“Women don’t think—they have only intuition, and mine says that he has.”
“Then I shall go this night——”
“And I with you.”
“Then I won’t go.”
“Nonsense, dear—why not? Dalberg Castle is always ready, and I shall take the Household, or part of it. I most assuredly would not let you go alone, to be butchered by our dear and loving cousin.”
He knew it was useless to protest.
“Well, come along, little woman,” he said; “and may be, together, we can devise a way for me to get the Book out of Lotzen Castle.”
She turned upon him, full faced and emphatic.
“But I’ll not go, nor shall you,” she declared, “unless you promise you won’t do anything without consulting me. I’m going because you need some one to curb your recklessness; and I have no mind to see you throw your life away just because you won’t take a dare.”
The Archduke gave her cheek a surreptitious pinch.
“I promise,” he laughed; “you’re something of a Dalberg dare-devil yourself when the fever is on—and you’re the finest little comrade and commander God ever made.”
Again she gave him the smile—and they went back to the others.
“Mr. Courtney,” said she, at once, “we are about to spend a short while at Dalberg Castle, going to-night by special train, with a few members of the Household; it will be a great pleasure to Armand and me to have you with us.”
“I am honored,” said the Ambassador, with a grave bow; “I shall be glad to go.”
“Even if you do disapprove,” said she lightly—“but, what would you, monsieur! I don’t want to imprison Armand, so the best thing I can do is to go along and try to take care of him; and that’s where you can help me.”
“And that, Your Highness, is precisely the reason I’m going,” he answered;—“Warwick will stick to his work to the end.”
“The end!” she exclaimed, with sharp seriousness.
“In the great Cathedral yonder,” he answered.—And the Princess, thinking only of the coronation, smiled and glanced with proud faith at the Archduke.
But to the latter the real inference went home, and sharply.
“The crypt, you mean?” he muttered aside.
And Courtney nodded curtly.
“The crypt I mean,” he said. “Even Warwick and Margaret of Anjou together could not save the silly Henry.”
But the old, lean-faced Prime Minister did not deal in inferences when—having come at the Regent’s summons, from his office in the Administration wing of the same building—he was advised of the matter, and that he was to assume charge of the government during her absence.
“Has Your Royal Highness forgot the Chambers meet this day week, and that the Regent must open them in person?” he asked.
“I had forgot,” said she, “but I shall return for it.”
The Count shrugged his shoulders.
“It is not for me to question the Regent’s movements,” he said; “but if you will accept the advice of one who was your father’s friend and trusted servant, and who ventures to think he can, at least in this instance, speak with his dear, dead master’s voice, you will abandon this astonishing intention, that can profit nothing to His Highness’ cause, and will lead him only into dire and awful danger.”
“Will there be no profit in recovering the Book?” she demanded.
“You will not recover it in Lotzenia.”
“The Duke has it; I saw it last night.”
The Count shook his head. “I feel sure that Lotzen hasn’t the Book; but if you are positive, beyond a doubt, then formally demand it as Regent; if he refuse, take half the Army, if need be, and batter down his Castle and get it.”
The Princess laughed. “Now, Count, you know very well that would be the one sure way not to get it—he would destroy it.”
“And himself with it,” said Epping; “for then your testimony would be enough to convict him, and lose him his last chance for election by the Nobles. It would be as effective as to find the Book itself.”
“Your plan does not please me for two reasons,” she answered, promptly and decisively. “It contemplates the destruction of the Laws of the Dalbergs, which I would rather die than be the cause of; and it would permit the House of Nobles to determine the succession to the Throne, a thing hitherto unknown, and to my poor mind subversive of the rights of my House. What we want is the Book, and the way to get it is to take it quietly and by stealth. Hence, I was willing that His Highness should go to Lotzenia, and I with him, to see what might be done.”
“In other words,” said the Count incisively, “you deliberately stake the Archduke Armand’s life for the preservation of the Book.”
The Princess gasped, and her face went white.
“Don’t say it, my child!” the old man exclaimed, “don’t say it!—think a moment first—and then forgive me for having let my affection for you drive my tongue too far.”
And instantly her anger passed; and she went to him and laid her hand on his, where it rested on his sword hilt—while the Archduke spoke quickly.
“Your Excellency does not quite appreciate that the Regent is dealing with a very unruly subject, and one who will not countenance the assault on Lotzen Castle. Neither Her Highness nor myself could stand before the Nobles and affirm on honor and unreservedly that the Duke has the Book, though we think we identified it. But more vital still is the fact that I will not consent to any measures which would drive the Duke to destroy the Book. I am determined to establish my right to the Throne by the Laws of the Dalbergs, and not to owe it to the vote of any man nor set of men. Frankly, my lord, I care so lightly for it, that, but for this little woman here, and to make her the Queen which by birth she ought to be, I would not lift a finger nor move tongue to gain the Crown. And if we are to have it—she and I—it must be with all its ancient rights and authority, unsmirched and unimpaired by the politics and obligations of an election.”
The old Count raised his thin, white hand—his lean face flushed, the fine fire of a hotspur youth glowing in his eyes.
“Go, Sire!” he said, “go; and win your crown as a Dalberg should—and would I were young enough to go with you—as it is, I will hold things stanch for you here.”
Madeline Spencer, lying in a languorous coil among the cushions in the deep embrasure of an east window, was gazing in dreamy abstraction across the valley to the mountain spur, five miles away as the bird flies, ten as the road runs, where, silhouetted against the blue of the cloudless sky, rose the huge, gray Castle of Dalberg.
For the last hour, she had been training a field glass on it at short intervals, and presently she levelled it again, and this time she saw what she was waiting for—from the highest tower of the keep the royal standard of Valeria was floating.
For a little while she watched the Golden Lion couchant on its crimson field—lashing its tail in anger with every undulation of the fresh west wind, as though impatient to spring into the valley and ravage and harass it, much as the fierce first Dalberg himself had doubtless done—then she slowly uncoiled herself, and gliding from the ledge swished lightly across to the far door, that led into the Duke of Lotzen’s library.
“Ferdinand,” she said, “they have——” he was not there, though she had heard him a moment ago singing softly, as was his wont when in particularly good spirits.
She went to his desk and sat down to wait, her eyes straying indifferently over the familiar papers that covered it, until they chanced upon a slender portfolio, she had never before seen, and which, to her surprise, contained only a sheet of blotting paper, about a foot square, folded down the center. Curious, she opened it, to find, on the inside, the stamp of the royal arms, and the marks of a dozen lines of heavy writing, most of it clear and distinct, and made, seemingly, by two impressions, one at each end of the sheet.
What was it doing here?—and why so carefully preserved?—She looked at the writing more attentively—and suddenly one word stood out plain, even if inverted, and under it a date.
Instantly blotter and portfolio were replaced, and she hurried to her boudoir for a mirror. Laying it face upward on the desk, she held the writing over it. A single glance proved her surmise true. Here and there words and letters were missing or were very indistinct, but there could be no doubt that this was the blotter used by King Frederick when he wrote the decree the night before his death. Her hasty reading had found nothing to show the purport of the Law—indeed, it seemed to be only a few lines of the beginning and of the end, including the signature and date—but possibly a closer inspection would reveal more; and so she was about to copy it exactly, when she heard the Duke’s voice in the adjoining room and had time only to hide the mirror and to get the blotter to its place until he came in.
His cold face warmed, as it always did for her, and as it never had done for another woman, and he bowed to her in pleasant mockery.
“Good morning, Duchess,” he said; “what are your orders for the day?—you occupy the seat of authority.”
She got up. “Having no right to the title,” she said, giving him her most winning smile, “I vacate the seat—do you think I look like a duchess?”
“Like a duchess!” he exclaimed, handing her into the chair and leaning over the back, his head close to hers, “like a duchess! you are a duchess in everything but birth.”
“And title,” she added, with a bit of a shrug.
He stroked her soft black hair, with easy fingers.
“The title will be yours when Ferdinand of Lotzen reigns in Dornlitz,” he said.
She bent back her head and smiled into his eyes. It was the first time he had held out any promise as to her place in event of his becoming king, though she had tried repeatedly to draw him to it.
“Would you do that, dear?” she asked, “do you really care enough for me to do that—to acknowledge me so before the world?”
“Yes, Madeline, I think I do,” he said, after a pause, that seemed to her perilously long. “It appears rather retributive that you, who came here, at my instance, to play the wife for the American, should thus have been put, by my own act, into a position where our friendship must be maintained sub rosa. You are quite too clear headed not to appreciate that now, at least, I may not openly parade our relations; to do so would be to end whatever chance I have with the Nobles. But once on the Throne and the power firm in my hand, and they all may go to the devil, and a duchess shall you be—if,”—pinching her cheek—“you will promise to stay away from Paris and the Rue Royale, except when I am with you.”
She wound her lithe arms around his neck, and drew his face close to hers.
“I promise,” she said presently, “I promise.... But what if you should miss the Crown?—you could not make me duchess then.”
“Why not,ma belle?” he asked, holding her arms close around his neck. “I shall still be a Duke, and you—la Duchesse de la main gauche.”
She could not suppress the start—though she had played for just such an answer, yet never thinking it would come—and Lotzen felt it, and understood.
“Did that surprise you, little one?” he laughed. “Well, don’t forget, if I miss the Throne, and live, I shan’t be urged to stay in Valeria—in fact, whatever urging there is, will likely be the other way.”
“Banished?” she asked.
He nodded. “Practically that.”
“Paris?”—with a sly smile upward.
He filched a kiss. “Anywhere you like, my dear; but no one place too long.”
She was thinking rapidly—“duchess of the left hand”;—never his duchess in name—never anything but a morganatic wife to whom no title passed; but what mattered the title, if she got the settlements, and all the rest. And Ferdinand was easy enough to manage now, and would be, so long as the infatuation held him; afterward—at least the settlements and the jewels would remain.
Truly she had won far more than she had sought or even dreamed of—and won it, whether Lotzen got the Crown or exile. The only risk she ran was his dying, and it must be for her to keep him out of danger—away from the Archduke and his friends, where, she knew, death was in leash, straining to be free and at him. Hitherto she had thought her only sure reward lay in Ferdinand as king; in his generosity for a little while; and so she had been very willing to stake him for success. Now she must reverse her method—no more spurring him to seek out the Archduke and dare all on a single fight; instead, prudence, discretion, let others do the open work and face the hazards.
She gave a satisfied little sigh and drew him close.
“May be you doubt it, dear,” she said, “but I can be very docile and contented—and I shall prove it, whether as duchess of the right hand or the left.”
He laughed, and shook his head.
“You, docile and contented! never in this world; nor do I want you so—I prefer you as you are; you may lose me, if you change.”
“Then I’ll not change, dear,” she whispered, and kissed him lightly and arose.
He reached out quickly to draw her back, but she eluded him.
“Nay, nay, my lord,” she smiled; “I must not change, you said.”
“Don’t go away,” he insisted; “stay with me a little longer.”
She sat down across the desk from him.
“I almost forgot what I came for,” she said. “Do you knowtheyhave come?—the flag went up a little while ago.”
He nodded. “Yes, I know—a whole train load and half the Household:—the Regent, the American, Moore, Bernheim, De Coursey, Marsov, the scheming Courtney, damn him, and a lot of women, including, of course, the Radnor girl. For a pursuit with deadly intent, it’s the most amazing in the annals of war. Under all the rules, the American and a few tried swords should have stolen into Dalberg Castle, with every precaution against our knowing they had come; instead, they arrive with the ostentation of a royal progress, and fling out the Golden Lion from the highest tower.”
“What are you going to do first?” she asked.
“Nothing—it’s their move. They have come for the Book, and they must seek it here.”
She was idly snapping the scissors through a sheet of paper and simply smiled her answer.
“Give me a cigarette, dear,” she said, after a pause, “I’ve left mine in my room.”
He searched his pockets for his case; then tumbled the papers on the desk, she aiding and very careful to leave exposed the portfolio that contained the blotter.
“Oh, there it is,” she exclaimed, “on the table, yonder;” and when he went for it she drew out the blotter and feigned to be examining it.
“Here, little one,” he said, tossing her the case—then he saw what she had, and for the shadow of an instant, which she detected, he hesitated—“fix one for me,” he ended, and sat down, seemingly in entire unconcern.
“Bring me a match,” she ordered, eyes still on the blotter, as she opened the case and took out a cigarette.... “There, I spoil you.” She laid down the sheet and lit another Nestor for herself. “Ferdinand,” said she, turning half around in her chair and looking up at him, “just where is this wonderful Book of Laws?”
“Here, in this drawer,” opening one beside her, showing the same package wrapped in black cloth that Armand and Dehra had seen in Ferida Palace.
“I don’t mean that one,” said she. “I mean therealBook.”
He sent a cloud of smoke between them.
“I wish I knew,” he said; “but the American won’t tell me.”
She scattered the smoke with a wave of her handkerchief.
“Are you quite sure he could tell you?” she asked.—“In fact, my dear boy, do you need to be told?”
He looked at her with a puzzled frown; and for answer she tapped the open blotter, and smiled.
“Even though inverted, a few words are very plain:—a King’s name and a date.... And the King died the next day.”
“And what is your inference?” he asked.
“It’s rather more than an inference, isn’t it?” she laughed; “I should call it a sequitur:—that he who has the Book’s blotter, has the Book.”
She had expected either cool ridicule or angry denial; instead, he laughed, too, and coming around to her, gave her an admiring little caress.
“You’re quite too clever, Madeline,” he said; “it is a sequitur, but unfortunately it’s not the fact—now. I haven’t the Book; I did have it, and I know where it is, but I can’t get it.”
“You had it—and let it get away?” she marveled.
“Yes.”
“And know where it is, and yet can’t get it?”
“Yes, again.”
“Surely! surely! it can’t be that I am listening to the Duke of Lotzen!... But, of course, you know what the decree is.”
And now he lied, and so easily and promptly that even she did not suspect.
“No,” said he, “I don’t; I lost the Book before I had a chance to open it. All I know is what that blotter tells. Damn it, why couldn’t it have had the middle of the decree instead of both ends!” and in marvellously assumed indignation he seized the soft sheet, and tore it into tiny bits. He had no mind that even she should have the chance to copy it, and delve into all that the words and blurred lines might imply.
“May I know where the Book is, dear?” she said, after a pause; “may be I could help you.”
An hour ago he would have balked at this question; but now her interests had become so bound up with his that he could trust her.
“Know, little one? of course you may know,” he said instantly; “I shall be glad for a confidant. The Book is exactly where it belongs:—in the box, and it is in the vault of the King’s library at the Summer Palace.”
She laughed merrily.
“Ferdinand, dear Ferdinand!” she cried, “I’m ashamed of you—to tell me such a clumsy lie.”
“It isn’t a lie—that’s the pity.”
“Then why all this bother as to the Succession, and search for the Book?” she asked incredulously.
“Because, my dear, I’m the only one who knows it’s there—listen, and I’ll tell you how it happened.”
At last! at last! she was to know—and she nestled close to him and waited. Truly, this was her day. And he told all, not even omitting the killing of the valet.
Her first question was typical of her mind, it went straight to the crux of the whole matter.
“But why can’t you get the Book?” she asked.
“Because I can’t get at it. The infernal American has put a cordon of troops around the Palace, so that it’s impossible to pass at night without declaring myself; Moore occupies the library; and finally the combination on the vault has been changed.”
“Isn’t it absurd?” said she; “the Book actually in its place and yet lost.”—She sat up sharply. “Do you really want it, Ferdinand?—because, if you do, may be I can help you.”
“Assuredly I want it. If the decree is against me, we will destroy the Book and go on with our game.”
“Then, dear, let us go after it—andnow,now!The Regent is absent, hence less vigilance in the Palace; Moore is with her, hence the library is deserted; it should be easy for you to get us in it by day and unsuspected.”
“And having blown open the vault, be caught in the act,” he smiled.
“That is where I come in, dear; I will engage to open it, noiselessly, and in less than fifteen minutes, too.”
“Is it possible that you are one of those wonder workers who can feel a combination?”
“Yes,” said she, “though I’ve not tried it for years.”
“Come, come, try it now!” indicating a small iron safe in the far corner.
She went to it, and sinking to the floor with sinuous grace, she put her ear close to the dial plate and fell to manipulating the knob with light fingers; turning it back and forth very slowly and with extreme care.
And the Duke, leaning against the safe, watched her with eager eyes—could she do it?—if she could——
SHE FELL TO MANIPULATING THE KNOB WITH LIGHT FINGERS.SHE FELL TO MANIPULATING THE KNOB WITH LIGHT FINGERS.
SHE FELL TO MANIPULATING THE KNOB WITH LIGHT FINGERS.
Mrs. Spencer sprang up.
“That was easy,” she said.
Lotzen reached over and seized the handle; the bolts snapped back and the door swung open.
With the first burst of impulse she had ever seen him display, he whirled and caught her in his arms.
“We will win now, my duchess!” he exclaimed, “we will win sure. No burglarious entry—no explosion—no flight; instead, the Duke of Lotzen and his Aide will go openly to the library, and then in a trice will we have the Book and be gone.... And I shall owe it all to you, dear—ma chérie duchesse.”
She closed her eyes; truly, this was her day!
“Let us go to Dornlitz this very night,” she said.
He shook his head. “We must wait a day, little one; until our friends across the valley have assured themselves that I am here. But to-morrow night we will steal away to the Capital, and get the Book; and then, if necessary, we will come back, and send our dear cousin to the devil where he belongs.”
The Archduke put up his field glasses and, turning to the Princess, waved his hand toward the open country, and around to the Castle behind them.
“So, dear,” he said, “this is home—the Dalberg aerie and its feeding grounds. I like them well. And particularly do I like the way the nest itself has been kept up to the time in comforts and appointments.”
“Do be serious, Armand,” she protested; “haven’t you any sentiment! Look at the wonderful blue of the Voragian mountains; and the shifting shadows on the foot-hills; and this spur, and Lotzen’s yonder, trailing out from them like tendrils of a vine; and the emerald valley, streaked through the center by the sparkling Dreer; and the fair lands to the south, as far as eye can carry, and yet farther, league upon league to the sea—yours, my lord, all yours—the heritage of your House—the Kingdom of your Fathers.”
“You have forgot the loveliest thing in all the landscape,” said he, “the one thing that makes the rest worth while.”
She sprang from him. “No, sir, not here on the wall in view of the bailey and every window; confine your sentiment at present to the inanimate portion of the landscape.”
He went over and leaned on the parapet beside her.
“I fear I have quite too much sentiment,” he said; “I have already expended far more than you would believe—on the Castle, and the mountains, and the valley, and all the rest. Now I’m done with it, except for animate objects; the business we have in hand promises to be sufficiently occupying. Yonder is the Book; and how to get it, and quickly.” He leveled his glasses at Lotzen Castle and studied it a long time.... “A pretty hard proposition,” he remarked. “Have you ever been in it?”
“Unfortunately, no; but Major Meux has been Constable here for two years, and surely must have been there often—yonder he is now, by the gate tower.”
The Archduke caught Meux’s glance and motioned for him.
“Major,” said he, “can you give us an idea of the plan of Lotzen Castle?”
“I can do better than that, Your Highness, I can show you a plan, drawn to scale and most complete. I came upon it in the library only last week. It’s more than a hundred years old, but I think it is still in effect accurate.”
“I wonder how it happens to be here?” said the Princess, with the peculiar curiosity of a woman as to non-essentials.
“At the time it was made Lotzen was also a Royal Castle,” the Constable explained; “it was very natural to deposit the draft here with the King’s own records.”
As they crossed the main hall, they chanced upon Colonel Moore, and, taking him with them, they went into the library—a great, high-ceilinged room, on the second floor of the keep, the walls hidden by massive, black oak cases, filled with books and folios, in bindings of leather stamped with the Dalberg Lion—and from a shelf in a dark corner the Constable brought a small portfolio, made to resemble a book, in which the draft was folded.
“This is admirable,” the Archduke remarked, examining it with the trained eye and instant comprehension of the engineer officer; “it could not be done better now.... See, Dehra, it is the whole fortification, as plain as though we were on the high tower, here—” indicating on the draft.
“I suppose so,” she smiled; “but to me it looks only like a lot of black lines, flung down at random and with varying degrees of force; sort of an embroidery pattern, you know.”
Armand, bending over the sheet, did not hear her.
“What did you make out of this, Major?” he asked; “there seems to be nothing on the key to explain it—might it be intended to indicate a secret passage from the second floor of the keep to the postern?”
“That puzzled me also,” said Meux, “but your explanation, sir, seems very likely.—Possibly old Jessac might know something; he has been here for more than seventy years, as a boy, and upper servant, and steward, and now as sort of steward emeritus and general reminiscer; and he has the legends and history of this castle at his tongue’s end.”
“Yes,” said the Princess, “if anyone know, it’s Jessac, and I think he served for a time in Lotzen Castle—have him here, Major, if you please.”
The old man came, tall, slender, shrivelled of face, white and thin of hair, yet erect and vigorous, despite his almost four and a half score years. They raised men, and kept them long, in the tingling, snapping, life-giving air of the Voragian mountains.
“Don’t kneel, Jessac,” the Regent exclaimed, giving him her hand.
He bent and kissed it with the most intense devotion.
“My little Princess! my little Princess!” he repeated; “God is good to have let old Jessac see you once more before he dies.” Then he straightened, and, turning sharply toward the Archduke,scanned him with an intentness almost savage. Suddenly his hand rose in salute. “Yes, you’re a man, and a Dalberg, too—the finest Dalberg these old eyes ever saw.”
And Armand understood, and went to him, and took his hand, and held it.
“Every one loves her, Jessac,” he said, “but none quite as you and I.” Then he drew him over to the table. “Do you know the interior of Lotzen Castle?” he asked.
“As I know this one, my lord—I lived in it for twenty years in my young days; even now I could go blindfolded from gate to highest turret.”
“Is this plan accurate now? See, here is the gateway, and this is the keep.”
“I understand, sir.”—He studied it for a little while, following the lines with his finger, and muttering brokenly to himself, under his breath. “Yes, Your Highness, it’s about the same, except that here is an outer building for servants, and here a storehouse; and the arrangement of the rooms in the main part is some different, particularly on the second floor, where several have been made out of one; but the stairway and hall are still as they always were. Indeed, sir, there has been small change or improvement since long before the present lord’s father died. Duke Ferdinand had never visited it for more than a score of years, until a few weeks ago, just a little while before our gracious master was called——”
The old man was garrulous; so far, age had not missed him; and here the Archduke interrupted.
“Jessac,” he said kindly, “you have made all that very clear; now can you tell us if there is any secret passage in the castle?”
“One, sir,” was the prompt answer; “leastwise, I know one, there may be others.”
“And it?”
“From the library to the postern gate, near the west tower—this is it, sir,” indicating the line on the plan; “many is the time I’ve used it, his lordship being absent, when I wanted to get out at night; indeed, sir, there is a key to the postern still here, as well as duplicates to almost every door. They were not surrendered when King Henry gave the place to the late Duke—all the locks had been changed shortly before that. Would Your Highness care to see the keys?—they are in the armory.”
“Bring them here,” said the Constable quickly.... “I know by experience, sir, that if Jessac get you into the armory, you won’t escape for hours; he has a story for every piece in it, and wants to tell them all.”
The old man came back, a dozen large keys jangling; and laid them on the table.
“This is to the postern,” he said; “it’s smaller than the others, so it could be carried more easily, you know, sir—these brass tags, sir, show where they belong.”
The Archduke looked them over.
“I don’t see the key from the library to the secret passage,” he said.
“There is none, sir; the big stone in the middle of the side wall of the library, and the one on the right just inside the postern arch, revolve when pushed at the upper edge—this way, Your Highness,” and he demonstrated, using a book as the stone.
“Thank you, Jessac,” said Armand, with a smile and a nod of dismissal; “we may want you again to-morrow. I’ll keep the keys,” and he swept them into a drawer of the desk.
Then the Constable withdrew, and for a while Armand and Moore studied the plan, and went over the problem confronting them; and which, though greatly simplified now, was still difficult and delicate beyond anything either had ever been obliged to solve. Perilous it was, too—but that neither regarded for himself; and Moore would gladly have assumed it alone could he have insured thereby the Archduke’s safety.
Through it all the Princess watched them, harkening carefully to what was said, and saying a few things herself, mainly in the shape of questions which showed that, even if to her the draft did resemble an embroidery pattern, she was astonishingly apt at following the discussion. But when Armand remarked that he would make the attempt that very night, she interposed promptly.
“Wait until to-morrow,” she urged; “take at least one night’s rest; you need it; and the extra day may disclose something as to the situation in Lotzen Castle.”
“To-night is the proper time,” said the Archduke; “we may not be expected then; we shall be most assuredly to-morrow; it’s our one chance for a surprise.”
“And with our dear cousin that chance is no chance, as you are very well aware,” said she; “he knows you are here, and why you are here, and he is ready for you this instant. No, no, dear, it’s simply your natural impetuosity, which I came along to moderate; and here is my first veto: not to-night.” She put her hand on his arm. “Please, Armand, please; don’t you understand—I want to be sure of you a little longer; the day you enter Lotzen Castle may be our last.”
Moore turned quickly away—and the Archduke looked once into the soft eyes, and at the adorable smile; and the eyes and the smile conquered, as eyes and smile always will when the one woman uses them, as the one woman always can, if she try.
“I ought not to let you persuade me,” he said, with a half serious shake of his hand, “but—you’re pretty hard to resist. At least, you won’t prohibit my riding over toward the Castle, and having a look at it now, in broad day, if I promise not to venture inside nor very near.”
“On the contrary, I should like to go with you; come, we will all go—you tell the Ambassador, and I’ll get Helen and Elise,” with a nod and a smile at Moore.
“A reconnaissance in force!” the Archduke laughed, when the Regent had gone; then he ordered the horses, and he and Moore went off to get into riding uniform.
A wide, macadamized avenue wound sharply down from the castle to the valley, where the roads were of the soil, soft and sandy. Once there, the six loosed bridle and sped away across the level country; nor drew rein but thrice until they came to the forks, where the road to Lotzen took off for its mile of tortuous ascent.
Here they halted, and Armand and Moore scanned through their glasses the Castle and its approach; and by riding a very little way up toward it, they were able to see the postern gate, which was on the edge of the hill about a third of the distance around from the bridge, and was approached by a narrow, rain-washed, boulder-strewn path, leading almost straight up the side of the acclivity. The moat ran only across the front, the almost sheer descent on the other sides of the wall having been deemed, even in the old days, quite sufficient protection against assault.
“Well,” said the Archduke, as he shoved the glasses back into their case, “thank God, we have old Jessac to tell us how to find that postern path—and, Colonel, before we start, it might be wisefor each of us to make his will, and to say good-bye to his lady, for, of a truth, it is going to be a rather serious business.”
They rode back by way of Porgia, the garrison town, five miles down the valley. It was also the railway station for both Castles, though some years before, King Frederick had run a track over as close as possible to Dalberg, so his own train could always be at hand to hurry him away. And there it had brought the Regent that morning, and was now waiting, ready for instant use.
A regiment of Uhlans were at drill on the edge of the town, and the Princess waved her cocked hat to them as she cantered by. The Colonel in command answered with his saber, while from two thousand lusty throats went up a wild cheer of passionate devotion.
Armand reached over and patted her on the arm.
“Surely, dear, the soldiers love you,” he said.
“They seem to,”—then out flashed the smile again; “but there is only one I’m sure of,” leaning over close.
“You little temptress!” he said, “I’ve a great mind to prove it now.”
She laughed merrily. “You may—but catch me first;” and as her horse had the heels of his, she never let him get quite on even terms, no matter what the pace.
“Come, dear,” he said, “I’ll promise to wait until we are at the Castle.”
“As you wish—but the bend in the road yonder would have hid the others, and there I was—but until the Castle, then.”
And when Armand promised double punishment later, she tossed her head, and told him she was always ready to pay for her crimes—and sometimes rather willing.
As they turned from the valley road into the avenue, they came face to face with the Duke of Lotzen and Count Bigler, both in full uniform.
The Princess was passing on, with a curt return of their salutes, when the Duke drew around in front of her.
“Your Royal Highness and myself seem to be unfortunate in our visits to each other,” he said; “I missed yours the other evening, and now you have missed mine.”
“You have been to Dalberg Castle?” she asked. He bowed. “For my call of ceremony upon the Regent.”
She reined aside. “You are not on the Regent’s list, sir,” she said; “if you wish to save your dignity, you would best not present yourself until summoned.”
“I assumed it was restored by your own informal visit,” he smiled.—“Will you not honor Lotzen Castle, also?—and you, too, cousin Armand!”
But neither answered him by so much as a look, and with a mocking laugh he went on, saluting the American Ambassador with easy formality, and bestowing upon Mlle. d’Essoldé a leeringly suggestive smile, that made Moore frantic to strike him in the face.
The Princess’ toilet was finished very early that evening, and then she sent for her Adjutant.
“Colonel Moore,” said she, motioning him to be seated, “I am resolved that the Archduke shall not venture into Lotzen Castle to-morrow night, and therefore, I am going myself to-night; will you go with me?”
Moore’s amazement deprived him of an immediate answer.
“But, Your Highness!—” he stammered.
“It is quite useless to protest; I’m going; if you do not care to escort me, I shall get Bernheim.”
“Let me go alone,” he urged.
“No.”
“And the Archduke, what of him?” he asked.
“The Archduke stays here, serenely ignorant of it all.”
“He will never forgive me——”
She cut him short. “Very well, monsieur, you are excused—be so good as to send Colonel Bernheim to me at once—and I trust to your honor not to mention the affair to any one.”
He had done all he dared; more, indeed, than he had fancied she would tolerate. A subordinate may not argue for long with the Regent of a Kingdom, however sweet-tempered she may be.
“Your Highness misunderstands,” he said; “if you are determined to go, there is an end of the matter; naturally, your Adjutant goes also.”
She smiled. “Now, that is better—and I’m glad—and we will take De Coursey and Marsov, and slip away at midnight, with old Jessac for guide. The secret passage opens into the Duke’s library, we get the Book and retire.”
“Vault and all?” Moore asked.
“You don’t remember the draft, Colonel, there isn’t a vault.”
“Doubtless, however, there is a safe.”
She waved her hand impatiently. “It will be time enough for that when we get there.”
“And if we can’t find the Book in the library?” he persisted.
“Then we will seek it elsewhere—it’s just that contingency which sends me. If I were sure it is in the library, I might let the Archduke go.”
“Yet will you not take some precaution for your own safety, in event of Lotzen overcoming us?” Moore asked.
“I can’t bring myself to believe that he would venture to harm the Regent, but, if he should, these,” pushing two papers across to him, “ought to be sufficient.”