CHAPTER XTHE BOMB BURSTS

CHAPTER XTHE BOMB BURSTS

SELDEN was conscious of a distinct liking and admiration for the old monarch as he watched him hasten forward to meet the new arrivals, two women and a man.

“It is M. Davis, with his mother and his sister,” explained the baron, who had remained behind a moment until the king’s greetings were over.

Selden saw with some astonishment that it was indeed the same young Davis whom he had met at the Sporting Club the night before. Why should the king invite these Americans to dinner? And especially why should he welcome them so warmly—with such graciousness combined with patriarchal dignity? Why should he pat Miss Davis’s hand as though he were her father? What was the meaning of the baron’s faultless deference? Who were these Davises, anyway?

These questions flashed through his head in the moment during which the king bent over the hands of the ladies and inquired solicitously about their health. Then it was the baron’s turn; and then Davis turned and saw Selden.

“Why, hello,” he said, and came over and shook hands. “Sis will be tickled to death to see you.”

“Yes,” said the king, whom nothing escaped, andwho had evidently been coached by his good Lappo, “I felt certain that Miss Davis would be glad to meet so distinguished a countryman—and you also, madame,” and he brought Selden forward and introduced him.

The elder woman surveyed him through her lorgnette, evidently wondering who he was, and her greeting was perfunctory in the extreme, but when he shook hands with her daughter, he found himself looking into a pair of eyes fairly dancing with excitement.

“Yes, indeed,” she said, “I am glad to meet you. Your articles seem to me perfectly wonderful. I have read them all!”

“That is a great compliment,” said Selden, laughing a little at her enthusiasm. “I doubt if there is any one else who has read them all! You are interested in politics, then?”

“Oh, there was much more than politics—but I liked them especially because they were so—so brave, so optimistic.”

The baron had drawn near and was listening smilingly.

“Too much so perhaps,” said Selden, with a glance at him. “That, at least, is the opinion of M. le Baron.”

“No, no; you do me wrong!” protested the baron. “I think merely that there is a safer road up the mountain than the one you indicate—at least up the mountains of my country, which is very mountainous indeed!”

“And perhaps you are right, M. le Baron,” agreed Selden, amiably.

Miss Davis had been listening with an intensity which puzzled him.

“I want to be quite sure that I understand,” she said. “M. le Baron and I have talked a great deal about your point of view. His idea is that the old régime could do much more for his country than is possible under the new one.”

“If the old régime adopted some new ideas, and could arrange to finance the country, he is probably right,” Selden conceded.

“Ah, mademoiselle, you see!” cried the baron, obviously elated. “It is as I told you! But come, the king has something to say to you.”

What the king had to say seemed of a semi-confidential, not to say romantic, nature; at least Miss Davis laughed and blushed and shook her head. Left to himself for a moment, Selden had an opportunity to examine the two women.

As for the mother, her origin, character and ambitions were written large all over her—in her plump face with its insignificant features and bright little eyes like a bird’s; in the figure, too fat, too tightly corseted; in the voice, too loud and not quite sure of its grammar; in the gown, too elaborate, and the jewels, too abundant—a woman who had once, no doubt, been a good sort with a certain dignity and genuineness, but who had been spoiled by prosperity and also, perhaps, by a careless and too-indulgent husband—an American husband. Selden could see him, in company with countless others, labouring away at home to make the money which his wife and family were frittering away on the pleasure-grounds of Europe!

The boy was curiously like her, but the daughter was of a different and much finer type, and Selden guessed that she carried on the father’s strain. Not strikingly beautiful, but fresh-skinned and wholesome, with a face delicately chiselled and touched just the slightest, when in repose, by sadness or disillusion—just a little too old and too reserved for its years; in this respect more of Europe than of America. Perhaps it was the mother who had disillusioned her....

But why should the king listen to them both with such attention? Why should the baron be so deferential? Could it be possible that these people had something to do with the plot?

The baron, seeing Selden standing alone, managed to guide him back to Mrs. Davis, whose cool greeting he had noted, and for which he proceeded at once to atone.

“It is not often we have with us a man of such wide influence as M. Selden,” he began.

“The baron exaggerates,” Selden hastened to assure her. “I am just a newspaper man, Mrs. Davis.”

“Oh!” said Mrs. Davis, using her lorgnette again. Her experiences with newspaper men had not always been fortunate, and she distrusted them.

“But a newspaper man, as you call it, the most distinguished,” the baron persisted. “Perhaps you have heard your daughter and myself discussing some of his theories.”

“Perhaps I have,” she agreed uncertainly.

“M. Selden is a democrat the most pronounced,” went on the baron, no whit discouraged; “but we aretrying to convince him that a monarchy also may have its virtues.”

“I am sure there is little to be said for democracies,” said Mrs. Davis severely, as one lecturing a small child, “when one sees their horrible blunders. And such men!”

“They do blunder,” Selden agreed; “but at least it is their own blunders they suffer from, so there is a sort of poetic justice in it.”

“No, it is other people who suffer,” said Mrs. Davis. “They rob every one. When I think that my income tax this year....”

She was interrupted by the announcement of the Countess Rémond, and was instantly so absorbed in contemplation of that unusual woman that she quite forgot to go on.

The Countess Rémond had said that she was going to dress with care, but Selden had foreseen no such finished perfection, and moreover it was at once apparent that she was as much at home in a king’s drawing-room as in any other. Nothing could have been more correct, more perfect, than the way she acknowledged the introduction to the king which the baron made. The king himself regarded her with an appreciative eye, for he had always been a connoisseur of women, holding her hand the tiniest fraction of a second longer than was necessary, and took advantage of the moment when the baron was continuing the introductions to motion the major-domo to him and give him some brief instructions in an undertone. As that solemn functionary bowed and hastened away, Selden guessed that the king hadsuddenly decided upon a rearrangement of the places at table.

The way in which the countess greeted the ladies was also a work of art, it was so charming, so cordial, so gracious, without a trace of that arrogance which alas! too often marks the bearing of ladies of the old world toward ladies of the new, and which indeed one might well expect of a countess. Her indifference to the men was almost as marked; she acknowledged their presence with the coolest of nods, and turned back at once to the women as far more interesting. The elder, flattered, almost inarticulate, was already at her feet, and the younger was visibly impressed. The countess was confiding to them something about her gown—the clumsiness of maids....

Selden noted the satisfied smile which the baron could not wholly repress, the energetic way in which he polished his glass. Evidently the countess was playing the game—whatever the game might be—very much to his liking.

“I have heard so much of you and of your daughter from my old friend, Baron Lappo,” the countess continued to the enraptured Mrs. Davis, speaking with a pronounced and very taking accent which Selden had not heretofore noted in her speech. “Permit me to say that your daughter is lovely—the true queenly type!”

Mrs. Davis sputtered her delight. Her daughter blushed crimson. Selden gaped a little at the adjective. Queenly—now what did she mean by that? And looking at the countess more closely, he sawthat in some way she had subtly altered her appearance; her face seemed longer, her eyes had a little slant, her lips were not so full....

“I see you are not accustomed to such frankness,” she rattled on; “but I am frank or nothing. If I think nice things about people, I believe in saying them—yes, even to their faces; ugly ones, also, sometimes!”

“But you talk almost like an American!” cried Mrs. Davis.

“It was in America I learned my English,” the countess explained. “I was there with my parents as a girl. At Washington.”

Mrs. Davis had a vision of the countess’s father as a great diplomat. But Selden had another start. She had not mentioned Washington to him that afternoon; she had spoken only of Montana.

Miss Davis had been looking at the countess intently, with startled eyes, as though striving to recall some memory.

“I should be so glad to talk to you about it,” added the countess. She had noticed the girl’s intent look, and turned full face to her, so that she got all the benefit of the slanting eyes and the thin, arched brows. “Perhaps you will have tea with me....”

“You must have tea with us!” cried Mrs. Davis. “To-morrow?”

“If you wish,” assented the countess with a gracious smile, which included the younger woman.

Meanwhile the king and the baron had been consulting together in undertones; from their aspect it was evident that something had gone amiss.

“I was forced to send Danilo on an important errand this afternoon,” said the king finally, “and he has not yet returned. He has had an accident perhaps.”

“Oh, I hope not!” cried Mrs. Davis. “That would be too terrible!”

“If any one was injured,” said the king with a smile, “it was undoubtedly some one else, in which case he would be detained only until he had satisfied the police. But I do not think we shall wait any longer. Baron, will you summon the Princess Anna?”

The baron disappeared and presently returned with a tall young lady on his arm. She was perhaps twenty-five, very dark, with a perceptible moustache, and very thin.

“This is my youngest daughter, Anna,” said the king, “named, as all my daughters were, for one of the great saints of my country.”

The Princess Anna bowed to the guests without taking her hand from the baron’s arm. She, at least, seemed to have no reason to ingratiate herself with the rich Americans!

The king nodded, and the doors at the end of the room swung back, disclosing the gleaming table beyond.

“May I have the honour, madame?” and he offered his arm to Mrs. Davis.

Selden permitted young Davis to take the countess, and followed with the sister.

“Were you really in earnest a moment ago?” she inquired in a low voice.

“In earnest?”

“Yes—in saying the baron might be right?”

“Why, yes; entirely so,” he answered, puzzled by the intensity of her look.

She took a deep breath and turned her head away for an instant.

And then they were at the table.

When they were seated, he found himself still at her right. Beyond her was a vacant place, evidently for Danilo, while beyond that, and to the right of the king, sat the countess. Selden smiled to find his surmise correct—even at eighty, the king had not lost interest in pretty women!

Mrs. Davis was at the king’s left, while beyond her, the baron, the Princess Anna and young Davis, who had been adroitly detached from the countess, completed the company.

The king, with patriarchal dignity, asked grace in his native tongue, somewhat to the confusion of his guests. Selden could see Mrs. Davis regarding with a startled eye the red cap which the king made no motion to remove. Then came the soup, and she was startled again to see the Princess Anna rise and serve her father.

“In our country,” the king explained, with a smile, seeing her glance, “it is the custom for the daughters to serve their parents. I consider it a very good custom, and my daughters have always followed it. As you know,” he went on, tasting the soup with an approving smack of the lips, “I have a daughter who is a queen, but when she comes to visit her father, she still gives him to eat.”

The picture of a queen ladling out the soup was too much for Mrs. Davis, and she gasped audibly. Or perhaps it was the soup, which she at that momenttasted. The king had brought his native chef with him from Goritza, and this soupe à l’oignon was one of his masterpieces, but it was rather a shock to the unaccustomed palate, especially if the cheese was a little strong. But since it came from a royal kitchen, Mrs. Davis battled with it manfully. The king asked for a second serving.

It was at that moment the prince appeared.

Selden was sure he had never looked more handsome. His eyes were shining; his dark skin, usually a little sallow, was most becomingly flushed. He seemed in the gayest possible mood—even a reckless mood.

“No, do not rise,” said the king to his guests, motioned the prince to his side and put to him a stern question in his native tongue. The prince replied expansively; for an instant a scowl of displeasure threatened the king’s countenance, then he smiled blandly round upon the company.

“It was as I thought,” he said. “Fortunately no one was killed. Make your apologies, sir, to the ladies.”

The prince, with a mocking light in his eyes, bent over Mrs. Davis, and raised her plump hand to his lips.

“It was really impatience to be with you, madame, which caused the accident,” he said gaily. “A speed too swift—a road slippery from the rain....”

“Oh, what a fib!” broke in the lady, tapping him playfully with her lorgnette. But never for an instant did she suspect how great a fib it was!

The prince made his other greetings swiftly, then dropped into the seat beside Miss Davis, kissed herfingers as he had her mother’s, and spoke a low sentence into her ear. And Selden, noting the quick flush which swept across her cheek, noting the baron’s attentive eyes, noting the king’s benignant good-humour, understood in that instant the whole plot.

For a flash his eyes met those of the Countess Rémond, who was smiling cynically, maliciously, as though at some long-cherished vengeance about to be accomplished. Then he turned back to his plate, his heart hot with resentment. It was horrible that a girl like that should be sacrificed to the ambitions of a worldly mother! No wonder she was disillusioned! And to a libertine like the prince! Of that, of course, she could have no suspicion, and she would find it out too late. Of happiness there was not the slightest possibility.

Yet—was there not? He looked again at Myra Davis—there was something in her face that said she was not a fool, that she had had some experience of the world, so she must know something of the ways of princes. And it would be exciting to be the wife of a man like that—to be compelled to hold one’s place against all the other women....

And he would teach her many things.

Of love, as the average American understood it—mutual trust, mutual respect, common interests, fidelity, placid affection—nothing at all; but there would be bursts of passion, shattering experiences, and if she were strong enough to survive being cast down from the heights from time to time, she might win through, might in the end even hold him. At least she might find such a life more interesting than the placidity of the meadows. There was alwaysthat choice in life between emotion and tranquillity, and Selden had never been able to make up his mind which was the wiser.

To be a queen—even an unhappy one—even of a tiny kingdom....

But what of Madame Ghita? Did she know of this? Was that why they had met her driving toward Nice? Did she intend to interfere?

And was it conceivable that any man would leave a woman like that?

Probably the prince had no intention of leaving her—and again Selden glowed with indignation. But he was conscious, deep down in his heart, that his indignation was not so much for the girl at his side as for that other woman, about to be deserted, or, worse still, compelled to share....

He awoke abruptly to the knowledge that Miss Davis was addressing him.

“You have been there quite recently, have you not, Mr. Selden?”

“Oh, yes,” he answered, guessing instinctively where she meant. “Only a couple of months ago.”

“Are the people happy?”

“Yes, in a way. Of course life is very hard among those bleak mountains. But then it has always been. They are used to it.”

“It is more hard than ever now, is it not?” put in the baron, from across the table.

“It is harder than ever all over Europe,” said Selden. “This generation will never know the old ease.”

“That is true,” agreed the baron; “yet, with proper guidance, some nations will emerge morequickly than others. What our little country needs is, first of all, a firm and experienced hand at the helm, and, secondly, capital to revive its industries, repeople its pastures and fertilize its fields. With those, it will be the first nation in Europe to find its feet again.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Selden; “but where is the capital to come from?”

“Do you really think he is right?” asked Myra Davis, in a low voice.

Selden was conscious that the eyes of the whole table were on them, and that the whole table was waiting for his answer.

“Yes, I really believe so,” he said.

“And that the people would be happier?” she persisted.

Then he understood. Here at least was one of the forces urging her forward. But it would take millions—she should understand that.

“Yes,” he said slowly, with a strange sense of responsibility. “They would be stronger, perhaps, if compelled to work out their own destinies. But not happier. Certainly they would be glad to have the way cleared for them. But to do it effectively would take a large sum—a very large sum—many millions.”

There was no secret about it any longer—they were all sitting there waiting for her decision.

“And, mademoiselle,” pursued the baron, “our little kingdom would be like home to you; since you have already lived so long among our people.”

Selden looked the question he scarcely felt at liberty to utter.

“Nearly all of our people who went to America settled in one place,” explained the baron, “in the town founded by the father of mademoiselle and named after him. There they assisted the development of an enormous property—a mountain of copper.”

A great light burst upon Selden. So it was that Davis—the copper king! Well, there would be millions enough!

But those were the people who had come back from America to make their own country a republic also—Jeneski had told him the story; it was their labour which had amassed those millions which were to be used to rivet back upon them the chains they had broken! He did not know whether to laugh or weep at the savage irony of it!

The king had bent over toward Mrs. Davis and asked her a swift question, his face purple with excitement; she had glanced toward her daughter and a long look had passed between them. Selden could see the baron’s mesmeric gaze upon the girl. She looked down, she looked up; then her cheeks went crimson, and she nodded her head.

The king, with beaming face, signed to the attendants to fill the glasses.

“Mesdames et messieurs,” he said, rising, glass in hand, “I have in my life, which has been a long one, had many happy moments, but none so happy as this, when it is my privilege to announce the betrothal of my grandson and successor, Prince Danilo, and the fair young lady who sits beside him. Let us drink to their happiness and to that of my beloved country!”

He drained his glass, sent it crashing over his shoulder, trundled around the table, caught the girl in his arms, and kissed her resoundingly upon each cheek.

“My dear,” he said, “the young rascal shall make you happy—I promise it. Otherwise, I will disinherit him, and you shall reign alone!”

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