quickly. "Would it be better for me not to know?"
"Yes," said I, "I think it would."
There was, really, no reason why I should shield Lotzen; yet, neither was there any reason to rattle a family skeleton in public, and raise a scandal, which would run the Kingdom over and be the gossip of every Court in Europe.
Then I lifted my mask so she could see my face.
"And, my dear Lady Vierle," I said earnestly, "if you would do me a great favor, you will promise to forget all about this unfortunate incident."
She, too, raised her mask and looked me frankly in the eyes.
"I promise," she said.
And I am sure she will keep her word.
I knew I could leave it to Courtney and Moore to insure the silence of Lady Helen and Mademoiselle d'Essoldé.
We lingered at the table until far into the morning. And, if Moore had any fault to find with his neighbor in blue, he was, indeed, a graceless grumbler.
Lady Helen was on one side of me, and we recalled the ride we had together the morning shortly after the Birthday Ball, when we met the Princess at the Old Forge.
"We never took that other ride we planned," I said—"the one to the Inn of the Twisted Pines."
"You have never asked me," she said dryly.
"Suppose we make it to-morrow at three," I suggested.
"I ride with Mr. Courtney, then."
"We will make a party of it," said I. "The Princess returns this morning and we will add Mademoiselle d'Essoldé and Colonel Moore."
"But, the chaperon!"
"Hang the chaperon—the grooms can suffice for that. Besides, we shall be back before dark."
"It will be jolly," she said. Then she gave me a shrewd smile. "But, how different from the ride as we planned it."
I looked at Courtney.
"He wasn't in it; was he?" I smiled.
She leaned a bit nearer. "Nor would you have assumed, then, to make engagements for the Princess Royal of Valeria without consulting her," she replied.
I laughed. And I did not deny her inference.
When Moore saluted and turned to leave me that night, I stopped him.
"Colonel," said I, "I trust you enjoyed the supper."
"It was the most delightful I have ever—heard," he said.
I lunched with the King and the Princess Dehra as arranged. Frederick left before the coffee, and Dehra ordered it served in her library. When the footman had brought it she dismissed him.
"Now," said she, "come and tell me all about yourself."
I went over and sat on the arm of her chair. She lit a cigarette and put it between my lips—then, lit one for herself.
"Do you remember the first time you did that?" I asked.
"Yes," said she, "it was the night you flirted so outrageously with me in front of Lotzen."
"I don't care what you call it, since we are not flirting now," said I.
She took my hand between hers and smiled up at me.
"And, maybe, it was not all flirting, then," she said.
There are certain occasions which justify certain actions. I thought this was one.
Then I said: "Tell me about Lotzen's visit with you in the North."
"He was there a week."
"More's the pity," said I.
"For him—yes."
"For him?" I echoed.
She nodded. "I feel very sorry for Ferdinand." Then she blushed. "I think he does love me, Armand."
"I can't blame him for that," said I. "He's a queer sort if he doesn't."
"Foolish!" she laughed, giving me a little tap with her fan. "And you see, dear, he might have had a chance if you had not come."
I bent down until her hair brushed my face.
"And he has none now, sweetheart?" I said softly.
"You know that he has not."
"And does he know it?"
"Yes—he knows it—now. I told him the day he left."
I was beginning to understand Lotzen's sudden change of demeanor toward me.
"What did you tell him, little woman?" I asked.
She looked up with a bright smile.
"See how I've spoiled you," she said.
"Then, spoil me just a little more," I urged.
"Well—I told him it was you," she whispered.
The understanding was growing rapidly.
"And what did he say to that?"
"I know, Armand, you don't like him; and, there, you may do him an injustice. He said only the kindest things about you—that you were able, courteous, brave—a true Dalberg; and that, if it could not be he, he was glad it was you."
I smiled. "That was clever of him," I commented.
"And he, too, does not believe the Spencer woman's story."
"His cleverness grows," I laughed. "It only remains for him to renounce his right to the Crown."
"He said it was for the King to choose which was the worthier, and that, if it fell to you, he would serve you faithfully and well."
I put my hand on her head and softly stroked her hair.
"And you believed him, dear?" I asked.
She looked up quickly.
"Yes—I believed him. I wanted to believe him—Did he deceive me?"
"Listen," said I. "He reached Dornlitz two days ago. Yesterday afternoon he insulted me repeatedly in my office at Headquarters. Last night I attended the Vierle Masque. While in the Garden I was struck in the back with a dagger."
"Stabbed!" she exclaimed, and clutched my arm.
"No, dear—not even scratched, thanks to Bernheim's steel vest I was wearing. Half an hour later, our cousin of Lotzen, with Mrs. Spencer on his arm, met me, alone, in a retired part of the Garden, forced a duel, and did his level best to run me through, by a trick of fence he thought he, alone knew."
"And, again, the vest saved you?"
"No—I was fortunate enough to disarm him."
"Glorious, dear, glorious!" she exclaimed. And tears filled her eyes.
And, as it was I that had caused them, it was but fair that I should take them away.
Then she made me go over the whole story in detail.
"Of course you will tell the King," said she.
"Maybe," said I. "I've not decided yet."
She got up. "There is just time for me to get into riding dress," she said. "But, first; this is Thursday—if you do not tell His Majesty of Lotzen's perfidy by Saturday, I shall do it, myself."
And I knew she would—so I made no protest.
"Put on the green habit and the plumed hat, dear," I said, as I held back the door.
I have always liked green—the dark rich green of the forest's depth—and, if there were anything more lovely than the Princess Dehra, when she came back to me, it is quite beyond my Imagination to conceive it. He is a poor lover, indeed, who does not think his sweetheart fair; yet, he would have been a poor sort of man, who would not have been at one with me, that afternoon.
And I told her so—but she called me "Foolish!" once again, and ran from me to the private exit of her suite, where our four companions were awaiting us. But I had my reward; for she waved the groom aside and let me swing her into saddle and fix her skirt.
How easy it is for a clever woman to manage a man—if she care to try.
It was a beautiful afternoon—the road was soft and the track smooth. Much of it led through woodland and along a brawling stream. The horses were of the sort that delight the soul—I doubt if there were six better saddlers in the whole Kingdom of Valeria. I know there were no prettier women, and, I think, no happier men.
We passed many people—mainly country-men—and they all knew the Princess and loved her—bless her!—if their greetings went for aught. Me, they eyed with frank curiosity; and, more than once, I caught the drift of their comments.
"A pretty pair," said one, as Dehra and I drew near, our horses on a walk.
"It's a pity he has a wife," the other answered. And Dehra frowned.
"They match up well," said a fellow, as we paused a moment at a spring beside a small road house.
I glanced at Dehra; and got a smile in return.
"That they do. He does not look like a foreigner," was the answer.
"He is Dalberg on the outside, anyway," said a third.
"Then, he is Dalberg inside, too—it starts there, with them," said the first.
And so it went, until we reached the Inn of the Twisted Pines.
It was an old log and plaster building; of many gables and small windows; standing back a trifle from the road, with a high-walled yard on all four sides. I had taken the precaution, that morning, to dispatch an orderly to apprise the landlord of our coming; and every human being about the place was drawn up within the enclosure to greet us. Old Boniface met us at the gateway and held my stirrup as I dismounted.
"My poor house has had no such honor," he said, "since the time the Great Henry stopped for breakfast on his return from the Titian War."
"Well, my good man," said I, "you doubtless don't recollect the Great Henry's visit, but, if your supper is what we hope for, I promise you we will honor it as highly as he did that breakfast."
"Your Highness shall be served this instant."
"Give us half an hour and a place to get rid of this dust," said I.
I fancy the Inn had been changed but little since old Henry's day; and the big room, where our table was spread, certainly not at all. The oak floor was bare and worn into ruts and ridges—the great beam rafters overhead were chocolate color from smoke and age—the huge fireplace and the wall above it were black as a half-burnt back log. But the food! My mouth waters now at the thought of it. No crazy French concoctions of frothy indigestibleness; but good, sweet cooking—the supper one gets among the old families of Maryland or Virginia. It took me back more than a score of years to my young days on the dear old Eastern Shore.
And, in the midst of it, came the jolly Boniface, bearing, as carefully as a mother does her first-born, three long bottles, cobwebbed and dirty. Eighty years had they been lying in the wine-bin of the Inn, guarding their treasure of Imperial Tokay. Now, their ward was ended—and the supper was complete; though, in truth, it had been complete before.
And, when we had eaten the supper and had drunk most of the Tokay, we freshened up the glasses with what remained. Then, arising, I gave the toast which all could drink:
"To the one we love the best!"
But, even as we drained it, there came through the open window the clatter of horse's hoofs and, as the glasses smashed to bits among the chimney stones, the door swung open and my senior Aide entered, hot and dusty.
He caught my eye, halted sharply, and his hand went up in salute.
"Welcome, Colonel Bernheim," I said.
Again he saluted; then drew out an envelope and handed it to me.
"Important papers for Your Highness," he said. "They were received at Headquarters after your departure and, as they required action to-night, I thought it best to follow you."
With a word of apology, I walked over to the nearest window and slowly read the letters. There were two and they were very brief. Then I read them again—and yet again.
Those at the table had, of course, resumed their talk, but Bernheim still stood at attention. I motioned him to me.
"These are copies," I said.
"I made them, sir, from the originals—while they were en route," he added with a dry smile.
"And the originals?"
"Each was delivered promptly."
"You have no doubt of their genuineness?" I asked.
"Absolutely none—though, of course, I know only the handwriting of the answer."
"Well done," said I; "well done!" Then I read the two papers again.
"Do you think he means it?" I asked, tapping the smaller paper.
"After last night, undoubtedly. And you must be there, sir—you and a witness," said Bernheim.
I thought a bit—then I took out my watch. It was just six o'clock.
"There is ample time," said I; "and it's worth the try. Can it be arranged, do you think?"
Bernheim's face brightened. "It can, sir. If it's the room I think it is, there will be no difficulty; and we can depend on the manager—he has been well trained by the Secret Police. You will come?"
"Yes, I'll come; but they come, too," and I nodded toward the table.
"Better bring only Courtney, sir," he urged.
"No," said I; "several witnesses will be needed. And, besides, I want them out of satisfaction to myself."
"It may wreck the whole business," he persisted.
"I'll risk it," said I.
Bernheim was wise. He always seemed to know when to quit.
"Very good, sir," he said. "How soon do we start?"
I put my hand on his shoulder.
"You are a perfect treasure, Bernheim," I said. "Come, we will start at once. Is your horse good for a fast ride back?"
"Entirely, sir."
"Then you can give me the story on the way," I said. "Meanwhile, get some refreshment."
I went back to the table—and it was amusing how suddenly the conversation ceased and everyone looked at me. I smiled reassuringly at Dehra, for there was concern in her eyes.
"Four of you," said I—"you, Princess; and you, Lady Helen; and you, Courtney; and you, Moore, were present at—and you, Mademoiselle d'Essoldé, have heard of—a certain supper party on the Hanging Garden, some weeks back, whereat a certain woman proclaimed herself my wife. That was the first act in a play which has been progressing ever since. The plot has thickened lately—as witness the duel at the Masque, last night. And now, unless I greatly err, the last act is set for this evening. If you care to see it I shall be glad for your company."—Then I laughed. "A long speech," said I; "but it sounded well."
"And promises best of all," said Courtney.
Then I ordered the horses; and, while we waited, I gave the letters to Courtney.
"Read them," I said. "The originals passed through Bernheim's hands this afternoon—'while en route,' as he puts it."
He read them carefully.
"You contemplate giving them an audience?" he asked.
"Exactly that," said I.
"Is it feasible?"
"Bernheim says it is."
He looked at me thoughtfully, a moment. "It would be a great stroke to have the King there," he said.
"I'll make a try for him," I answered; "but the time is very short."
It was ten miles to Dornlitz, and we did it in an hour. On the way, I explained the whole situation to the Princess and read her the letters. She was amazed—and her indignation was intense. Nor did she hesitate to express it freely before Bernheim. And I saw his stern face break into a glad smile. It told him much.
At the Palace we drew rein.
"Be at the Hotel Metzen at eight forty-five," said I. "Come by the Court entrance—you will be expected."
Then they rode away, and I hastened to the King.
As good luck would have it, Frederick was in his cabinet and received me instantly. He read the letters and looked at me inquiringly.
"It means a plain talk between them," I explained; "and I propose to hear it. I am, sure it would interest Your Majesty—much happened yesterday." And I told him of the Vierle Masque.
Frederick frowned a bit—thought longer—then smiled.
"I don't much fancy eaves-dropping; but, sometimes, the end justifies the means," he said. "I'll join you."
"There will be other witnesses, Sire," I said—and named them.
"I don't like it," he said.
"I can stop them," I suggested.
He considered. "No," said he, "I understand why you want them. I'll come—they will be discreet. And the Princess would wish it so. I'll bring her, myself."
Then I rode to the Metzen. Bernheim had preceded me and, with the manager of the Hotel, awaited me at a side door. The corridor was dimly lighted but I drew my cape well over my face and, is a moment, we were in a small reception room.
"Monsieur Gerst," said I to the manager, "I need your assistance."
Gerst bowed very low.
"Your Royal Highness has but to command," he said.
I was quite sure of that, however. An Archduke of Valeria would have been quite enough, but the Governor of Dornlitz was beyond refusal. I could have closed his Hotel by a word, and there would have been no appeal.
"Thank you, monsieur," I said. "You have as a guest, a certain Madame Armand Dalberg."
"A guest by Your Highness's express permission, you will remember," he said.
"Very true," said I. "Now, this Madame Dalberg expects a visitor to-night at nine o'clock."
He gave me a quick glance.
"You know him?" I asked.
"No, Your Highness. I only know madame gave orders to admit no one to-night except a gentleman who would come at nine."
I nodded. "It's the same," said I. "And what I want, is to hear all that occurs between Madame Dalberg and this visitor."
Gerst smiled. "That will be easily arranged, Your Highness—the place is already provided."
"The concealed Gallery?" asked Bernheim, quickly?
"Yes, Colonel." Then, to me, he explained: "Madame's reception room was once a part of a small, state dining-room. Back of the end wall runs a gallery where guests sat to listen to the speeches. It is there, now—and the tapestries, with which the walls are hung, completely hide it."
"It can be reached from the floor above?" I asked.
"Yes, Your Highness; a narrow stairway admits to it."
"Can we enter without being overheard by those in the room below?"
"Very readily, sir; the gallery was so designed that its noises would not disturb those in the dining-room."
"We are in good luck, Bernheim," I said.
"We shall need all of it, sir, with eight spectators."
And he was right. It was foolish to risk success for only a sentimental reason. I knew, perfectly well, the proper course was for no one but the King and myself to be in the gallery; yet, there entered my Dalberg stubbornness. I purposed that some of those, who had seen me accused that night on the Hanging Garden, should see me exculpated to-night.
It may be, that some will question the propriety of my action, and the good taste of those who were my guests. As to the latter, it must be borne in mind that my invitation was in the nature of a command, which it would have been vastly discourteous to decline. And, besides, they were my friends. As for myself, I have no excuses to offer—and, methinks, I need none. The situation had long passed the refinement of ethics. It was war; and war not of my declaring. Neither was I responsible for the style of the campaign. Madeline Spencer deserved no consideration from me—and no more did her visitor.