Adrian saluted imperturbably.
"He is English, he understands no French," Allard interposed. "Really, Rosal, I am in haste."
"The Emperor will want you? Alisov told me his Imperial Majesty was particularly difficult to-day, so I do not envy you. He is never facile, eh? Once more, congratulations."
Adrian's white teeth flashed in the electric light as he averted his face from the unconscious Rosal and entered the automobile. He was still smiling under his mask when he sent the machine leaping forward.
"I would have given a good deal to have heard your unbiased reply to that, Allard," he remarked.
"I fear you would not have been flattered, sire," was the grim answer. "I have spent an unendurable evening. Let me implore you to return to the palace."
"Eventually. Put on your mask; we are going driving."
Allard obeyed in dumb protest, his powers of remonstrance exhausted, and resigned himself to as disagreeable an hour's sport as he could imagine. But it was almost enough for the time being to feel his charge beside him in comparative security.
As if impelled by perversity, Adrian drove through one swarming avenue after another, across the square and down the street where the morning's attack had taken place, swinging finally into the dark, deserted park. Too early in the season, too late at night, for promenaders, the quietness here was in vivid contrast to the scenes just left.
Tired out by excitement and strain, bearing the constant aching regret for Stanief's setting star, Allard had been gradually lulled into mesmeric quiescence by the shifting lights and shadows. And by a freak of exhausted nerves, it was old things thrust out of sight for years which took shape out of the dark and dragged their ugliness before him in a strange waking nightmare. He forgot the risk of accident, the danger of the return through the city, but he saw Desmond's rugged face framed in the doorway of the cottage above the Hudson and felt the anguish of the abandonment to worse than death. Pictures of his trial rose persistently, details of the intolerably bitter months of prison lashed his pride.
"You spoke?" Adrian's cool voice broke in.
"Pardon, sire; an old pain caught my breath."
Unnoticed by one of its passengers, the automobile increased its speed, rocking softly from side to side, leaping with cat-like lightness the inequalities of the road. One might have imagined that the driver also fled from his own thoughts through the empty parkways. Allard saw nothing; here in the heart of Europe, by the Emperor's side, the hateful gray walls had closed around him and he relived the unlivable. He was stifling, suffocating, with the sweet spring air singing past like a strong wind.
A sharp whistle pierced above the whining purr of the motor, a shouted command. Allard started up, bewildered, and the black mood fell from him as a muffling garment cast aside. They had emerged again into the city, at the same gait.
"The police, sire," he warned reproachfully. "We must stop."
"I will not. Let them try to catch us."
"They will know the car."
"Then we will pay the fine, to-morrow. If they threaten worse I will pardon you."
The irony of that might have brought Allard's laugh if he had not been distracted by the view ahead.
"Not possible, sire; there is a regiment crossing at the head of the square. If we are examined—"
Adrian sullenly shut off the power and came to a standstill. He had no desire to have his amusement ended and made an anecdote all over the Empire.
"Tell them you are on my affairs," he directed, as the two pursuing officers galloped toward them. "Or anything you choose. I will not go through a police station farce to-night, do you understand?"
Allard did laugh that time, the relief of waking to reality still tingling in his veins.
"Then I must go alone, if they insist. May I ask to take the driver's seat and claim his responsibility?"
"For what? They would take the machine. Do you expect me to walk alone to the palace?"
"Good heavens, no!" Allard exclaimed vehemently.
The two riders came panting up as Adrian replied with an expressive shrug.
"You are under arrest, messieurs," was the crisp announcement.
Allard leaned out into the light of the street lamp, taking off his mask and shaking his coat unbuttoned from top to bottom. Perhaps a memory of Rosal's admiration prompted the last move.
"For over-speeding?" he inquired sweetly.
"Certainly; monsieur was going at least forty miles an hour."
"Ah, but my errand was important. I am Monsieur Allard, of the household of his Imperial Majesty."
John Allard's name was linked with Stanief's on every tongue in the capital that night. Moreover, he stood up as he spoke and his coat fell apart, revealing the confirming luster of jewels and his elaborately careful dress.
"We are desolated, Excellency," the man stammered.
"Oh, you were quite right, but I assure you that it would be a mistake to carry this further. I am on an errand for—some one not to be questioned. Just fail to remember that you saw me, and there will be no trouble."
He held out a hand in which a yellow coin gleamed alluringly. The officer coughed, and stooped.
"Yes, Excellency. Graciously excuse our stupidity; it is true that the light misled us as to the speed of your Excellency's car."
"Exactly. Good night."
"Good night, Excellency."
"Allard, Allard," drawled Adrian, throwing his levers, "bribery and deception! And under my eyes."
"I obeyed orders, sire," he retorted demurely. "May I drive?"
"La belle excuse!However, I admit the coercion. No, you may not drive; I will consider your reputation the rest of the way."
This time they turned home, at a more modest pace. Again they ran the gauntlet of the brilliant, sullen streets, and Allard's heart lost a beat with each halt made necessary by the crowd or each glance from the knots of men gathered on the corners. At the sleepy garage they at last arrived, and left the automobile.
It was but a short distance to the palace, and they walked in silence until almost before the door, when Adrian paused for an instant.
"You guard me so carefully, with so much energy, my inconsistent Allard," he observed, the lighter manner of the last hours hardened into his usual coldness. "Have you then not thought what it would mean to your beloved Regent if I were removed?"
"Sire, if I thought of that it would be to guard you with double care," Allard flashed, shocked and deeply wounded. "Surely I owe so much." And after a moment, recovering a little, "For that matter, even the Baron Dalmorov admits the protection that the Regent draws around your Imperial Majesty. Sire, if the Grand Duke planned treason, has he not had ample opportunities before now?"
"Are you trying to convince me that some one still exists who possesses a sense of duty?"
"Perhaps you will more readily credit a sense of honor, sire."
"Perhaps. So it is a point of honor to take care of me?"
"Yes, sire."
Adrian turned and went on without comment. The guard at the door saluted Allard without regarding the uninteresting figure of the chauffeur, and they passed into the safety of the palace.
When they were once more in the little salon and had slipped off their wraps, the impression seized Allard that his companion was rather pale and fatigued. Either from the pallor or from recent excitement Adrian looked younger than usual as he stood pushing back the dark hair disordered by his mask, and the watcher was pierced by remorse and something of Stanief's wide pity for the one so warped by circumstance and environment. Very kind to him the Emperor had been, the Emperor who next week would send away the only two men who cared for him and stand splendidly desolate in his treacherous court. The pathos of it beat down resentment. And being transparent, Allard's gray eyes betrayed the softened thoughts as they encountered the other's.
"Well?" Adrian questioned, as if to a spoken phrase.
"You will not believe me, sire, but—I would guard you if nothing compelled."
Adrian made a movement of surprise, then smiled at Allard with almost his cousin's charming grace.
"Why should I not believe you, who are truth itself? Thank you, Allard. Pray come with me; it is time to rest, I fancy."
Allard hurriedly put away their motoring garments, and presently they went from the room.
But the Emperor was not one around whom gentle illusions long could cling; sword-like he slipped through such gauzy fabrics. As they parted for the night he regarded Allard keenly, with even a suggestion of amused cruelty.
"If you have found me indecorously frivolous to-night," he said, "remember how near we are to next week. It will be a robust sense of honor that survives next week, Allard. You can not conceive how earnestly I desire my day for which I have waited so long."
Allard stiffened to the rigidity of self-control; comprehending all the allusion to Stanief, he found no reply he dared give.
As the first week of the regency had been, so the last week was a dazzling confusion, a series of gorgeous pageants, a riot of semi-Eastern splendor.
But if this last held all the rejoicing and glory of the commencement of a new reign, it held also the deep regret and dread of the passing of a tested security. The Empire loved Stanief with grateful fervor, it feared Adrian. Even in the court were those who foresaw a return to old disaster in the rule of the unguided and wilful young sovereign.
Yet before Stanief's own will all these elements were helpless. The court party proper triumphed, because the others lacked a leader. Dalmorov and his followers, the officials held to strict account under Stanief's stern government, the officers and ministers deprived of bribes and pillage, the jealous and chafing nobles, all these turned in snarling glee to watch the fall.
Through all the chaos Stanief moved with a dignity never so great, carrying his head proudly above the conflict. Still the power lay in his grasp, and firmly he held the seething country to a semblance of calm. Many a shaft he received, many a veiled insolence and obvious taunt, growing bolder as the last beads slipped from his chain and the ungenerous enemies feared him less; but since the day of the attack he had borne himself like one who possesses a secret world of his own.
By his side Iría played her part, no less dreamily radiant. She at least met no bitterness except her own knowledge of the coming change; she had offended no one, and no one ventured to annoy the Gentle Princess whom Adrian's love might yet hold above the wreck. But it was noted as significant that the Emperor avoided seeing either her or her husband, so far as possible.
The night before the coronation, Allard escaped from the palace and went to Stanief. Adrian had released him earlier than usual, and he was furious before some new arrogance of the victorious party.
"It is Dalmorov again, and always," he declared savagely. "Monseigneur, I never thought myself vindictive, but surely it is time for his reckoning. You once said you would crush him while you could; to-morrow—"
"To-morrow I can not," Stanief completed. "That is very true, John; to-morrow I can do nothing, nothing at all.Sic transit—you know the rest."
For the first time he had received Allard in the apartments of the Grand Duchess, and Iría was seated by her husband in rapt and silent content. They also had returned recently from the palace; the shining folds of Iría's court dress lay over the floor in billows of rose-and-silver; again she wore the pearls whose tinted beauty echoed the soft luster of her face.
"To-morrow!" Allard exclaimed impetuously. "Monseigneur, monseigneur, it is a quarter to twelve!"
"So late? Well, so I would have the day find us: together. My Empire has shrunk to this room, yet left me a universe. For Dalmorov, be satisfied. Down in my desk are papers that can send him to a prison or a scaffold, as I choose. I have not been idle or forgetful; I thought of you."
"And we waste time! We who count minutes," he sprang to his feet, afire.
Stanief rested his head against the back of the chair, quieting the other's energy with a curious smile.
"My dear John, I have had those papers for two months; two months ago I sent to England the poor wretch who earned his pardon by aiding me to get them."
Stunned, Allard gazed at him.
"Two months?" he repeated. "Two months?"
All the long catalogue of insults, annoyances and petty wrongs rose before him, the open warfare and secret insinuations; slowly he gathered comprehension of the singular expression with which Stanief frequently had regarded his rival on such occasions.
"Perhaps I liked to play with him," the level voice resumed. "Perhaps I did not care to deprive the Emperor of his companion while I had still so much work to be done. But I think I waited because of a quixotic dislike to using my superior strength of position against an antagonist; to being both accuser and judge. I am not a child, I have no intention of letting him escape and work mischief undisturbed; simply I leave him to Adrian's justice."
"Then you—"
"I shall give the evidence to the Emperor after the coronation and before I leave the city. If he chooses to pardon Dalmorov, very good; my part is done. However, I would not value the baron's chances much. My cousin is—my cousin."
"Yes," Allard admitted reluctantly, he too knew the steel-hard Adrian. "Only, it seems a pity to give him to-morrow."
Stanief laughed.
"And I fancied you Americans good-natured! Let Dalmorov go with all the glittering wreckage of my regency. I have found the better part."
Iría's little hand nestled into the one held out for it, and there fell a silence. Allard looked at them, then sighing turned his head. The memory of Theodora caught at his heart, Theodora, who had loved Robert and now grieved out her marred life, alone amidst the unvalued wealth so hardly bought.
From the great cathedral pealed the first rich bell of the chime. Iría lifted her finger in warning.
"Midnight," she said softly.
Stanief rose, and drawing her with him, crossed to push aside the curtains before the open window.
"Come," he bade Allard. "The last night is gone. Look at the city, John; the board of our royal chess, at which I admit checkmate."
Out over the velvet blackness studded with myriad points of light the three gazed quietly. Already faint rumors of carnival awoke here and there. The capital stirred in its sleep with dreams of the morning, the morning whose sunrise would be greeted from every fortress and ship of the empire by seventeen guns.
"Never did the purple-and-gold sands slip less regretted from the hour-glass," said Stanief, no faltering in the low tones which an hour before had carried dominion over a nation. "Only one sorrow I have to-night, Iría, when with you and John I lay down the life we know."
She leaned closer against his breast, as if to throw her frail body across the gates of destiny.
"And that one, Feodor?"
"Adrian," he answered. "So near to my heart lay pride in proving my loyalty, in convincing him of it and living down the lying distrust sown by his father and the court, so strong was my determination to lift my honor above disbelief and wear my ward's confidence as a decoration in all men's eyes. And I dreamed of helping him bear the heavy charge laid upon his slim shoulders. Fancies, boyish fancies wiser outgrown; I have learned better now."
"The world knows," she whispered.
"Yes; or will know. But I loved Adrian."
The quiet words fell with the last distant chime of bells. Listening, it seemed to Allard that no reproach leveled at the young Emperor could be so utterly hard to meet in the day of account as that wistful phrase.
Yet the spell of Stanief's tolerance lay on him also; the picture before him was not that of the familiar, ruthless autocrat under whom he lived, but of Adrian as he had stood in the little salon on the night of the drive, pushing back his tumbled dark hair with a gesture of infinite fatigue.
Brilliant in blue-and-gold the dawn opened over the capital. Scarcely a breath of wind rippled the warm clear air of the spring morning, a morning designed for a country bridal among the scented fields or the waking of wild furry creatures in the woods, and which man was seizing for such different use.
From the first deafening salute of cannon that ushered in the Emperor's seventeenth birthday, the city was in a tumult indescribable. Cavalry officers galloped through the swarming, flag-draped streets, gorgeous carriages blocked the avenues, marching regiments filled the air with military music. Congratulatory messages, visits from foreign ambassadors, enforced audiences and preparations for the one great event, kept both palaces in kaleidoscopic movement and color.
The old sense of unreality held Allard from the moment when Vladimir awakened him three hours earlier than usual to don a costume hitherto considered reserved for evening. His usual duties were temporarily missing, the Emperor being formally attended to-day by those who had the hereditary right to that honor. Not that he was forgotten, at which he was surprised and touched, but it was very strange to be summoned to Adrian's bedside through an assembly of grave nobles and to speak a few brief words of felicitation under a fire of observation none too friendly. So often he had leaned against the foot of that pillared, curtained bed and amused with light chat of court or club the serene occupant who took his chocolate while listening interestedly.
"Thank you, Allard," the Emperor returned only in reply to his slightly confused speech, and the American was aware of the diverted, malicious comprehension of his embarrassment under the ordeal.
But later he found his place carefully appointed in all the occurrences of the day, and realized the forethought with a gratitude and sense of obligation harder to bear than neglect. Very difficult Adrian was making his determination to follow Stanief; Allard knew now the pain of serving two masters.
The morning proceeded, the events pacing on in dignified order. At noon fell a pause, city and court poised on tiptoe, and the magnificent procession moved from the palace toward the cathedral.
It was all of mirage-like unsubstantiality to Allard: Adrian, strangely young and collected in his superb medieval robes, surrounded by his glittering nobles; Stanief, hardly less dazzling than the Emperor, with gemmed orders and cordons under which his white uniform almost disappeared; Iría in her fairy royalty, these were the central figures of the pageant. The cheering crowds, the excitement and clamor, were merely a background. But once he met Dalmorov's cruel, exultant eyes as the baron smiled across the unconscious Stanief, and there was no more beauty in the scene.
At last the dim richness of the cathedral received them, the cool, incense-freighted twilight of the vast building, the wilderness of columns and lofty jeweled windows. Here the throng of witnesses was hushed, the organ tones fell soothingly after the noisy streets. The atmosphere of the place was infinite calm, and each ancient stone cried alike to victor and vanquished its garnered wisdom: "This, too, shall pass away."
Sighing, Allard sank passively into contemplation of the spectacle, Vasili by his side. Many times he had visited the cathedral with the Emperor, never again would he see it like this.
For all its pomp and solemnity, the ceremony was not long. When at last Adrian turned to face them, fully invested, when church and city rocked with acclamation, Allard felt the first thrill of realization of what this meant. And he knew there was nothing the new sovereign could not do.
"What is the matter?" questioned Vasili. "Why are you so sober; why are you so still? Oh, you English, cold as a stone!"
But Allard did not hear, he was watching the next act in the splendid drama, when, as former Regent and first kinsman of the Emperor, Stanief moved forward to offer his homage.
"Not here," Allard implored mutely, his eyes on the golden central figure, his hands clenched with nervous dread for the one he loved. "Surely, surely not even Adrian will hurt him here, before these!"
Perhaps the thought of just how humiliating this could be made was also present in Stanief's mind, perhaps some deeper emotion, for there was no trace of color in his firm dark face. Intent, breathless, the church looked on at the meeting, an audience of courtiers and diplomats whom no slightest detail escaped. In her place Iría laid one hand above her heart where, under velvet and satin, the tiny Spanish cross still rested.
It was over very briefly. As Stanief would have sunk to his knee, Adrian made a quick step forward and prevented the movement.
"Not to me, my cousin," he said quietly. "Not now, at least." And he embraced the other with a touch that lifted the formality to a caress.
The great mass of people remained absolutely still. One would have said there was not a breath drawn or a garment rustled. Stanief himself faltered, shaken out of his stoicism and flushing heavily; it was a perceptible moment before he recovered and carried on his rôle.
"Nom de Dieu!" gasped Vasili faintly, clutching his companion's sleeve. "You saw, Allard, you saw?"
Allard saw. He saw Stanief's oath of allegiance given and received, he saw the second embrace which welcomed it; he heard the Emperor's graceful speech of thanks for the long service completed now. But no one except Stanief himself caught the murmured answer to the quaint, earnest phrases of feudal loyalty:
"For the second time, Feodor."
And to the listener the cathedral faded momentarily at the reminder; the rose-hued salon of theNadejaclosed around.
The rest of the affair passed more rapidly. Adrian took Iría's hands as she came to him and kissed her on both cheeks. After that the others came and went, the superb swirl and current rushed on. Once only the eyes of Allard and Stanief met across the broad space, and if they exchanged wordless relief, they held no other feeling in common, for Stanief had never trusted nor understood his cousin less, while Allard had refound the Adrian he knew—the Adrian of evening drives and bitter-sweet kindness.
In the departure from the cathedral there came a brief confusion and rearrangement.
"You will ride with me," Adrian said to his late Regent, on the steps.
"Sire—"
"Take care; I am too new an autocrat for contradiction."
So Iría went surrounded by her butterfly ladies, and Stanief rode by the Emperor's side during that bewildering return.
In the streets there was no high-bred reserve; seeing him there, the capital went into a madness of enthusiasm.
The rest of the day, the state banquet, passed in no less dazzling excitement. But in the midst of all Adrian found an instant to toss a word to Allard.
"Is it 'almost,' or quite, to-day?" he demanded.
Happy, dazed, uncomprehending yet content, Allard met the challenging eyes in an expressive glance; then for the first time in their years together, he impulsively stooped and touched his lips to the slim young hand.
"Not at all, sire," he answered most remorsefully.
Adrian's long lustrous eyes opened; perhaps no conquest of the day pleased him more.
"Come to me at five o'clock," he directed, and passed on.
Five o'clock. That hour had been generally accepted through the palace as the time when the Emperor would withdraw to snatch a brief rest before the celebrations of the night. From long custom Allard knew where the "come to me" signified, and very pleasant he found his return to the familiar routine. Somewhat before the time appointed, he went to the octagonal library, the room now flooded with quivering pink light from the approaching sunset.
A man turned from a window at his entrance.
"Ah, Monsieur Allard?" said Dalmorov's thin, cutting voice, "Pardon that I disturb you, dear monsieur, but the Emperor requested me to meet him here, and so—"
Allard surveyed the lean and suave diplomat with his usual antagonism, but moved toward a chair instead of adopting the hint to retire.
"I am here for the same reason, Baron," he explained. "A wonderful day we have had, have we not?"
"Wonderful, indeed," Dalmorov conceded viciously. "But the ides of March have not gone, monsieur."
"What a suggestion for our young Cæsar!" Allard deprecated. "Whom do you imagine as Brutus, Baron, in our peaceful Empire?"
"You misunderstood; I only pointed out the uncertainty of building upon one day."
Anxiety for Stanief stabbed Allard, always and only for Stanief. Yet his answer was light and sympathetic:
"Has to-day disappointed you? So sorry,chèrBaron."
"No, monsieur; for the event of the day I shall most enjoy is just about to take place."
"And my presence threatens to postpone it? It is too bad I can not do as you suggested, and leave."
"Not at all; it will increase my pleasure to have you here, Monsieur Allard. Meanwhile, the favor of princes is uncertain, and a frail shield."
Again that coldly triumphant glance, the tightening of the lines about the thin lips. Wilfully Allard misapplied the last sentence.
"Oh, if my poor influence with the Emperor can aid you, Baron! You know how I esteem you."
The click of the lock prevented the exasperated Dalmorov's retort. Stanief held open the door, then followed Adrian into the room. There was no distinction of rank in the surprise with which the three men looked at one another, and from one another to the Emperor who had brought them together. A thrill of startled expectation ran from each to the other like a thread of flame.
Adrian without his muffling draperies of cloth-of-gold was again the well-known figure of every-day. Yet there was some subtle difference in his bearing, in the carriage of his small head, which left no doubt that the ceremony of the morning had been very real. It was characteristic that he went to his object without preamble or delay.
"Feodor," he said as he moved to the large central table, and the languid sweetness of his accent was a sufficient warning of danger to those who knew him, "it is unfortunate to be forced to mingle serious affairs with a day already so full, but Baron Dalmorov urges so vigorously the necessity for readjusting the government that I have consented. You will hardly believe that his anxiety leaves neither of us an hour's repose. Will you assist us in this task?"
"If I can, sire," Stanief answered gravely. The kitten was playing with the mice; too well had the Regent learned his deceptive ward for him to draw confidence from the Emperor's courtesy during the day.
"Who else, cousin?" returned Adrian, with exquisite grace. "Who can do so well? How should the country continue without the wise hand that has guided it through these three years? Pray reassure Baron Dalmorov by telling him that you will still hold in fact the power that nominally you resigned this morning, always aided by my loving support."
Allard grasped the back of a chair; so much even he had never hoped. Stupefied, Dalmorov gazed paling at Adrian, who leaned tranquilly against the table, his lips curved in a very slight cold smile.
"If you indeed speak seriously, sire, I can have but one reply," Stanief said. "Forgive me for the doubt."
"Since I have taught you it, why not? But the farce is over, the game closed. Dalmorov, pray attend; possibly you also may be interested in the explanation that my cousin asks." For the first time his glance went that way. "At least you best can understand why this game has been played. For a game it has been, Feodor. If a cruel one, why, our race is not gentle nor reared in tenderness. Or to truth, remember that; your mother was an Englishwoman. I give what I have received; you alone ever gave or asked of me frankness. Take it now, if long delayed."
He paused, his lashes fell as if his gaze went back and within. No one moved or spoke as the fire mounted visibly through his calm, shriveling his trained composure and beating against his self-control.
"I love you, my cousin," he said, the quietness forced on his voice leaving it almost monotonous. "I loved you long ago in my lonely childhood, when your rare visits came like sunny flashes across my dreariness and I used to stand at my window to watch you ride by each day. I had no other affections to distract me; I loved you still, however unwillingly, when I went at night to theNadejathree years ago. But you asked me to trust you, and my training had left me no trust to give. Not that I did not want to trust you, for I did want to give that with a longing you scarcely can understand; but I could not, then. Look back to then, Feodor, for the commencement of the game ended now. Loving you, distrusting all alike, I listened to you when you were with me and listened to your enemies when you were not, striving to reach the fact beneath in the only method I have seen practised. There could not have been a more unequal battle, yet at the end of the first year you had won. You and Allard had convinced me that there did exist men different from my world. The vista widened for me; I caught a glimpse of a golden age within the one I so despised, the ancient breath of chivalry claimed life beside me. So the second year opened. The second year—" again the cold glance swept Dalmorov. "How did you employ the second year, Baron?"
"Sire—"
With a shrug Adrian turned from him; this time his eyes met his cousin's and held them.
"I have not been happy, Feodor," he resumed, the control not quite so perfect. "For one clean word of yours, a thousand poisonous speeches were poured into my ears; never a simple action of yours escaped being shown to me as hiding some sinister motive. When you brought order out of the chaotic country, they explained that you prepared your own Empire; when you paid me your grave deference, they told me it was used to lull a fretful child until he could be removed. When you spoke of the day you would yield the sovereignty to me, they laughed. You guessed some of this? All of it you could not conceive, their incredible ingenuity of falsehood and false witness. And hate them as I would, a little of the venom clung. When the beginning of the third year arrived, I stood alone and surveyed it all; older at sixteen, cousin, than you will ever be. On one side lay the reeking swamp they made of life, on the other the firm white road and you. And I realized then that if you failed me, it would not be an Empire I would lose, but a universe and a belief in God. Ask Allard some day how I spent last New Year's Eve."
Allard caught his breath; clearly it stood out in his memory,—that night when Adrian had sent for him near midnight. "Sleep, read, do what you like, but stay where I can see you," had been the curt command. And when dawn had opened grayly across the city, Adrian was still pacing restlessly up and down the fire-lit room, his sorely puzzled companion still watching by the hearth.
"For many months I had held one hope of a definite answer, Feodor, a limit to uncertainty. 'After the coronation I will know,' I told myself. 'If he lays down the scepter, they have lied.' And Dalmorov took from me even that.
"'He will crown you,' he said, 'because so he can keep the faith of the people and yet rule the country through your weakness and love for him.'"
Stanief would have spoken, deeply moved, but Adrian checked him while himself coloring with no less emotion.
"Wait still a little. I ask you to remember that never have I taken one step at the suggestion of your enemies or at the wish of this Dalmorov whom you believed my friend. Whichever of us succeeded to Empire, I had the consolation of knowing he would fall. No one has stood between us; alone I decided upon my test and made it, because I had come to the point where I must choose between your world and theirs. I have called this a game—it was the trial of a faith. Need I say the rest? The tax dispute gave the excuse, I feigned a break with you. My cousin, now can you measure the cost to me of the last year?"
He paused for the answer, and finding it written in the mute Stanief's eyes, went on more hurriedly.
"No one knew the truth, although Iría and Allard nearly tempted me to confidence. I deprived you of the faintest hope of peace with me, I left you to the snarling hate and malice of the court; I even added to ingratitude the last insult of menace. Through it all you moved steadily toward your goal, holding your head above us all. I have learned, at last. If I avoided you, Feodor, it was because I felt my courage failing before yours. If I have spoken to you curtly, it was because I feared to say this too soon. If I refused to see you after the accident last week, it was because I was sick with horror at the nearness of losing you, because I was too near to ending the pretense of months just before its climax. And I had set my heart on standing with you, thus, and defying even this man to find an accusation that you have not answered. So," he took a step forward and passed his hand through Stanief's arm, the last reserve swept away by his own vivid energy. "So, together; now speak, Dalmorov, before you leave the capital. What selfish motive or hope led the Regent to-day when he came to me in the cathedral?"
At the two Dalmorov looked, attempting no reply. Not pleasant to see was his face in that moment. Allard, quivering, radiant, found room to pity the outgeneraled and annihilated intriguer.
"Nothing?" insisted Adrian, the voice so gentle to his cousin, merciless enough now. "Nothing? Feodor, you see my plaything; never again rate me so low as to credit me with such a favorite. The man who aspired to hold your place; who fancied us both victims of his clumsy intrigues; the man who never even perceived the contempt and dislike I scarcely troubled to conceal, look at him. Dragged from his shadows into the sun, facing you, he has no longer one falsehood to offer."
"Sire," interposed Stanief for very compassion, himself unsteadied by the happiness that makes generosity easy.
Adrian turned on him swiftly.
"You? You, Feodor? Oh, it needed but that! Thank the Grand Duke for his intercession, Baron Dalmorov, and go."
The last humiliation was too much. Sallow with defeat and bitter mortification, Dalmorov collected himself to strike the only one within reach, the one through whom alone he could wound the others.
"If it has pleased your Imperial Majesty to misunderstand, I may not say misuse, my devotion, I must submit," he said tremulously. "I can do nothing else."
"No, I think not."
"Yet permit me to give a last service due to respect for my sovereign. My defense I leave to time. This nameless American whom it has pleased his Royal Highness to place near your person, sire, is not fit for such an honor. Rather he should be in the mines."
Stanief started violently, his eyes flashing to Allard, who kept his pose with a serenity drawn from utter helplessness.
"Take care, Dalmorov," Adrian cautioned sternly.
The baron bowed.
"Sire, some months ago chance called me to this investigation. There passed through the city a gentleman who had visited the California Allards a year before this man came here. The visitor declared that this was not the Allard he knew, and no other member of the family had alluded to another absent one. Naturally anxious and alarmed, I searched further. The officers of theNadejaadmitted that no one had seen the new secretary until one night his Royal Highness brought him hurriedly aboard, while the yacht lay opposite an American prison. At the exact hour of his arrival, the alarm was raised on shore of the escape of a convict. It is a singular coincidence, sire."
"It is very uninteresting, Baron. What of it?"
"Sire, only loyalty could make me continue. I obtained some journals of that date and a little later. The prisoner who escaped was not recaptured; and out in California the gentleman died whose honorable name this man claims. Give me time, long enough to send to America, and I can find proof that your Imperial Majesty's favorite companion is the prisoner Leroy masquerading as one who is not living to contradict him. Why the Grand Duke placed him here, it is not for me to say."
Twice Stanief had moved to speak, and each time the restraining hand on his arm had imposed silence.
"Hush, Feodor; this is my affair," Adrian said, divining the rebellion at this last before it could take speech. "Baron Dalmorov, with time you could no doubt make any proofs you desire; I have seen it done. We close this subject to-day. Are you willing to relieve the baron's cares, Allard?"
So near the truth, and yet so far from it, had the accusation gone. It was not of himself Allard thought at the moment, but of Stanief, Stanief, who had protected him and who must be shielded from the consequence.
"Sire, I am John Allard," he replied, giving that fact with the appeal of sincerity. "The Allard to whom Baron Dalmorov refers was my brother Robert. For the rest, it is perfectly true that I was not in California the year before I came here. The American who did not recognize me was of course my brother's guest during my absence."
"You do not comprehend," Adrian corrected sweetly. "I never intended to ask you to defend yourself against this chain of absurdities. I do not admire your assailant's methods, and I adopt my own. I would ask if both you and Dalmorov will be content with the evidence of a witness who knew the California Allards beyond dispute."
"Certainly, sire," he answered, wondering, yet welcoming any course that led them from New York.
"Sire, if any Californian identifies this man, of course my case fails," conceded Dalmorov with his bitter smile. "But, it will not be so."
"Pray ring the bell, Allard, twice," directed Adrian.
They waited in silence. Adrian moved to a chair. Stanief sought Allard's eyes with the steadying message of his own, an intensity of reassurance and protection. In reserve he was holding his own power to ruin Dalmorov, and he fiercely reproached himself with not having foreseen and used it before this could have happened.
But Allard showed no agitation to his keen watchers. It seemed to him that this had been closing around him for days, that he had felt the old things reclaiming him as the unseen net drew and tightened. Now there was nothing he could do; the moment balanced, ready to fall either way at the light touch of chance. Away from himself he laid the decision, before a higher tribunal than Adrian's, setting all his life against one error. The speech of his thought was the same as it once was on the wharf before the Hudson prison: "If I have paid—" Quietly, with a dignity all unconscious, he awaited the judgment.
A rustle of silken garments, a silver echo of a southern voice as the door opened, and Iría was in the room, Iría, flushed, smiling, and by her side a girl in white whom two of those present had never seen. As the Duchess swept her graceful salute to the Emperor, Allard's cry rang through the place:
"Theodora! Theodora!"
His answer was given. The girl held out her hands as he sprang forward to clasp them; there existed no one else for either during the long moment when they remained gazing in each other's eyes with the hunger of years.
Smiling, Adrian moved forward a chair for Iría, whispering a phrase in passing which sent the light blushes to her forehead as she glanced shyly at Stanief. Then, Theodora slipping her fingers from Allard's with confused recollection of their situation, the Emperor claimed her attention.
"Mademoiselle Leslie, let me present to you the Baron Sergius Dalmorov, formerly of this court. And, since he appears suffering under a strange misconception, do me the favor of informing him who is the gentleman whom you have just greeted."
Evidently Theodora knew Adrian, for she answered his smile with trustful friendliness while acknowledging the introduction.
"Monsieur le Baron, I am charmed," she said in her pretty, hesitating French. "This is my cousin, John Leslie Allard, whom I have not seen for many years. We grew up together; and in the pleasure of meeting him again—"
"Thank you, mademoiselle," interposed Adrian. "Let me complete the aid to your halting memory, Dalmorov, and recall in Monsieur Allard my loyal friend of three years' trial, the gentleman who bears the scar and the decorations gained in defense of my life and my cousin's. Several months ago you first hinted at this attack on him. Knowing you very well, I obtained the necessary details from him under a pretext, and myself wrote to Madame Leslie suggesting that she bring mademoiselle here for the coronation. A week ago they arrived at the Hôtel Anglais, where I had the pleasure of visiting them one evening." He looked at Allard in cool amusement, but it was something very far from amusement that rose in the gray eyes in answer to the memories of that evening. "We explained a few details to one another; since then they have been the guests of the Grand Duchess, who promised me secrecy."
"I did not even tell you, Feodor," murmured Iría plaintively.
"Feodor will forgive you," assured Adrian. "Baron Dalmorov, you have our permission to retire from the capital at once; you are not suited for court life. Unfortunately you have broken no laws. I wish most sincerely that it were in my power to find some excuse for punishing you as I should enjoy; I have no doubt at least one exists. But you may go, and in future avoid the same city with me. That is all; I have waited a long while for to-day."
Stanief turned to Allard, then expressively regarded the man who moved almost gropingly toward the door.
"Shall I give the excuse?" the glance asked.
And Allard's impulsive gesture answered.
"Has he not enough?" flashed the mute return.
The door closed gently.
Beyond, the marble arches, the brilliancy, the color and movement of the vast ball-room; here, the perfumed dusk of the conservatory's mimic garden, lighted by tiny jeweled lamps hung among the flowers. And over both atmospheres the dreamlike enchantment of the strange national music that Adrian loved. Sighing, Allard leaned forward, his eyes delighting in contemplation of the girl opposite.
"To see you like this! Theodora, I have so sorrowfully pictured you as changed, as grieved and saddened out of the brightness I so longed to keep for you. And you are the same, always the same, dear."
She smiled, half-tenderly, half in indulgent mockery.
"But I am not the same, nor are you, John. I am twenty-five instead of nineteen, and much wiser than Theo Leslie used to be. While you—his excellency Monsieur Allard of the imperial household, is somewhat older and much more dignified, and a trifle more interesting. When I see you moving through this court with so much ease, in all your gorgeousness so naturally worn,"—she made a laughing gesture to the gemmed orders—"I think—I think perhaps it is well we have both grown."
The truth of the judgment held him, and sent a startled hope.
"If we have grown nearer, Theo?"
"I have tried to say—that. Can you guess how mamma and I have followed you through scattered newspaper articles and items of European news? How we rejoiced and cried together when you saved the Emperor from death and were yourself wounded, when your name was everywhere? You wrote so seldom, and never to me."
"I thought you must hate me for leaving Robert; I never forgot that."
Her vivid face grew serious, her eyes fell to the fan in her lap.
"I could never have felt so, whatever you had done. John, the last morning he spoke to us, Robert said that for us you had made a sacrifice we could not even conceive. He told us that we must never question you nor seek to know, but that you were above all blame. Perhaps I had already guessed you were not happy, remembering the night before you went away."
"There was never one like Robert," he said, gratitude a pain. "Theodora, I never wondered that you loved him."
She stirred, the faint, familiar sweetness of sandalwood and rose was shaken from her laces by the movement; wide and very soft were the eyes she lifted to his.
"I did not love him, as you meant. John, John, you were wrong."
The conservatory wavered before his gaze; he rose impetuously and she with him.
"Wrong? Then—"
"You, John. Oh, could you not tell a girl's playmate from her lover? Robert read the truth; and I believe he was glad. John—"
Slowly, almost fearfully, he drew her to his arms.
"Wrong! Oh, Theo, it has all been wrong, and the fault mine! That out of it all should come to-day, my dear, my dear."
Presently she slipped from him, starrily radiant, leaving her hands in his as she looked up.
"Do you know how I found courage to tell you this, John?"
"You knew I loved you all my life."
"But it was so very long, so very long; you might have forgotten or changed. No, it was because the night he came to our hotel, the Emperor told me that you cared for me still. 'That is why I brought you here, mademoiselle,' he said. 'What he gives once, he gives for ever, this Allard of ours.' And so I ventured."
Allard looked out across the flower-draped arches to the ball-room beyond. Stately, self-contained, Stanief was moving down the floor between the parting throngs of guests, the gently glad Iría at his side. From his seat Adrian leaned forward to watch them, his keen, dark young face softened to a great content.
"When we do wrong, sometimes we are allowed to make our payment, if we try," he said dreamily. "But how can we pay our debt of unearned happiness, Theodora?"
Smiling, she drew nearer.
"You have the man's justice, John; now learn the woman's art of graciousness. Unquestioningly let us accept our gifts."
He turned to her, flushing, and took her hands.
"It is that! Thank you, Theo. The account is closed; the rest—commences."