I had quite a time of it myself that night. As I predicted, I received a visit from the police in regard to Mr. Scharfenstein. I explained the matter the best I knew how, and confessed that he had hurriedly left the city for parts unknown. I did not consider it absolutely essential that I should declare that I had seen him enter a railway carriage for Dresden. Besides this, I had to stand sponsor for the other boys and explain at length that they were in no wise concerned with Mr. Scharfenstein's great offense. The police were courteous and deferential, admitting that Max was the culprit. He had drawn a revolver in a public restaurant; he had broken a grave law. The inspector wrote a dozen telegrams and despatched them from the consulate. I had, at his request, offered him the blanks.
At eleven I received a telephone call from the Continental Hotel. It was a woman's voice, and my heart beat violently as I recognized it. I was requested to come at once to the hotel. I should find her in the ladies' salon. I walked the distance in ten minutes. She told me all that had happened.
"By this time it is all over the city. But it is all nonsense about her Highness' eloping with any one. She is too nobly born to commit such a folly. She has simply run away; and I very much fear that she will be caught. The duke is in a terrible temper. I could not remain in the palace, for the duke suspects that I know where she has gone. I have my passports. The British consul is away hunting. You were the only English-speaking person to whom I could come for aid."
"I am very glad."
"Will it be asking too much of you to aid me in leaving Barscheit to-night? There is a train at one o'clock for Dresden."
"Leave Barscheit?" My heart sank dismally.
"Oh,"—with a smile,—"the world is small and England is even smaller."
"I shall have to give up the consulate,"—gravely.
She laughed. "I shall be in England for something more than a year. Truthfully, I hunger for mine own people. You know what that hunger is."
"Yes. I shall go home as often as possible now. I always stop a few days in London."
"Then I shall expect to see you; perhaps during the holidays. I am determined to leave Barscheit before the duke changes his mind. Heavens, he may put me in prison!"
"I doubt that."
I saw to it that she secured a sleeping-compartment all to herself, took charge of her luggage and carefully examined her papers. Then we had a small supper. I wanted to ask a thousand questions, but my courage lacked the proper key.
"May I have the pleasure of writing to you occasionally?" I finally ventured. "I am sure that you would like a bit of Barscheit gossip from time to time."
"Write to me, by all means. I shall await these letters with great pleasure."
"And answer them?"—growing bolder.
"It is easily seen that you are a diplomat. Yes, I shall answer them. Heigh-ho! I shall miss my rides." What a brave little woman she was!
Finally we started for the station, and I saw her to the gates. We shook hands, and I was sure I felt a very friendly pressure; and then she disappeared. There was altogether a different feeling in my heart as I watchedhertrain draw out. Eh, well, the world is small and England is smaller, even as she had said. It's a mighty fine world, when you get the proper angle of vision.
There was very little light in the compartment into which Max had so successfully dived. Some one had turned down the wicks of the oil lamps which hung suspended between the luggage-racks above, and the gloom was notable rather than subdued. So far as he was concerned he was perfectly contented; his security was all the greater. He pressed his face against the window and peered out. The lights of the city flashed by, and finally grew few and far between, and then came the blackness of the country. It would take an hour and a half to cross the frontier, and there would be no stop this side, for which he was grateful. He swore, mumbling. To have come all this way to study, and then to leg it in this ignominious fashion! It was downright scandalous! Whoever heard of such laws? Of course he had been rather silly in pulling his gun, for even in the United States—where he devoutly wished himself at that moment—it was a misdemeanor to carry concealed weapons. He felt of his cheek. He would return some day, and if it was the last thing he ever did, he would slash that lieutenant's cheeks. The insolent beggar! To be struck and not to strike back! He choked.
Gradually his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, and he cast about.
"The deuce!" he muttered.
He was not alone. Huddled in the far corner was a woman heavily veiled. Young or old, he could not tell. She sat motionless, and appeared to be looking out of the opposite window. Well, so long as she did not bother him he would not bother her. But he would much rather have been alone.
He took out his passport and tried to read it. It was impossible. So he rose, steadied himself, and turned up the wick of one of the lamps.
He did not hear the muffled exclamation which came from the other end.
He dropped back upon the cushion and began to read. So he was George Ellis, an American student in good standing; he was aged twenty-nine, had blue eyes, light hair, was six feet tall, and weighed one hundred and fifty-four pounds. Ha! he had, then, lost thirty pounds in as many minutes? At this rate he wouldn't cast a shadow when he struck Dresden. He had studied three years at the college; but what the deuce had he studied? If they were only asleep at the frontier! He returned the document to his pocket, and as he did so his fingers came into contact with the purse he had picked up in the road that morning—Hildegarde von Heideloff. What meant Fate in crossingherpath with his? He had been perfectly contented in mind and heart before that first morning ride; and here he was, sighing like a furnace. She had been merely pretty on Monday, on Tuesday she had been handsome, on Wednesday she had been adorable; now she was the most beautiful woman that ever lived. (Ah, the progressive adjective, that litany of love!) Alas! it was quite evident that she had passed out of his life as suddenly and mysteriously as she had entered it. He would keep the purse as a souvenir, and some day, when he was an old man, he would open it.
There is something compelling in the human eye, a magnetism upon which Science has yet to put her cold and unromantic finger. Have you never experienced the sensation that some [Transcriber's note: someone?] was looking at you? Doubtless you have. Well, Max presently turned his glance toward his silent fellow traveler. She had lifted her veil and was staring at him with wondering, fearing eyes. These eyes were somewhat red, as if the little bees of grief had stung them.
"You!" he cried, the blood thumping into his throat. He tossed his hat to the floor and started for her end of the compartment.
She held up a hand as if to ward off his approach. "I can hear perfectly," she said; "it is not needful that you should come any nearer."
He sat down confused. He could not remember when his heart had beaten so irregularly.
"May I ask how you came to enter this compartment?" she asked coldly.
"I jumped in,"—simply. What was to account for this strange attitude?
"So I observe. What I meant was, by what right?"
"It happened to be the only door at hand, and I was in a great hurry." Where was his usual collectedness of thought? He was embarrassed and angry at the knowledge.
"Did you follow me?" Her nostrils were palpitating and the corners of her mouth were drawn aggressively.
"Follow you?" amazed that such an idea should enter into her head. "Why, you are the last person I ever expected to see again. Indeed, you are only a fairy-story; there is, I find, no such person as Hildegarde von Heideloff." Clearly he was recovering.
"I know it,"—candidly. "It was my mother's name, and I saw fit to use it." She really hoped hehadn'tfollowed her.
"You had no need to use it, or any name, for that matter. When I gave you my name it was given in good faith. The act did not imply that I desired to know yours."
"But you did!"—imperiously.
"Yes. Curiosity is the brain of our mental anatomy." When Max began to utter tall phrases it was a sign of even-balanced mentality.
"And if I hadn't told you my name, you would have asked for it."
"Not the first day."
"Well, you would have on Tuesday."
"Not a bit of a doubt." He certainly wouldn't show her how much he cared. (What was she doing in this carriage? She had said nothing that morning about traveling.)
"Well, you will admit that under the circumstances I had the right to give any name it pleased me to give."
He came over to her end and sat down. Her protests (half-hearted) he ignored.
"I can not see very well from over there," he explained.
"It is not necessary that you should see; you can hear what I have to say."
"Very well; I'll go back." And he did. He made a fine pretense of looking out of the window. Why should this girl cross his path at this unhappy moment?
There was a pause.
"You are not near so nice as you were this morning," she said presently.
"I can't be nice and sit away over here."
"What made you jump into this compartment, of all others?"
"I wasn't particular what compartment I got into so long as I got into one. As I said, I was in a hurry."
"You said nothing this morning about going away from Barscheit."
"Neither did you."
Another pause. (I take it, from the character of this dialogue, that their morning rides must have been rather interesting.)
"You told me that you were in Barscheit to study nerves,"—wickedly.
"So thought I, up to half-past nine to-night; but it appears that I am not,"—gloomily.
"You are running away, too?"—with suppressed eagerness.
"Running away, too!" he repeated. "Areyourunning away?"
"As fast as ever the train can carry me. I am on the way to Dresden."
"Dresden? It seems that Fate is determined that we shall travel together this day. Dresden is my destination also."
"Let me see your passports,"—extending a firm white hand.
He obeyed docilely, as docilely as though he were married. She gave the paper one angry glance and tossed it back.
"George Ellis; so that is your name?"—scornfully. "You told me that it was Scharfenstein. I did not ask you to tell me your name; you took that service upon yourself." She recalled the duke's declaration that he should have her every movement watched. If this American was watching her, the duke was vastly more astute than she had given him the credit for being. "Are you in the pay of the duke? Come, confess that you have followed me, that you have been watching me for these four days." How bitter the cup of romance tasted to her now! She had been deceived. "Well, you shall never take me from this train save by force. Iwillnot go back!"
"I haven't the slightest idea of what you are talking about," he said, mightily discouraged. "I never saw this country till Monday, and never want to see it again."
"From what are you running away then?"—skeptically.
"I am running away from a man who slapped me in the face,"—bitterly; and all his wrongs returned to him.
"Indeed!"—derisively.
"Yes, I!" He thrust out both his great arms miserably. "I'm a healthy-looking individual, am I not, to be running away from anything?"
"Especially after having been a soldier in the Spanish War. Why did you tell me that your name was Scharfenstein?"
"Heaven on earth, itisScharfenstein! I'm simply taking my chance on another man's passports."
"I am unconvinced,"—ungraciously. She was, however, inordinately happy; at the sight of the picture of woe on his face all her trust in him returned. She believed every word he said, but she wanted to know everything.
"Very well; I see that I must tell you everything to get back into your good graces—Fräulein von Heideloff."
"If youeverwere in my good graces!"
Graphically he recounted the adventure at Müller's. He was a capital story-teller, and he made a very good impression.
"If it hadn't been for the princess' eloping I should not have been here," he concluded, "for my friend would have had a waiter bring me that chair."
"The princess' eloping!"—aghast.
"Why, yes. It seems that she eloped to-night; so the report came from the palace."
The girl sat tight, as they say; then suddenly she burst into uncontrollable laughter. It was the drollest thing she had ever heard. She saw the duke tearing around the palace, ordering the police hither and thither, sending telegrams, waking his advisers and dragging them from their beds. My! what a hubbub! Suddenly she grew serious.
"Have you the revolver still?"
"Yes."
"Toss it out of the window; quick!"
"But—"
"Do as I say. They will naturally search you at the frontier."
He took out the revolver and gazed regretfully at it, while the girl could not repress a shudder.
"What a horrible-looking thing!"
"I carried it all through the war."
"Throw it away and buy a new one."
"But the associations!"
"They will lock you up as a dangerous person." She let down the window and the cold night air rushed in. "Give it to me." He did so. She flung it far into the night. "There, that is better. Some day you will understand."
"I shall never understand anything in this country—What areyourunning away from?"
"A man with a red nose."
"A red nose? Are they so frightful here as all that?"
"This one is. He wants—to marry me."
"Marry you!"
"Yes; rather remarkable that any man should desire me as a wife, isn't it?"
He saw that she was ironical. Having nothing to say, he said nothing, but looked longingly at the vacant space beside her.
She rested her chin upon the sill of the window and gazed at the stars. A wild rush of the wind beat upon her face, bringing a thousand vague heavy perfumes and a pleasant numbing. How cleverly she had eluded the duke's police! What a brilliant idea it had been to use her private carriage key to steal into the carriage compartment long before the train was made up! It had been some trouble to light the lamps, but in doing so she had avoided the possible dutiful guard. Hehadpeered in, but, seeing that the lamps were lighted, concluded that one of his fellows had been the rounds.
The police would watch all those who entered or left the station, but never would they think to search a carriage into which no one had been seen to enter. But oh, what a frightful predicament she was in! All she possessed in the world was a half-crown, scarce enough for her breakfast. And if she did not find her governess at once she would be lost utterly, and in Dresden! She choked back the sob. Why couldn't they let her be? She didn't want to marry any one—that is, just yet. She didn't want her wings clipped, before she had learned what a fine thing it was to fly. She was young.
"Oh!"
"What is it?" she said, turning.
"I have something of yours," answered Max, fumbling in his pocket, grateful for some excuse to break the silence. "You dropped your purse this morning. Permit me to return it to you. I hadn't the remotest idea how I was going to return it. In truth, I had just made up my mind to keep it as a souvenir."
She literally snatched it from his extended hand.
"My purse! My purse! And I thought it was gone for ever!" hugging it hysterically to her heart. She feverishly tried to unlatch the clasps.
"You need not open it," he said quietly, even proudly, "I had not thought of looking into it, even to prove your identity."
"Pardon! I did not think. I was so crazy to see it again." She laid the purse beside her. "You see," with an hysterical catch in her voice, "all the money I had in the world was in that purse, and I was running away without any money, and only Heaven knows what misfortunes were about to befall me. There were, and are, a thousand crowns in the purse."
"A thousand crowns?"
"In bank-notes. Thank you, thank you! I am so happy!"—clasping her hands. Then, with a smile as warm as the summer's sun, she added: "You may—come and sit close beside me. You may even smoke."
Max grew light-headed. This was as near Heaven as he ever expected to get.
"Open your purse and look into it," he said. "I'm a brute; you are dying to do so."
"May I?"—shyly.
Then it came into Max's mind, with all the brilliancy of a dynamo spark, that this was the one girl in all the world, the ideal he had been searching for; and he wanted to fall at her feet and tell her so.
"Look!" she cried gleefully, holding up the packet of bank-notes.
"I wish," he said boyishly, "that you didn't have any money at all, so I could help you and feel that you depended upon me."
She smiled. How a woman loves this simple kind of flattery! It tells her better what she may wish to know than a thousand hymns sung in praise of her beauty.
But even as he spoke a chill of horror went over Max. He put his hand hurriedly into his vest-pocket. Fool! Ass! How like a man! In changing his clothes at the consulate he had left his money, and all he had with him was some pocket change.
The girl saw his action and read the sequence in the look of dismay which spread over his face.
"You have no money either?" she cried. She separated the packet of notes into two equal parts. "Here!"
He smiled weakly.
"Take them!"
"No, a thousand times, no! I have a watch, and there's always a pawnbroker handy, even in Europe."
"You offered to help me," she insisted.
"It is not quite the same."
"Take quarter of it."
"No. Don't you understand? I really couldn't."
"One, just one, then!" she pleaded.
An idea came to him. "Very well; I will take one." And when she gave it to him he folded it reverently and put it away.
"I understand!" she cried. "You are just going to keep it; you don't intend to spend it at all. Don't be foolish!"
"I shall notify my friend, when we reach Doppelkinn, that I am without funds, and he will telegraph to Dresden."
"Your friends were very wise in sending you away as they did. Aren't you always getting into trouble?"
"Yes. But I doubt the wisdom of my friends in sending me away as they did,"—with a frank glance into her eyes. How beautiful they were, now that the sparkle of mischief had left them!
She looked away. If only Doppelkinn were young like this! She sighed.
"Can they force one to marry in this country?" he asked abruptly.
"When one is in my circumstances."
He wanted to ask what those circumstances were, but what he said was: "Is there anything I can do to help you?"
"You are even more helpless than I am,"—softly. "If you are caught you will be imprisoned. I shall only suffer a temporary loss of liberty; my room will be my dungeon-keep." How big and handsome and strong he looked! What a terrible thing it was to be born in purple! "Tell me about yourself."
His hand strayed absently toward his upper vest-pocket, and then fell to his side. He licked his lips.
"Smoke!" she commanded intuitively. "I said that you might."
"I can talk better when I smoke," he advanced rather lamely. "May I, then?"—gratefully.
"I command it!"
Wasn't it fine to be ordered about in this fashion? If only the train might go on and on and on, thousands of miles! He applied a match to the end of his cigar and leaned back against the cushion.
"Where shall I begin?"
"At the beginning. I'm not one of those novel readers who open a book at random. I do not appreciate effects till I have found out the causes. I want to know everything about you, for you interest me."
He began. He told her that he was a German by birth and blood. He had been born either in Germany or in Austria, he did not know which. He had been found in Tyrol, in a railway station. A guard had first picked him up, then a kind-hearted man named Scharfenstein had taken him in charge, advertised for his parents and, hearing nothing, had taken him to America with him.
"If they catch you," she interrupted, "do not under any consideration let them know that you were not born in the United States. Your friend the American consul could do nothing for you then."
"Trust me to keep silent, then." He continued: "I have lived a part of my life on the great plains; have ridden horses for days and days at a time. As a deputy sheriff I have arrested desperadoes, have shot and been shot at. Then I went East and entered a great college; went in for athletics, and wore my first dress-suit. Then my foster-parent died, leaving me his fortune. And as I am frugal, possibly because of my German origin, I have more money than I know what to do with." He ceased.
"Go on," she urged.
"When the Spanish War broke out I entered a cavalry regiment as a trooper. I won rank, but surrendered it after the battle of Santiago. And now there are but two things in the world I desire to complete my happiness. I want to know who I am."
"And the other thing?"
"The other thing? I can't tellyouthat!"—hurriedly.
"Ah, I believe I know. You have left some sweetheart back in America." All her interest In his narrative took a strange and unaccountable slump.
"No; I have often admired women, but I have left no sweetheart back in America. If I had I should now feel very uncomfortable."
Somehow she couldn't meet his eyes. She recognized, with vague anger, that she was glad that he had no sweetheart. Ah, well, nobody could rob her of her right to dream, and this was a very pleasant dream.
"The train is slowing down," he said suddenly.
"We are approaching the frontier." She shaded her eyes and searched the speeding blackness outside.
"How far is it to the capital?" he asked.
"It lies two miles beyond the frontier."
Silence fell upon them, and at length the train stopped with a jerk. In what seemed to them an incredibly short time a guard unlocked the door.
He peered in.
"Here they are, sure enough, your Excellency!" addressing some one in the dark beyond.
An officer from the military household of the Prince of Doppelkinn was instantly framed in the doorway. The girl tried to lower her veil; too late.
"I am sorry to annoy your Highness," he began, "but the grand duke's orders are that you shall follow me to the castle. Lieutenant, bring two men to tie this fellow's hands,"—nodding toward Scharfenstein.
Max stared dumbly at the girl. All the world seemed to have slipped from under his feet.
"Forgive me!" she said, low but impulsively.
"What does it mean?" His heart was very heavy.
"I am the Princess Hildegarde of Barscheit, and your entering this carriage has proved the greatest possible misfortune to you."
He stared helplessly—And everything had been going along so nicely—the dinner he had planned in Dresden, and all that!
"And they believe," the girl went on, "that I have eloped with you to avoid marrying the prince." She turned to the officer in the doorway. "Colonel, on the word of a princess, this gentleman is in no wise concerned. I ran away alone."
Max breathed easier.
"I should be most happy to believe your Highness, but you will honor my strict observance of orders." He passed a telegram to her.
Search train for Doppelkinn. Princess has eloped. Arrest and hold pair till I arrive on special engine.Barscheit.
The telegraph is the true arm of the police. The princess sighed pathetically. It was all over.
"Your passports," said the colonel to Max.
Max surrendered his papers. "You need not tie my hands," he said calmly. "I will come peaceably."
The colonel looked inquiringly at the princess.
"He will do as he says."
"Very good. I should regret to shoot him upon so short an acquaintance." The colonel beckoned for them to step forth. "Everything is prepared. There is a carriage for the convenience of your Highness; Herr Ellis shall ride horseback with the troop."
Max often wondered why he did not make a dash for it, or a running fight. What he had gone through that night was worth a good fight.
"Good-by," said the princess, holding out her hand.
Scharfenstein gravely bent his head and kissed it.
"Good-by, Prince Charming!" she whispered, so softly that Max scarcely heard her.
Then she entered the closed carriage and was driven up the dark, tree-enshrouded road that led to the Castle of Doppelkinn.
"What are you going to do with me?" Max asked, as he gathered up the reins of his mount.
"That we shall discuss later. Like as not something very unpleasant. For one thing you are passing under a forged passport. You arenotan American, no matter how well you may speak that language. You are a German."
"There are Germans in the United States, born and bred there, who speak German tolerably well," replied Max easily. He was wondering if it would not be a good scheme to tell a straightforward story and ask to be returned to Barscheit. But that would probably appeal to the officer that he was a coward and was trying to lay the blame on the princess.
"I do not say that I can prove it," went on the colonel; "I simply affirm that you are a German, even to the marrow."
"You have the advantage of the discussion." No; he would confess nothing. If he did he might never see the princess again.… The princess! As far away as yonder stars! It was truly a very disappointing world to live in.
"Now, then, forward!" cried the colonel to his men, and they set off at a sharp trot.
From time to time, as a sudden twist in the road broke the straight line, Max could see the careening lights of the princess' carriage. A princess! And he was a man without a country or a name!
The castle of the prince of Doppelkinn rested in the very heart of the celebrated vineyards. Like all German castles I ever saw or heard of, it was a relic of the Middle Ages, with many a crumbling, useless tower and battlement. It stood on the south side of a rugged hill which was gashed by a narrow but turbulent stream, in which lurked the rainbow trout that lured the lazy man from his labors afield. (And who among us shall cast a stone at the lazy man? Not I!) If you are fortunate enough to run about Europe next year, as like as not you will be mailing home the "Doppelkinn" post-card.
More than once I have wandered about the castle's interior, cavernous and musty, strolled through its galleries of ancient armor, searched its dungeon-keeps, or loitered to soliloquize in the gloomy judgment chamber. How time wars upon custom! In olden times they created pain; now they strive to subdue it.
I might go into a detailed history of the Doppelkinns, only it would be absurd and unnecessary, since it would be inappreciable under the name of Doppelkinn, which happens to be, as doubtless you have already surmised, a name of mine own invention. I could likewise tell you how the ancient dukes of Barscheit fought off the insidious flattery of Napoleon, only it is a far interest, and Barscheit is simply a characteristic, not a name. Some day I may again seek a diplomatic mission, and what government would have for its representative a teller of tales out of school?
It was, then, to continue the fortunes and misfortunes of Max Scharfenstein, close to midnight when the cavalcade crossed the old moat-bridge, which hadn't moved on its hinges within a hundred years. They were not entering by the formal way, which was a flower-bedded, terraced road. It was the rear entrance. The iron doors swung outward with a plaintive moaning, like that of a man roused out of his sleep, and Max found himself in an ancient guard-room, now used as a kind of secondary stable. The men dismounted.
"This way, Herr Ellis," said the colonel, with a mocking bow. He pointed toward a broad stone staircase.
"All I ask," said Max, "is a fair chance to explain my presence here."
"All in due time. Forward! The prince is waiting, and his temper may not be as smooth as usual."
With two troopers in front of him and two behind, Max climbed the steps readily enough. They wouldn't dare kill him, whatever they did. He tried to imagine himself the hero of some Scott or Dumas tale, with a grim cardinal somewhere above, and oubliettes and torture chambers besetting his path. But the absurdity of his imagination, so thoroughly Americanized, evoked a ringing laughter. The troopers eyed him curiously. He might laugh later, but it was scarcely probable. A tramp through a dark corridor and they came to the west wing of the castle. It was here that the old prince lived, comfortably and luxuriously enough, you may take my word for it.
A door opened, flooding the corridor with light. Max felt himself gently pushed over the threshold. He stood in the great living-room of the modern Doppelkinns. The first person he saw was the princess. She sat on an oriental divan. Her hands were folded; she sat very erect; her chin was tilted ominously; there was so little expression on her pale face that she might have been an incomplete statue. But Max was almost certain that there was just the faintest flicker of a smile in her eyes as she saw him enter. Glorious eyes! (It is a bad sign when a man begins to use the superlative adjectives!)
The other occupant of the room was an old man, fat and bald, with a nose like a russet pear. He was stalking—if it is possible for a short man to stalk—up and down the length of the room, and, judging from the sonorous, rumbling sound, was communing half-aloud. Betweenwhiles he was rubbing his tender nose, carefully and lovingly. When a man's nose resembles a russet pear it generally is tender. Whoever he was, Max saw that he was vastly agitated about something.
This old gentleman was (or supposed he was) the last of his line, the Prince of Doppelkinn, famous for his wines and his love of them. There was, so his subjects said, but one tender spot in the heart of this old man, and that was the memory of the wife of his youth. (How the years, the good and bad, crowd behind us, pressing us on and on!) However, there was always surcease in the cellars—that is, the Doppelkinn cellars.
"Ha!" he roared as he saw the blinking Max. "So this is the fellow!" He made an eloquent gesture. "Your Highness must be complimented upon your good taste. The fellow isn't bad-looking."
"When you listen to reason, Prince," replied the girl calmly, "you will apologize to the gentleman and give him his liberty."
"Oh, he is a gentleman, is he?"
"You might learn from him many of the common rules of courtesy,"—tranquilly.
"Who the devil are you?" the prince demanded of Max.
"I should be afraid to tell you. I hold that I am Max Scharfenstein, but the colonel here declares that my name is Ellis. Who are you?" Max wasn't the least bit frightened. These were not feudal times.
The prince stared at him. The insolent puppy!
"I am the prince."
"Ah, your serene Highness,"—began Max, bowing.
"I am not called 'serene'"—rudely. "The grand duke is 'serene.'"
"Permit me to doubt that," interposed the girl, smiling.
Max laughed aloud, which didn't improve his difficulties any.
"I have asked you who you are!" bawled the prince, his nose turning purple.
"My name is Max Scharfenstein. I am an American. If you will wire the American consulate at Barscheit, you will learn that I have spoken the truth. All this is a mistake. The princess did not elope with me."
"His papers give the name of Ellis," said the colonel, touching his cap.
"Humph! We'll soon find out who he is and what may be done with him. I'll wait for the duke. Take him into the library and lock the door. It's a hundred feet out of the window, and if he wants to break his neck, he may do so. It will save us so much trouble. Take him away; take him away!" his rage boiling to the surface.
The princess shrugged.
"I can't talk to you either," said the prince, turning his glowering eyes upon the girl. "I can't trust myself."
"Oh, do not mind me. I understand that your command of expletives is rather original. Go on; it will be my only opportunity." The princess rocked backward and forward on the divan. Wasn't it funny!
"Lord help me, and I was perfectly willing to marry this girl!" The prince suddenly calmed down. "What have I ever done to offend you?"
"Nothing," she was forced to admit.
"I was lonely. I wanted youth about. I wanted to hear laughter that came from the heart and not from the mind. I do not see where I am to be blamed. The duke suggested you to me; I believed you to be willing. Why did you not say to me that I was not agreeable? It would have simplified everything."
"I am sorry," she said contritely. When he spoke like this he wasn't so unlovable.
"People say," he went on, "that I spend most of my time in my wine-cellars. Well,"—defiantly,—"what else is there for me to do? I am alone." Max came within his range of vision. "Take him away, I tell you!"
And the colonel hustled Max into the library.
"Don't try the window," he warned, but with rather a pleasant smile. He was only two or three years older than Max. "If you do, you'll break your neck."
"I promise not to try," replied Max. "My neck will serve me many years yet."
"It will not if you have the habit of running away with persons above you in quality. Actions like that are not permissible in Europe." The colonel spoke rather grimly, for all his smile.
The door slammed, there was a grinding of the key in the lock, and Max was alone.
The library at Doppelkinn was all the name implied. The cases were low and ran around the room, and were filled with romance, history, biography, and even poetry. The great circular reading-table was littered with new books, periodicals and illustrated weeklies. Once Doppelkinn had been threatened with a literary turn of mind, but a bad vintage coming along at the same time had effected a permanent cure.
Max slid into a chair and took up a paper, turning the pages at random.—What was the matter with the room? Certainly it was not close, nor damp, nor chill. What was it? He let the paper fall to the floor, and his eyes roved from one object to another.—Where had he seen that Chinese mask before, and that great silver-faced clock? Somehow, mysterious and strange as it seemed, all this was vaguely familiar to him. Doubtless he had seen a picture of the room somewhere. He rose and wandered about.
In one corner of the bookshelves stood a pile of boy's books and some broken toys with the dust of ages upon them. He picked up a row of painted soldiers, and balanced them thoughtfully on his hand. Then he looked into one of the picture-books. It was a Santa Claus story; some of the pictures were torn and some stuck together, a reminder of sticky, candied hands. He gently replaced the book and the toys, and stared absently into space. How long he stood that way he did not recollect, but he was finally aroused by the sound of slamming doors and new voices. He returned to his chair and waited for the dénouement, which the marrow in his bones told him was about to approach.
It seemed incredible that he, of all persons, should be plucked out of the practical ways of men and thrust into the unreal fantasies of romance. A hubbub in a restaurant, a headlong dash into a carriage compartment, a long ride with a princess, and all within three short hours! It was like some weird dream. And how the deuce would it end?
He gazed at the toys again.
And then the door opened and he was told to come out. The grand duke had arrived.
"This will be the final round-up," he laughed quietly, his thought whimsically traveling back to the great plains and the long rides under the starry night.
The Grand Duke of Barscheit was tall and angular and weather-beaten, and the whites of his eyes bespoke a constitution as sound and hard as his common sense. As Max entered he was standing at the side of Doppelkinn.
"There he is!" shouted the prince. "Do you know who he is?"
The duke took a rapid inventory. "Never set eyes upon him before." The duke then addressed her Highness. "Hildegarde, who is this fellow? No evasions; I want the truth. I have, in the main, found you truthful."
"I know nothing of him at all," said the princess curtly.
Max wondered where the chill in the room came from.
"He says that his name is Scharfenstein," continued the princess, "and he has proved himself to be a courteous gentleman."
Max found that the room wasn't so chill as it might have been.
"Yet you eloped with him, and were on the way to Dresden," suggested the duke pointedly.
The princess faced them all proudly. "I eloped with no man. That was simply a little prevarication to worry you, my uncle, after the manner in which you have worried me. I was on my way to Dresden, it is true, but only to hide with my old governess. This gentleman jumped into my compartment as the train drew out of the station."
"But youknewhim!" bawled the prince, waving his arms.
"Do you know him?" asked the duke coldly.
"I met him out riding. He addressed me, and I replied out of common politeness,"—with a sidelong glance at Max, who stood with folded arms, watching her gravely.
The duke threw his hands above his head as if to call Heaven to witness that he was a very much wronged man.
"Arnheim," he said to the young colonel, "go at once for a priest."
"A priest!" echoed the prince.
"Yes; the girl shall marry you to-night," declared his serene Highness.
"Not if I live to be a thousand!" Doppelkinn struck the table with his fist.
The girl smiled at Max.
"What?" cried the duke, all the coldness gone from his tones. "You refuse?" He was thunderstruck.
"Refuse? Of course I refuse!" And the prince thumped the table again. "What do you think I am in my old age,—an ass? If you have any fillies to break, use your own pastures. I'm a vintner." He banged the table yet again. "Why, I wouldn't marry the Princess Hildegarde if she was the last woman on earth!"
"Thank you!" said the princess sweetly.
"You're welcome," said the prince.
"Silence!" bellowed the duke. "Doppelkinn, take care; this is an affront, not one to be lightly ignored. It is international news that you are to wed my niece."
"To-morrow it will be international news that I'mnot!" The emphasis this time threatened to crack the table-leaf. "I'm not going to risk my liberty with a girl who has no more sense of dignity than she has."
"It is very kind of you," murmured the princess.
"She'd make a fine wife," went on the prince, ignoring the interruption. "No, a thousand times no! Take her away—life's too short; take her away! Let her marry the fellow; he's young and may get over it."
The duke was furious. He looked around for something to strike, and nothing but the table being convenient, he smashed a leaf and sent a vase clattering to the floor. He was stronger than the prince, otherwise there wouldn't have been a table to thwack.
"That's right; go on! Break all the furniture, if it will do you any good; but mark me, you'll foot the bill." The prince began to dance around. "I will not marry the girl. That's as final as I can make it. The sooner you calm down the better."
How the girl's eyes sparkled! She was free. The odious alliance would not take place.
"Who is that?"
Everybody turned and looked at Max. His arm was leveled in the direction of a fine portrait in oil which hung suspended over the fireplace. Max was very pale.
"What's that to you?" snarled the prince. He was what we Yankees call "hopping mad." The vase was worth a hundred crowns, and he never could find a leaf to replace the one just broken.
"I believe I have a right to know who that woman is up there." Max spoke quietly. As a matter of fact he was too weak to speak otherwise.
"A right to know? What do you mean?" demanded the prince fiercely. "It is my wife."
With trembling fingers Max produced his locket.
"Will you look at this?" he asked in a voice that was a bit shaky.
The prince stepped forward and jerked the locket from Max's hand. But the moment he saw the contents his jaw fell and he rocked on his heels unsteadily and staggered back toward the duke for support.
"What's the matter, Prince?" asked the duke anxiously. After all Doppelkinn was an old crony, and mayhap he had been harsh with him.
"Where did you get that?" asked the prince hoarsely.
"I have always worn it," answered Max. "The chain that went with it originally will no longer fit my neck."
"Arnheim! … Duke! … Come and look at this!"—feebly.
"Good Heaven!" cried the duke.
"It is the princess!" said Arnheim in awed tones.
"Where did you get it?" demanded the prince again.
"I was found with it around my neck."
"Duke, what do you think?" asked the agitated prince.
"What do I think?"
"Yes. This was around my son's neck the day he was lost. If this should be! … If it were possible!"
"What?" The duke looked from the prince to the man who had worn the locket. Certainly there wasn't any sign of likeness. But when he looked at the portrait on the wall and then at Max doubt grew in his eyes. They were somewhat alike. He plucked nervously at his beard.
"Prince," said Max, "before Heaven I believe that I may be … your son!
"My son!"
By this time they were all tremendously excited and agitated and white; all save the princess, who was gazing at Max with sudden gladness in her eyes, while over her cheeks there stole the phantom of a rose. If it were true!
"Let me tell you my story," said Max. (It is not necessary for me to repeat it.)
The prince turned helplessly toward the duke, but the duke was equally dazed.
"But we can't accept just a story as proof," the duke said. "It isn't as if he were one of the people. It wouldn't matter then. But it's a future prince. Let us go slow."
"Yes, let us go slow," repeated the prince, brushing his damp forehead.
"Wait a moment!" said Colonel Arnheim, stepping forward. "Only one thing will prove his identity to me; not all the papers in the world can do it."
"What do you know?" cried the prince, bewildered.
"Something I have not dared tell till this moment,"—miserably.
"Curse it, you are keeping us waiting!" The duke kicked about the shattered bits of porcelain.
"I used to play with the—the young prince," began Arnheim. "Your Highness will recollect that I did." Arnheim went over to Max. "Take off your coat." Max did so, wondering. "Roll up your sleeve." Again Max obeyed, and his wonder grew. "See!" cried the colonel in a high, unnatural voice, due to his unusual excitement. "Oh, there can be no doubt! It is your son!"
The duke and the prince bumped against each other in their mad rush to inspect Max's arm. Arnheim's finger rested upon the peculiar scar I have mentioned.
"Lord help us, it's your wine-case brand!" gasped the duke.
"My wine case!" The prince was almost on the verge of tears.
The girl sat perfectly quiet.
"Explain, explain!" said Max.
"Yes, yes! How did this come?—put there?" spluttered the prince.
"Your Highness, we—your son—we were playing in the wine-cellars that day," stammered the unhappy Arnheim. "I saw … the hot iron … I was a boy of no more than five … I branded the prince on the arm. He cried so that I was frightened and ran and hid. When I went to look for him he was gone. Oh, I know; it is your son."
"I'll take your word for it, Colonel!" cried the prince. "I said from the first that he wasn't bad-looking. Didn't I, Princess?" He then turned embarrassedly toward Max and timidly held out his hand. That was as near sentiment as ever the father and the son came, but it was genuine. "Ho, steward! Hans, you rascal, where are you?"
The steward presently entered, shading his eyes.
"Your Highness called?"
"That I did. That's Max come home!"
"Little Max?"
"Little Max. Now, candles, and march yourself to the packing-cellars. Off with you!" The happy old man slapped the duke on the shoulder. "I've an idea, Josef."
"What is it?" asked the duke, also very well pleased with events.
"I'll tell you all about it when we get into the cellar." But the nod toward the girl and the nod toward Max was a liberal education.
"I am pardoned?" said Arnheim.
"Pardoned? My boy, if I had an army I would make you a general!" roared the prince. "Come along, Josef. And you, Arnheim! You troopers, out of here, every one of you, and leave these two young persons alone!"
And out of the various doors the little company departed, leaving the princess and Max alone.
Ah, how everything was changed! thought Max, as he let down his sleeve and buttoned his cuff. A prince! He was a prince; he, Max Scharfenstein, cow-boy, quarter-back, trooper, doctor, was a prince! If it was a dream, he was going to box the ears of the bell-boy who woke him up. But it wasn't a dream; he knew it wasn't. The girl yonder didn't dissolve into mist and disappear; she was living, living. He had now the right to love any one he chose, and he did choose to love this beautiful girl, who, with lowered eyes, was nervously plucking the ends of the pillow tassel. It was all changed for her, too.
"Princess!" he said a bit brokenly.
"I am called Gretchen by my friends,"—with a boldness that only half-disguised her real timidity. What would he do, this big, handsome fellow, who had turned out to be a prince, fairy-tale wise?
"Gretchen? I like that better than Hildegarde; it is less formal. Well, then, Gretchen, I can't explain it, but this new order of things has given me a tremendous backbone." He crossed the room to her side. "You will not wed my—my father?"
"Never in all this world!"—slipping around the table, her eyes dim like the bloom on the grape. She ought not to be afraid of him, but she was.
"But I—"
"You have known me only four days," she whispered faintly. "You can not know your mind."
"Oh, when one is a prince,"—laughing,—"it takes no time at all. I love you. I knew it was going to be when you looked around in old Bauer's smithy."
"Did I look around?"—innocently.
"You certainly did, for I looked around and saw you."
They paused. (There is no pastime quite like it.)
"But they say that I am wild like a young horse." (Love is always finding some argument which he wishes to have knocked under.)
"Not to me,"—ardently. "You may ride a bicycle every day, if you wish."
"I'd rather have an automobile,"—drolly.
"An airship, if money will buy it!"
"They say—my uncle says—that I am not capable of loving anything."
"What do I care what they say? Will you be my wife?"
"Give me a week to think it over."
"No."
(She liked that!)
"A day, then?"
"Not an hour!"
(She liked this still better!)
"Oh!"
"Not half an hour!"
"This is almost as bad as the duke; you are forcing me."
"If you do not answer yes or no at once, I'll go back to Barscheit and trounce that fellow who struck me. I can do it now."
"Well—but only four days—"
"Hours! Think of riding together for ever!"—joyously taking a step nearer.
"I dare not think of it. It is all so like a dream.… Oh!" bursting into tears (what unaccountable beings women are!)—"if you do not love me!"
"Don't I, though!"
Then he started around the table in pursuit of her, in all directions, while, after the manner of her kind, she balked him, rosily, star-eyed. They laughed; and when two young people laugh it is a sign that all goes well with the world. He never would tell just how long it took him to catch her, nor would he tell me what he did when he caught her. Neither would I, had I been in his place!