A Dash for a Throne

GRASPING MY STICK WITH BOTH HANDS, I CLENCHED MY TEETH, AND RUSHED UPON THE VILLAINS FROM BEHIND.

"You came in the nick of time, friend," said the man coolly, coming toward me. "Another two minutes or so and these beasts would have done——What! Heinrich Fischer!" he cried, in a tone of the greatest astonishment, holding out his hand. "This is well met indeed."

I did not think so; for it was with something akin to dismay that I recognized a French fencing-master, named Guion, with none too savory a reputation, from whom, in the days of my play-acting, I had lessons in stage fencing. I gave him my hand, but I could not make the clasp cordial.

"How came you in this plight, M. Guion?"

He laughed.

"Guion? Was that my name then? French, I suppose. By the body of the devil, I have such a lot of names and countries I can't remember them all. But I only use one at a time, and now, my good sir, I am a Corsican, and my name is Praga—Juan Praga, at your service, and not ashamed to own that I owe you my life. But what's the matter with you?"

"Praga!" I cried. "So it's you, is it, who fought the young Count von Gramberg and killed him?"

"Ho, and what in the name of the devil's skin do you know about that? But it's true, and it's equally true that to-night's business is part of the result. But, by the blood!"—and his face snarled like an angry dog's—"I'll make them pay."

"I can help you to your revenge," I said impulsively. "Let's go where we can be alone."

He stared at me as if in the greatest astonishment, then shrugged his shoulders, laughed, swore copiously, and then laughed again and said:

"You? Well, you've saved my life, so it's only fair you should do what you please with it. Come along with me."

And he led me away, vowing and protesting, by all the saints in and out of the calendar, that all he had in the world, whether purse, sword, or life itself, was at my absolute disposal.

PRAGA'S STORY

My thoughts as I walked with my devil-may-care companion to his rooms were busy enough. How could I get out of him what he knew without compromising myself, and how explain that I was no longer Heinrich Fischer, the actor, but the Prince von Gramberg, without starting his suspicions? My hasty exclamation that I could help him to his revenge had been exceedingly foolish, and I was at a loss to know how far I could trust him to keep any secret.

He took me to his rooms, and very comfortable quarters they were. I noticed, too, that he was far better dressed than I had ever seen him in Frankfort. He was a dark, swarthy, lean-faced, lithe fellow, and his black eyes, keen and daring, noticed my look of questioning surprise, and he laughed, showing his gleaming white teeth in the lamplight.

"Not the first time I owe my life to that little fellow," he said, laying his sword-stick, an ordinary-looking stout malacca cane, on the table. "A workman should never travel without his tools, remember that, my friend. And so you are surprised to see me so comfortably placed, eh? Well, I am a man of means, and live at my ease—at least I was. But shall I tell you?"

"By all means," said I, throwing myself into a chair, anxious to get him to talk freely.

"First let us drink; and I may thank the Holy Virgin and you—but especially you, I think—that my throat is still sound enough to swallow good liquor—the one thing in life the loss of which makes one think of death regretfully."

And he tossed off a glass of wine.

"Are you wounded?" I asked.

"A scratch somewhere on my arm—may God blight the hand that dealt it!" He changed in a moment from a light tone to one of vehement passion, and then as quickly back again to one of cheery chatter. "If He doesn't, I will; so that's settled. Let's see to the scratch, though." He took off his coat, examined the hurt, and I bathed it and bound it up carefully. "A mere nothing," he said, "for me, that is—not for him."

For a moment or two he moved about the room as if occupied, and then he turned to me, and with a light laugh, but a piercing look from his dark, glittering eyes, he asked:

"And now, tell me, who are you?"

"The Prince von Gramberg," I answered instantly.

I was, indeed, half prepared for the question, for I had been studying him carefully. The answer pleased him.

"Good. You are not afraid to tell me the truth. But I knew it. You had been pointed out to me here in Munich—pointed out, do you understand, for a purpose. And I said to myself, the Prince von Gramberg and Heinrich Fischer are the same person. Why? And when I could not answer the question I thought to myself: I will wait. Here is a secret. It may pay me to keep my tongue still. So you see I know you."

"You were going to tell me about yourself. That will interest me more than your speculations as to my reasons for turning actor for a year or two."

I spoke with an air of indifference.

"The canaille!" he exclaimed angrily, with a bitter scowl. "They were sick of me. I know too much. I am dangerous. I will no longer do their work; and so, by the fires of hell, they think to get rid of me! Wait, wait, my masters, and you shall see what you have done." He threw his right arm up, and clenched his fist with a most dramatic gesture. "It was surely their evil genius sent you my way just now. Do you know how near death you are at this moment?" he asked; "or you would be, if I had taken up their cursed work."

"I shall know a great deal better if you will speak clearly," I replied, not letting him see how his question surprised me.

"I will. I don't know whether you wish me to regard you as a Prince or play-actor; but, whichever it is, you saved my life to-night, and if I turn against you may I go to hell straightway."

"You can please yourself what you call me. I am the Prince von Gramberg in fact, whatever I may have seemed formerly."

"And I am Juan Praga, the Corsican. Not French, or Italian, or German, or any of the dozen different damned parts I have played; but Juan Praga, the Corsican. I left Frankfort before you did—about eighteen months ago—and I wandered about the country till my reputation as a fencer, and my lack of it in other things, first set me up as a master in Berlin, and then brought these devils to me. They approached me slyly, stealthily, like cats, flattering my skill, and saying there was good work for my sword. And with lies they brought me here to Munich. I knew nothing except that there was money to be made, and the life of a man of pleasure to lead. I suspected nothing; even when one of them came and told me my skill as a swordsman had been called in question, my honor impeached, and myself charged with being an impostor, and that if I could not clear myself I must be off for a rogue."

"I begin to see," I exclaimed when he paused.

"Yes, yes, you will guess what it meant," he replied, nodding his head vigorously. "But I could not then. And it came out gradually that the man who had dared to say this was young Count Gustav von Gramberg. I demanded to meet him face to face and give him the lie. Reluctantly, as it seemed—by the nails of the Cross! it was the reluctance of infernal traitors—they agreed and promised that we should meet. Then they fired him with wine, and fed him with a lie about me; and when we met we were like two tigers thirsting to be at one another's throats. You know what happened!" he exclaimed, throwing up his hand again. "We quarrelled, I struck him, he challenged me; and when we met I ran him through the heart."

"It was murder for you to fight a man like that with swords," I cried sternly.

"It was murder, Prince," he answered slowly. Then he added, with voluble passion, "Deep, deliberate, cold-blooded, damnable murder; but I was not the murderer. Mine was the hand, but theirs was the plot; and I never realized it till they came to me and told me that they had planned its every detail and step, that I was in their power; and that if I dared to falter in any order they gave me, they would have me charged openly as a murderer, and swear to such a story as would have me on the scaffold in a trice. What could I do? I was powerless. I raged and swore, and cursed for an hour; but they had me fast in their clutches, with never a chance of escape. But they did not know me."

He broke off and chuckled with demoniacal cunning, filled himself another bumper of wine, and drained the glass at a gulp.

"What did you do? And who are the men?"

He looked round at me with a leer of triumph, and, spreading out his hands with a wide sweeping gesture, he laughed and said:

"I spread a net, wide and fine and strong, and when all was right I baited it for a coward—a thin-blooded, hellish coward—and I caught him. You know him well enough; and if you saved my life just now, I can save yours in return. I snared him here to these rooms with a lie that I was ill and dying and wanted to make my peace with Heaven and confess; and he came running here in white-livered fear of what I should tell. That was ten days ago; and in the mean time, for weeks and months I had been probing and digging, and spying and discovering, till I had such knowledge of their doings as made a tale worth one's telling to any inquisitive old fool of a priest—and I let my lord the count have an inkling of this."

He leant back, laughed, and swore with glee.

"He came. I was in bed all white and shaking," and he illustrated the words with many gestures; "and my voice was feeble and quavering, like a dying pantaloon's, as I gurgled out what I meant, and said, 'I have written everything in a paper.' You should have seen his eyes glint at this. He urged me to be careful, not to speak too freely; and he asked to see the paper. I told him it was in a desk, and when he went to get it and his back was to me I was out of bed and upon him in a trice. I thrust him back into a chair and stood over him with my drawn sword, vowing by all the calendar that I would drive it into his bowels if he dared to so much as utter a squeak; and, by the Holy Ghost! I meant it too."

"Well?" I cried impatiently when he paused.

"Ho, but your white-livered, pigeon-hearted, sheepish coward is a pretty sight when his flesh goes gray, and his haggard eyes, drawn with fear, stare up at you from under a brow all flecked with fright-sweat. I wish you could have seen him. Well, I held him thus, told him all I knew, and made him write out a confession of the true means by which the young count had been lured to his death, the object of it all, and the story of the double plot this treacherous villain is carrying on. I had found out much, guessed more, and made him fill in what I didn't know. More than that, too, I made him promise me certain definite rewards when the plot succeeded, and to take me in with the rest as one of them—to work with them now and share with them afterward."

"You are one of them?" I cried.

"You saw the answer to that to-night by the old church. They played the game shrewdly enough. When I had let him go, one or two of the others came to me and wished me to attend a meeting. I promised; but I am not a lunatic, if their fool of a King is. No, no; I would not. Then they changed and said there was another quarrel to be picked with you, my friend; to send you to call on the young Count Gustav. But I said no; that you were a great swordsman, better than myself, which was a lie of course—but lies are everywhere in this Munich—and that I would not meet you. So they will find some other end for you. Then the next little friendly attention for me was the interview which you interrupted to-night."

The effect of this recital upon me, so quaintly and so dramatically told, may be conceived; and I sat turning it over and over and judging it by the light of what I myself already knew.

"And what are you going to do now?" I asked at length.

"Sell what I know to the best purchaser—unless you can do what you said, help me to my revenge. I know you are in this; though you little guess the part they have cast for you."

"What's your price? I can take care of myself," I answered.

"Revenge is my chief point. I am a Corsican; and, by the Holy Tomb! I'll never stay my hand till I've dragged the chief villain down."

"You mean?" I asked.

"That snake von Nauheim—the Count von Nauheim. The Honorable Count, a member of the aristocracy. A lily-livered maggot."

He changed from irony to vehement, ungovernable rage with swift, tempestuous suddenness.

"To whom will you sell your secret? The Ostenburgs?"

At the mention of the name he turned and looked at me intently, the light of the lamp throwing up the strong shadows of the face; and he stood staring thus for a full minute. Then he laughed.

"So you haven't guessed the riddle yet, eh? You're a deal simpler than I thought." He came close to me, sat down, and put his face right into mine, turning his head on one side and closing one eye with a gesture of indescribable suggestion. "Have you never asked yourself how it was that with all these people so dead set on putting a Gramberg on the throne they should take the trouble to get the heir of that renowned family killed?"

"Yes, it was because the Ostenburg agents got wind of the plot."

"Pouf!"

He laughed in my face and threw his hand up, and then rose and filled himself another glass of wine, tossing it off like the rest.

"You can play a good game, no doubt, Prince, but you don't know the cards you hold. If your young relative was killed by the Ostenburgs, what the devil's hoofs was von Nauheim doing in that boat? And what the devil's tail does he want to set me on to you for? Does he think the Gramberg chances are to be improved by first killing off the heir and then getting rid of you, the girl's chief protection? I know all about Minna von Gramberg, and the plot to put her on the throne. I know this, too, that she has no more chance of sitting on that throne than I have of eating it. Body of Bacchus, man, these are foul fiends you are leagued with and want knowing."

I began to see everything now, and my pulses quickened up with excitement; and I guessed what was coming.

"What is your aim in all this?" he asked suddenly.

"I have come to Munich to see exactly how matters stand."

"And nicely they've fooled you, maybe—or at least they might have done so if you hadn't been lucky enough to be within sound of my shout to-night. I'll give you the key to the whole thing. There's a plot within a plot, and all the Grambergs are being fooled. This type of innocence, von Nauheim, is the tool of the Ostenburg interest. The indignation against the King is all genuine enough; the people would welcome his abdication to-morrow, and wouldn't seriously concern themselves even if the abdication came by way of a dagger-thrust or a pistol bullet. But the Ostenburg faction dare not force the abdication for two reasons: because, in the first place, the people on your side are strong enough to make a fight of it; and, in the second, if a fight did come, no one can say what line the people at Berlin would take. It is quite possible that they would swoop down and clear both sides out. What these precious Ostenburgs have to do, therefore, is to get the Crown without a suspicion of treachery."

He broke off with another of his sardonic laughs, and took more wine.

I did not interrupt, and a moment later he continued:

"Then came your old Prince as a stalking-horse. He wanted to make a grab for the throne, fostered the discontent and rebellion, put his son forward, and sounded the people here as to his chances. The Ostenburgs knew of it directly, of course, and laid a clever, devilish plot to profit by it. A large number of the wealthiest and most influential supporters appeared to favor your Gustav; they warmed, made indirect overtures, and then went over in a body, making it a condition that the man they put forward as one of their leaders, von Nauheim, should marry your old Prince's daughter. By the bag of Iscariot, a shrewd stroke! The Prince saw nothing, and agreed, and that's the reason of that love-match."

"A damnable scheme!" I exclaimed, between my teeth.

"Wait, wait," he said calmly, laying a hand on my arm. "Your Gustav was in the way, and it is a canon of the Ostenburg code that there shall be no Gramberg claimant to the throne alive, or, at any rate, fit to claim it. So the quarrel and the duel were engineered, and there remained only the Countess Minna. Then they had a stroke of luck. The old Prince died, and the girl alone remained, helpless and friendless, except for you. Your turn will therefore come, and then this is the plan: The plot to place the Countess Minna on the throne will go forward gayly, is going forward now, in point of fact. But—and mark this carefully—at the critical moment your Countess Minna will have vanished, and then see the position. The mad King will be gone, the throne will be vacant, the cry of the conspirators and of Munich will be for the new Queen, and there will be no Queen to answer. What next? Why, that the thoughts of all men will turn to the Ostenburgs—the loyal, faithful, true, innocent, do-nothing Ostenburgs—and the Duke Marx, their heir, will consent, when the matter is forced upon him by the united populace, to mount the throne. No taint of suspicion against him, no thought of treachery, actually an opponent of the movement against this mad royalty, a stanch upholder of the right divine of monarchs—he will be hailed by all as the only possible successor to a King who cannot be found, and Berlin will rejoice to see an ugly trouble got over in this easy fashion. Now!" he exclaimed, with a grin full of meaning, "you can see much where before you could see nothing at all."

"And what of the Countess Minna?"

He paused, and then answered in a low, guttural voice, and with a look of deep, suggestive meaning:

"Von Nauheim will see to that. There is something in regard to him I do not know; but I do know that, married to him, she would be impossible for a Queen, for he is of the scum of the gutter, and there is worse behind, I believe. But von Nauheim is no stickler for ceremonies. He may not marry her at all; and, ruined by him, you may guess what her chances of the throne would be."

"Hell!" I cried, leaping to my feet in fury.

He had got inside my impassiveness now, and I was like a madman at the thoughts he had raised.

"I must see you to-morrow. Ride ten miles out on the Linden road, and wait for me at noon. I shall go mad if I stay here longer."

And with that I rushed away.

MY PLAN OF CAMPAIGN

The first effect upon me of Praga's story was to rouse and thrill every pulse of passion in my nature. I could not think connectedly, and as I plunged along through the early morning to von Nauheim's house I was impelled by an overwhelming desire to call that villain instantly to account. Insane plans flitted through my head of dashing into his room and making him fight me to the death; and I gloated in the belief that I could kill him.

But as the air cooled my fever my steps slackened their speed, my judgment began to reassert its rule, and I saw that I should make a huge mistake if I allowed myself to be led in such a crisis by the mere impulses of blind rage. I had another to think of beside myself. He was waiting up for me, no doubt curious and anxious to learn what I had been doing; but I dared not trust myself to be with him then; so I sent a message that I was unwell, and I hurried at once to my rooms.

Then I made the first practical admission that I felt myself in peril; for I searched the rooms carefully to see that no one was concealed in them, and I looked carefully to the fastenings of the doors to make certain that no one could get in while I slept. I resolved also to buy myself arms on the following day. I could not sleep, of course. I lay tossing from side to side all through the hours of the dawn, thinking, puzzling, speculating, and scheming; striving my hardest to decide what I ought to do.

After what I had seen in the attack on Praga, I could not doubt that my own personal danger was great. My cousin Gustav's fate had shown that the men I had to deal with were infinitely cunning in resource and absolutely desperate in resolve. Where, then, might I look for any attack? I judged that it would be most likely to come in some shape that would be difficult to trace to its authors; and I felt that I must guard against getting embroiled in any quarrel, must go armed, and must be always most vigilant and alert when I found myself in circumstances that would lend themselves to my being attacked with impunity.

I own that I did not like the prospect. I don't think I'm a coward, and claim no greater bravery than other men; but the thought that any moment might find me the mark for an assassin's dagger or bullet tested my courage to the utmost. My main problem, however, was of course as to what I should do in regard to the plot. There were undoubtedly a number of men pledged to support Minna's cause; loyal, true, faithful men of honor, who had risked much for her and would uphold her to the last; but how was I to distinguish the false from the true? If I could do that, my path would be plain enough. I could reveal the whole business to them, and we could together take means to checkmate the inner treachery. But I could not distinguish them; nor on the other hand could Minna in honor desert them.

There was the alternative of flight, of course; I could return to Gramberg and rush the girl across the French frontier; but in addition to the distaste for abandoning those who had been true to her, there were other solid reasons against the flight. I could not see that there was any permanent safety for Minna that way. As Praga had put it, it was a canon of the Ostenburg position that there should be no Gramberg claimant to the throne left alive or fit to claim the throne; and I did not doubt for a moment that she might still be the object of attack wherever she went. Their arm would be long enough to reach her. Thus flight would thwart the Ostenburg scheme, but it would not achieve what was far more important to us, the safety of all concerned.

Thus I was driven back again upon my former conclusion that the policy of flight must be only the last resource when other things had failed. And I made up my mind that if at all possible this Ostenburg scheme must be met and outwitted.

After many hours of thought on these lines, I began to see two courses. We must go on with the scheme up to the very verge of its completion. Then Minna should indeed disappear; but the disappearance should be stage-managed by us, and not by the Ostenburg agents; and a daring thought occurred to me, to entrap these men with their own snare when pledged to the hilt to support Minna.

I would not only let her reappear at the very moment when they would be reckoning on her absence to push the claims of their own man, the Duke Marx; but I would get hold of this duke himself and put him away in her place. We would thus hold the throne against them for long enough to make such terms of compromise as we chose to dictate.

It would be a dare-devil piece of work, and call for one or two desperate men. But I had two already to hand—von Krugen and Praga, with Steinitz as a faithful third—and we might find one or two more among those who were faithful to Minna's interests.

The thought of this so roused me that I could not stay in my bed, but paced up and down my room in a glow of excitement as I thought out, pondered, and planned the details move by move to the final climax.

My first step must be, of course, to mislead all those concerned in the scheme to believe that I was with them, and that I pledged Minna herself to the same course; and I went to meet von Nauheim in the morning with this idea clear in my thoughts.

"You were out of town yesterday, Prince?" he said.

"Yes, I am accustomed to quietude, and can clear my thoughts best in the country. This affair worries me."

"I understood you were ill when you came back?"

"Merely an excuse. I was fatigued, and in no mood for conversation. It was late."

"It was—very," he replied dryly.

I made no answer, and after a moment he said:

"I presume you were thinking about our matters?"

"They were not out of my thoughts all day, and have kept me awake all night. I could wish I had never heard of them!" I exclaimed sharply.

"I suppose it is rather a big thing for you to decide?" he said, with a laugh; and then added quickly, "I presume you have decided, though? We shall expect to know to-night definitely."

"I am disposed to advise my cousin to join you and go on; but it may be nervousness, or that I am unused to such weighty affairs—whatever it is, I scarcely know how to answer."

"Well, you have had five or six days, you know."

"I've had to change all my views. I came to Munich with the conviction that such a scheme must fail, and could only end in disaster or, perhaps, worse."

"And now?" he asked, eyeing me sharply.

"I see the risks are enormous; but success seems much more probable than I thought. Indeed, if all is as it appears to be, I don't see where failure can come. I was trying to see that all day yesterday."

"What do you mean 'if all is as it appears'? What else can it be?"

"In a thousand schemes every one must have a weak spot somewhere. In this I fear what Berlin may do."

This answer relieved the doubt I had purposely raised, and he smiled as though my objection were ridiculous.

"Discuss that with Baron Heckscher. You'll soon see there's no cause for fear in it."

"If I were sure of that, my last objection would be gone."

"Then you are ours at last!" he exclaimed triumphantly, "and I'm right glad of it, Prince. You'll never repent throwing in your lot with us, for we shall rule this kingdom as surely as you and I are sitting at this table."

Gradually I allowed myself to be led on by him to copy, in a modified degree, his tone of jubilant enthusiasm, until he had no longer a doubt that I had been won over completely; and I spoke as if in some awe of the magnificent mission and great opportunities which a woman of Minna's high character and aims would have as the future Queen of Bavaria. He indulged this vein in the belief that he was drawing out my earnestness and encouraging my loyalty, and, indeed, fooling me to the top of my bent.

He asked me how I would spend the day, and whether I wished to see any more of our friends, before the meeting, to discuss my lingering doubts as to interference from Berlin; but I said I would rather be alone, as I was accustomed to solitary meditation, and that I was going to ride. He placed his stable at my disposal, and suggested one or two places of interest to which I could go.

I pretended to accept his suggestions, and he watched me ride off, standing bare-headed and gazing after me. When I turned, he waved his hand, and his face wore a smile of confident self-congratulation at the cleverness with which he had duped me. I kept to the road which he had mentioned for a short distance, riding at a slow pace, and then, turning off from it, I threaded the outskirts of the town until I struck the Linden road, when I put my horse to a sharp canter to keep my appointment.

One point I had to consider carefully—how far to trust Praga. He was a man to beware of, unscrupulous, recklessly daring, and bitterly vengeful; but I had saved his life, and I believed that he had in his disposition that kind of rough and dogged chivalry which would incline him to feel under an obligation to me, at least until he had paid the debt in kind. Assistance of some sort from some one with inside knowledge I must have, for the case was desperate enough; and there was no doubt that he would be infinitely valuable to me. I had strong inducements to offer, too—revenge for his own injuries; gratitude for my help on the preceding night; momentary reward to any reasonable amount; and advancement to a post of confidence. There was a risk that he would betray me, of course; but I could not weigh these risks too carefully, and this was one I felt I must be content to take.

I had ridden some ten or eleven miles, and was walking my horse slowly past a small coppice, when I heard him call to me from among the trees. He had chosen a cunning hiding-place. He knew his business.

"Ride on to the next turning on this side, Prince, and turn in at the first gate."

I followed his instructions, and found him already at the gate, on foot, having tied his horse to a tree. I fastened mine and then joined him.

"Were you followed from my house last night?" he asked; and when I told him no, he added: "Good; I had to shake them off this morning. The game is getting warmer. We must not stay long together. What have you to say to me?"

"Will you show me the paper you made von Nauheim sign?" I asked.

"I will take your word of honor for its safe keeping," he returned, his dark face smiling. "I guessed you would wish to see it." And he handed it to me.

"You trust it to me?" I cried, in some surprise.

"I am no fool, Prince," he answered. "If you keep that, it means we shall work together, and that is what I wish. If we are not to do so, you are too honorable a man not to return it. I trust either wholly, or not at all." He raised his hands, shoulders, and eyebrows in a combined gesture, as though suggesting there was no more to be said about the matter. "But you, what are you going to do? You have some plan, of course?"

"Will you work with me?" I asked.

"I told you last night—my purse, my sword, and my life are at your service, and if your plan helps my revenge I will keep as stanch and true as a hound."

"I am going to put my whole scheme in your possession," was my answer; and in the fewest words I told him what I had resolved, keeping back only such parts of the plan as touched the Countess Minna and myself personally.

He listened with rapt attention, his swarthy face drawn into thoughtful lines, and he did not interrupt me once. When I had finished, he remained silent a long while thinking it all over carefully.

"It is a shrewd scheme, Prince, very shrewd. There is only one difficulty."

"Well?"

"For you and me to keep alive sufficiently long to carry it through. The attempt last night will not be the last, and the efforts won't be confined to me. They have not touched you so far, probably because they feel it will strengthen their hands with the Countess Minna to get your open adherence to the plot. But when that has once been obtained, you will only be in the way, and you had better lay your account with that. But if we can keep our hearts beating and our throats unslit until the time of crisis comes, we shall win. By the sword of the archangel, but I like the scheme!"

"There is a meeting to-night at which I announce my formal adherence, and then I shall return to Gramberg to complete my arrangements."

"If you live to leave the town," he said grimly. "But you understand now the sort of men you are fighting. And what do you wish me to do?"

"Yours will be the most dangerous and, in some respects, I think the most difficult work of all—the post of honor. You must prepare the means by which the Duke Marx von Ostenburg can be got into our power, and you must be prepared to carry out the seizure the moment I give the signal. It had best be done on the very day of the court ball."

To my surprise he smiled and declared that that part of the business would not be difficult of accomplishment.

"I may need one man to help me, though I can probably do it all alone; and you will only have to say where you wish him carried."

"I have to find the place yet," I replied. "But how can you do this? Why are you so sure?"

"I can move the female lever which can move him," he returned, with his hard smile.

"But at that moment he himself will be all anxiety for these matters of State, and his presence in Munich will be simply imperative for their interests."

"No matter. If he was buried under a mountain and had to claw his way out with his nails and teeth, he would do it at her bidding. Have no fear."

"He will not be harmed?"

"That we can settle when we get him," he answered grimly.

I said no more. So long as we could make secure the person of the duke at the moment we needed him, I would see to the rest. Then I arranged how we two were to hold communication and untethered my horse to leave.

"You will go to that meeting to-night, Prince?" he asked.

"Certainly, it is necessary."

"You will go armed, then?"

"Arms will not be of much use; but I shall take them."

"I need not warn you again. But this I would say: At the very moment when you feel safest expect their attack. And now, as a last word, let me give you a pledge that whatever happens I will not let a word between my teeth. On the honor of a Corsican."

He raised his hat and stood bare-headed. He had the dramatic instinct keenly developed, and he did everything with pose and gesture that might have been taken for artificiality. But I was convinced that he was stanch enough in this affair.

I rode back to Munich by a different route, and my thoughts were busy with the forthcoming meeting. I did not consider it at all likely that any sort of violence would be attempted then; but Praga's words of caution began to run in my head—"When you feel safest, expect the attack." All the afternoon they were buzzing in my thoughts, and when von Nauheim returned in time for a very hurried late dinner, and the hour of the meeting drew nigh, they were more insistent than ever.

In the afternoon I bought myself arms—a sword-stick and a revolver; and while I was alone I took careful note of the room where the meeting was to be held, its entrances and exits. There was a window in the corner which opened on to a quadrangle at the back of the house, and I resolved to take my seat near that, lest I should need a speedy way of escape.

I had, indeed, determined upon one somewhat daring step, and I could not foretell what consequences might ensue.

When the hour for the meeting came, I took my seat and watched the men as they entered; and sat steadying my nerves and planning my moves in the game which was about to open in such deadly earnest, and which might have such momentous consequences for all concerned.

A COUNCIL OF CONSPIRACY

My first thought about the meeting was that I had misjudged, in an almost ludicrous manner, what the proceedings would be. My nerves were, no doubt, a little overstrung by the events of the past day or two: the dramatic exaggeration which had characterized almost every gesture and action of the Corsican, the actual evidence of my own eyes of the ruthless intensity of purpose with which these people pursued their plans, and my own exceeding conventional conceptions of what such a plot as this would be, had led me to anticipate some sort of more or less theatrical exhibition of conspiracy at the meeting. But there was nothing of the kind.

The men dropped in one after another, just as they might into any small social gathering, chatted with each other, grouped themselves in twos and threes, joked and laughed, discussed the latest scandal, exchanged notes on the newest play, and for a long time talked of nothing but the subjects on which any of them found a common surface interest. All of them made occasion to come to me and exchange a word or two: How I liked Munich, whether I had been to the opera, if I took any interest in the races, had I heard of the new military order from Berlin, and so on. Nothing more. Yet each contrived to convey that he was very glad to see me present, leaving me to infer anything more.

After a considerable time, the man whom von Nauheim had mentioned to me most often, Baron Heckscher, one of the wealthiest men in Munich, and the strongest leader in the scheme, came across and began to talk to me. He said he took the greatest interest in me; that it was a matter of great regret I had been so long absent from Munich and Gramberg; and that the honor of the great title I bore was an enormous responsibility for so young a man.

"But I am sure you will prove equal to it, Prince. Our conversations during these last few days have convinced me of this. You will play a great part in the kingdom and—who shall say?—perhaps in the Empire."

I murmured some conventional reply, and he added:

"There is only one thing against you. You will need wealth. The Gramberg estates should have gone with the title. I cannot understand my old friend's will. But that can be, and, of course, will be, rectified."

"I am not very ambitious of a State career," I replied, appreciating the proffered bribe.

"The State has need of all her strong men, Prince," he answered readily, "and she would be jealous of desertion; she cannot spare you. We old men have had our day, and it is part of our duty, and, despite the jealousies of some of us, part of our pleasure too, to mark out the rising men—the men worthy to rise, that is—and see that they have their opportunities. In the time that is coming you will have a magnificent part, for the actualities of power are not on, but around, the throne."

In this way he led adroitly round to the subject, and I knew that all his flattery was just so much verbiage. He had had no opportunities of telling whether I was a fool or a genius.

"There is a great deal of doubt about the future," said I sententiously; "but to have earned the good opinion of so shrewd a judge of men as yourself is much."

If he could flatter, so could I.

He paused a moment, and then, in a slightly lower tone, and with a suggestion of increased importance, he said, motioning toward von Nauheim:

"Our friend has told me your very shrewd doubts as to the probable action of those at Berlin. They are very natural, and you are quite right to express them; but—there is no fear on that score. The Imperial Government is as sick of the vagaries of the King as we Bavarians ourselves. He is a constant anxiety. You will see why. A madman on a throne is a standing menace to the principle of the Divine Right on which a monarchy must in reality depend. They will not interfere, because openly they dare not countenance a movement to upset a throne."

And he went on to give me elaborate arguments to explain away my doubts. I listened very carefully, stated my objections, and discussed them all; and then allowed myself to appear to be won round by his persuasion to the view that when once the plot were carried to a successful climax Berlin would recognize the new position and acquiesce in it. This I believed myself, moreover.

As I held the clew to his real motives, I was greatly interested to note the subtlety with which he avoided the points that were more closely concerned with the duplicity of the inner plot, and dwelt on those where he could be sincere.

"It will depend greatly on the solidarity of the movement and the loyalty to each other of all concerned in it," I said at the close.

"That is the pith and marrow of it all; and of that there cannot be a doubt. There are some twenty of us here," he exclaimed, with a wave of the hand round the room; "and each of us represents and can speak for at least one strong interest and section. Besides, we are not groping in the dark. I myself have secured assurances from Berlin. We have not a weak link."

He stopped, and looked at me with an invitation to make my declaration.

I noticed, too, that in some way the fact had communicated itself to the rest of those present that the moment of importance had arrived. They had at first drawn a little away from the table at which we two sat; and I had seen many little quick glances shot in our direction during the discussion between the baron and myself; but there had been no check in the general flow of chatter.

Now, however, there was a decided lull, save where one man was telling noisily an incident in which he had been the principal and was laughing at his own joke. The rest were for the most part smoking stolidly with only low murmurs of broken talk.

Von Nauheim was restless and fidgety, champing his cigar with quick, nervous bites, and blowing out the smoke rapidly in heavy puffs, and stealing furtive glances at me.

The situation was just as I would have had it. I had effectually concealed the fact that I had entered the room resolved to join them, and had produced the impression that at the last moment the baron's arguments had talked away my doubts. I kept my face impassive and set, as though weighing my words to the last moment.

"We shall go on with you, baron," I said quietly; "but of course under conditions."

"How can you make conditions, Prince?" he asked; and now the whole room was waiting upon our words.

"There must be a fresh declaration of allegiance to the Countess Minna as the future Queen."

"We are already pledged, every man of us, Prince," he returned.

"My uncle's death has altered matters," I answered. "And the declaration will be signed by all concerned here to-night and in my presence."

"That is scarcely necessary, as we have signed already. But if you make a point of it, yes."

"I do press it," I said firmly.

I had a strong reason which they did not yet see. I paused a moment before I made my next move, for it was a strong one.

"Again, as my uncle's death is so recent, it will not be seemly—indeed, it is impossible—for my cousin's marriage with the Count von Nauheim to take place until after she is on the throne—unless, indeed, all matters are postponed until a sufficient interval takes place."

I counted much on this stroke, and that it was a shrewd one was instantly apparent. It was, indeed, nothing less than a sharp test of the loyalty of every man present, and it started warm discussion among them all, several protests being made.

The avowed object of the marriage was to cement the co-operation of the powerful section of which Baron Heckscher was the head, by securing half the royal power to their representative; but the secret motive, as I knew, was to render Minna personally unfit to be Queen. Thus to postpone the marriage until after she was actually on the throne seemed on the surface to destroy the very pith of the inner plot, and so to wreck the Ostenburg plans altogether. Hence those who were for that interest felt bound to oppose the suggestion, while those who were genuinely for us would admit its reasonableness. To the one side it meant failure, and to the other, at the worst, mere postponement; and my object was thus to detach the latter and see who were really our friends. To my dismay there were but two in the room, and these the least influential; but I marked them closely while I stuck doggedly to my point.

It was the Baron Heckscher who came to the rescue.

"I have been waiting to hear the general opinion," he said—he had been sitting rapt in deep thought—"and I do not see there is any solid objection to the condition. We are all aware that this marriage, like most Court nuptials, has been arranged for certain definite purposes"—and he glanced round the room with an effect I did not fail to observe. "And if proper guarantees of these purposes are afforded, I do not see any objection. We are merely gaining the same end by slightly different means. As Count von Nauheim carries certain interests on his shoulders in the marriage, all we have to see is that those interests are protected."

It was most adroitly wrapped up, but I knew too much to be deceived; and as I had now gained my end—the separation of the sheep from the wolves in this assorted pack—I said no more than to agree that any desired guarantees should be given.

"The other condition is perhaps fanciful, as it is certainly personal," I said, "and it is somewhat connected with that which we have just discussed. My cousin, the Countess Minna, cannot, of course, go forward in a hazardous work of this kind, now we are agreed the marriage must be postponed, without a male relative to guide and counsel her. And as we Grambergs have been so unfortunate as to lose two prominent members, there is only myself remaining. One of us, my cousin Gustav, certainly lost his life in this cause, through the treachery of the Ostenburg agents, and therefore we look to you all—I look to you all, gentlemen"—and here I raised my voice slightly—"to secure me against an attack from any source that may threaten my life. I know I do not count on you in vain, because you are all loyal to the cause; but there is an additional and very special reason for my thus calling on you. Upon my life and safety the continuance or end of this scheme depends, so far as my cousin Minna is concerned. You may need to redouble your vigilance against our enemies, and to strain your efforts to the utmost to anticipate and prevent attacks upon me; but understand quite clearly that if you suffer me to be attacked and to fall, at that moment my cousin will withdraw from the scheme, and openly abandon all claim to the throne."

The disconcerting effect of this short speech was profound.

A dead silence fell on the room for a few moments, and I am bound to confess that I enjoyed immensely the general consternation. It appeared to me the strongest confirmation I could have had of the existence of a plot against my life, and that this move of mine was regarded as a checkmate. But I shut out of my face every expression save one of a kind of friendly expectation of personal assurances of agreement.

"Why I paused before replying, Prince," said Baron Heckscher presently, "was merely that, while I am confident there is not a man in the room, nor among all the thousands for whom we can speak, who would not cheerfully risk his life in defence of one so valuable—indeed, so essential—to the cause and the country as your own, it is a little difficult for us to pledge ourselves to abandon a cause for which we have made such sacrifices, and incurred such tremendous personal risks, should accident intervene to harm you."

He was talking to gain time, I could see that easily enough.

"There was no one found ready to defend my cousin Gustav from a man who was no better than an assassin," I said, somewhat curtly. "And I have heard that the man is still mixing with some of you."

Von Nauheim's tell-tale face paled at this thrust.

"Your cousin's rashness was the cause of that quarrel, Prince," said the baron, "and it was all against our advice and our most earnest entreaty that the duel ever took place. As to Praga's connection with the matter since, you know, of course, that in affairs of this kind we must use as instruments such as we find ready to hand. But his connection with the movement is of the flimsiest and most superficial kind."

"My cousin's death remains unavenged," I answered sternly.

"It will not remain so," said the baron significantly.

"No, indeed," I returned, intentionally misunderstanding him, "for I myself will call the man to account."

"Not until after our plans have been carried through."

"At the first moment I meet with him," said I, with an air of recklessness.

"This must not be!" exclaimed the baron quickly. "Do you not see what you are doing, Prince? You tell us that if you fall the Countess Minna will desert us and abandon the whole movement on the very eve of its success; and yet in the next breath you declare that you are going to court death by fighting a duel with one of the greatest masters of fencing in Europe. Would you wreck the whole scheme?"

"I would avenge my cousin's death!" I cried sternly. "Unless, indeed, the Count von Nauheim, as a future member of the family, or some other gentleman here, is loyal enough to us to take up this work."

"I do not fight with hired bravos," growled von Nauheim.

"There is no man in Bavaria can stand before that Praga's sword," said the baron, while I enjoyed his perplexity.

"Well, then, call the man out and shoot him!" I exclaimed brutally. "But, in all truth, I can't for the life of me understand, since you are all afraid of his sword-play, why you allowed Gustav to meet him."

"We had not then had this fearful evidence of his skill; and your cousin denied it, and believed him an impostor," said the baron.

"Nor do I believe in it," I answered vehemently, and I saw that I had produced the impression I wished of extreme caution in some things, coupled with recklessness in others, and had made them believe me thoroughly in earnest in my condition that, if my life were taken, my cousin Minna would go no farther. I had no wish to press matters any more, therefore.

"You are a true Gramberg, Prince, it is easy to see," said the baron, smiling uneasily. "And I fear you will give us trouble."

I meant to, but not of the kind as anticipated.

"That may be," I replied, ungraciously and curtly. "But now, if you please, as to these conditions."

"We can accept them if you will pledge yourself to take no rash action in hazarding your life until we have succeeded. Otherwise I for one shall withdraw, even now."

I could have laughed aloud at the firm, decisive tone in which he said this—for it was the proof of how I had turned the tables upon them. I hesitated before replying, as if to think.

"Yes, it is fair that I should give such a pledge," I said then. "I will wait. It will not be long."

"In a fortnight, by the grace of God, all will be effected," cried Baron Heckscher fervently. Then, rising, he said with enthusiasm: "Gentlemen, to our future Queen—Queen Minna of Bavaria. May the blessing of God light upon her, and let her bring peace to this distracted State. In the name of God I swear allegiance to the new ruler of Bavaria."

He raised his right hand on high as he took this equivocal and falsely true oath, and every man present followed his example. It was an impressive scene, and I made haste to improve the occasion.

"We will sign the declaration now," I said quietly.

The baron produced that which had been formerly signed—a short, simply worded document pledging the signatories to allegiance; and as he appeared loath to allow the paper to pass out of his own hands, he himself copied and then burnt it. I raised no objection to this proceeding, or to the wording, which was sufficiently compromising for the purpose I had in view. The other men signed it first, and I observed that the baron hung back until the last.

"I am the last to join you, I will sign last," I said quietly, and I laid it before him.

He wished to protest, I could see, but there was no valid reason. For the present at any rate I was in the position of power.

He wrote his name slowly and, I thought, reluctantly, and when he had finished, he put the paper across the small table, and held it firmly in one hand, pointing with the other to the place where I should write my name. I saw his object was the same as my own—to get and keep possession of a paper on which the life of every man signing it might depend. But it was an essential part of my plan that I myself should have possession of the paper to use as I might afterward find necessary. And I outwitted him. Not giving a sign of my intention, I took the pen he gave me and glanced at it.

"A pen that will have a history," I said, looking at him.

Then in making a movement as of preparation to sign I dropped the pen, and as I stooped and picked it up I broke the nib designedly, exclaiming at my carelessness.

"No matter, there is another pen there," I cried hurriedly, and with a sudden pull I snatched the sheet from his grasp, carried it to another table, and signed it before he had recovered from his surprise and vexation. Then I blotted it quickly, folded it, and put it away in my pocket, as though this were the most natural and ordinary course.

But I saw the men look from one to the other with half-hidden apprehension in their glances. I knew it was a crisis, and I carried it through with a dash.

"As head of my house, and the only blood relative of our future Queen, I shall guard with religious care this declaration of your allegiance and fidelity, this charter of the new Bavarian freedom," I said, raising my voice and speaking with as much dignity as I could assume. "In my cousin's name I thank you for your help, and I promise you the most earnest, most cordial, and most generous recognition of your efforts. From this moment her life belongs to her country. For myself, I assure you that, although I am the last to join you, no man shall be found more active, resolute, and vigilant in the cause. God bless Queen Minna of Bavaria!"

They echoed the words, but there was little heartiness in the tone, except from the two men whom I knew to be loyal; and I stood on my guard, half expecting some kind of attack.

But the moment passed and nothing was said or done to thwart me; and after a few words of lying congratulation upon the evening's work from the baron, the meeting broke up.

As the men left I could tell that my acts had produced a great impression on them, and that I had at least convinced them that I was not a man with whom they could safely trifle.

But my task had only begun.

"EVEN ONE SUBJECT MAY MAKE A KINGDOM"

When the last of the men had left, and I had seen von Nauheim go out with the old baron in close consultation, I sat on alone for a time thinking with some exultation of the result of my week's work in Munich, and of the vastly changed position which my shuffling of the cards had created.

I should certainly sleep the sounder for the value I had contrived to put on my life in their eyes; for I calculated that until they had had time to reconstruct their plans they would not venture to attack me.

What would they do? I pondered the question very carefully, turning it over and over in my thoughts as I knew that wily old baron was doing at the self-same moment—unless he had already made a plan and had taken von Nauheim out to impart it to him.

One thing soon made itself quite clear. Whatever form their next move might take, it would closely concern Minna. She was the pivot on which everything turned in their inner plot. So long as she was a free agent, and able to do what I had said—openly renounce the scheme and publicly abandon her claim to the throne—they would not touch me. But the instant they could get her into their control my power would be broken. I should no longer be necessary to them, but in the way. I could guess what would follow.

I determined, therefore, to take the initiative and force the game with von Nauheim; and, fortunately, he gave me an opportunity.

After I had been alone about an hour he returned, and did not take any trouble to hide the fact that he was in a very bad temper. When the surface was scratched, he was too much of a cad to remember that he was my host. He swaggered into the room and poured himself out a stiff glass of brandy and drank it. Then he turned to me.

"I suppose you think you've managed things devilish well to try and play the master in this way?"

"Well, I haven't done badly," I said, with a shrug of the shoulders.

"I should like to know what you mean about your condition about my marriage—cursed interference, I call it."

"My meaning was plain enough to the rest; surely I need not repeat it."

"Oh, I know what you mean. But what the devil is it to you? Is it your game to try and stop this marriage altogether? You won't, you know, so you needn't try."

"I would rather discuss family affairs with you when you're——" I was going to say sober, but checked myself and changed it to—"when you are less excited."

"What do you mean by that?" he cried, taking fire and speaking furiously. "Do you mean to insinuate that I'm drunk?" and he rose and came up close to me.

At that I guessed his motive by a kind of intuition. He meant to put a quarrel on me over this postponement of the marriage; and probably to let it develop into a scuffle, in which he would try to regain possession of the paper I had put in my pocket.

"I prefer not to continue the conversation now," I said coolly.

"But you'll have to, whether you wish it or not. I'm not going to let you ride roughshod over me, I can tell you. You'll just have the goodness to apologize to me for your insinuation that I'm drunk. D'ye hear?"

"I have not the least intention of apologizing to you for anything," said I sharply.

"Oh, won't you? We'll see about that," he cried, in an even louder voice; and then by deliberate intention I saw him knock over a small table on which a number of bottles and glasses stood. These fell to the ground with a loud clatter and crash, and the next moment a couple of servants came running into the room.

I judged that it was a preconcerted signal, for the moment they appeared he put his hand on my arm and, staring threateningly into my face, swore at me.

"You shall not leave the room till you've apologized," he said, calling the two men to his side.

I kept cool enough. I had no difficulty in shaking off his hand, and I stared him full in the face with so stern a look that, bully as he was, he flinched and wavered and changed color.

"Are you mad, Count von Nauheim, that you would make me forget I am under your roof?"

"No, I'm not mad nor drunk either, but you shall repent this night's work. Here," he called to the men again.

What he meant to do I know not, for my next action produced so wholly unexpected a result that he had no chance to do anything.

I whipped out the revolver I had in my pocket and levelled it point-blank in the lackeys' faces and bade them in ringing tones to be off out of the room. They stayed for no second bidding, but turned on their heels and scampered for their lives, leaving their master looking very much of a fool in the middle of the room. I put the revolver away again then and turned to him.

"Now that we are alone again, what do you mean to do?"

But his courage had fled as fast as his servants, and with a feeble attempt at a lying laugh he mumbled out something to the effect that he had meant no more than a joke, and turned away to hide his confusion in another full dose of brandy.

I saw my chance and took it.

"I do not allow people to play jokes of that kind upon me, Count von Nauheim," I said, as sternly as I could. "I prefer to trust the evidence of my own wits and say that you were in earnest in the attempt to use some violence toward me. Under these circumstances I cannot, of course, remain another hour in your house; and you will understand this to mean that I cannot receive you at Gramberg. You will therefore spare me the unpleasantness of telling my servants to refuse you admittance by not attempting to come there."

"Do you mean that you will try to keep me from my affianced wife?"

"Unless my cousin chooses to meet you elsewhere than at Gramberg, that is precisely what will happen," I answered.

"I suppose you want the fortune for yourself?" he sneered.

"You have a short memory, count. You have forgotten you told me the fortune would come to me as soon as this matter was successfully accomplished."

He flushed, for he had evidently forgotten that part of his former instructions, and my reminder irritated him.

"Then maybe you want Minna, and have a fancy yourself to sit on the throne?"

"I have nothing further to say to you," I answered stiffly. "Any communication I have to make regarding matters here shall be made to Baron Heckscher." And with that I left the room and the house.

I was glad of the quarrel for many reasons. We should be rid of the man's presence at Gramberg while making our preparations there; and I should feel much freer in any future visits to Munich. But most welcome of all was the fact that I knew Minna would be delighted at my having secured that she should not see him again.

I went to a hotel, passed a very comfortable night after a very full day, and the next morning before setting out for Gramberg I paid a visit to each of the two men whom I had ascertained to be loyal to Minna. Their names were Kummell and Beilager; and I urged them, for reasons which I would explain, to pay a secret visit to Gramberg. Then I returned to the castle lighter in heart and even busier in thought than I had set out. Busy as I was with the details of my own schemes, however, I found more than once my thoughts running ahead of me to the castle in pleased speculation as to how Minna would meet me and what she would say to my news.

When I had finished my train journey, and was driving to the castle, I could not help comparing my present feelings with those on my first arrival at the place. I had played the part of the Prince so completely during the exciting experiences of the two weeks that had passed since my arrival, every one had accepted my impersonation so unconditionally, and I had acted and spoken so entirely as if I were indeed the head of that great house, that I had actually begun to feel that I was in reality the Prince. I looked upon the signs of deference, the honors, the ready compliance with my wishes, the submission to my orders, as though they were my just due; and I was conscious of a greatly increased sense of dignity, which, I have no doubt, imparted itself to my mien and speech.

I had now no thought of drawing back, of course, until at least I had cut the knot of Minna's difficulties; and I had begun to entertain some very unpleasant and disquieting doubts and anxieties as to how I could shake off my borrowed plumes and return to the humdrum, meaningless, empty, incognito existence.

As to that, indeed, a new set of thoughts had begun to take shape in my mind—wild and forlorn hopes, in truth, but none the less cherished. The idea was to try and so carry through this business of the Munich plot as to ingratiate myself sufficiently into the favor of the great ones at Berlin to win back my own position and inheritance.

The most spurring motive that can move a man was developing in me, and developing fast. As a supposititious Prince von Gramberg I was absolutely impossible as a suitor for Minna's hand. Even if I could save her from this terrible entanglement, and escape any recognition, I could not marry her. My life would then have to be lived over a mine which might be exploded under my feet at any moment, to the ruin of both her life and my own.

As an English adventurer and ex-play-actor my case was just as hopeless. But as Count von Rudloff there would be no such bar of family between us; my family was indeed as old as any in the kingdom, and I set my wits to work zealously to find means by which I could use this plot to that end. But the odds against me were enough to make any one despair, and the knowledge almost appalled me.

I was not long left in doubt as to the manner of my reception at Gramberg. My cousin was waiting for me on the very threshold, and she came to meet me, her face aglow with pleasure, and her eyes beaming with the warmest of welcomes. She took my hand in both hers, and for the moment could do no more than murmur words of welcome and gladness at my return. As for me, the sweetness of her beauty, the touch of her hands in mine, and the sheer delight I felt in her presence held me tongue-tied.

Then her words burst out with a rush, and she plied me with question upon question about my news, my doings in Munich, what was to happen, and a thousand other things, until I caught von Krugen's dark eyes—he had met me at the station and was standing by me now—fixed upon her in shrewd speculation.

"I could not hold back my impatience a minute longer, cousin Hans," she said at length, with a smile. "Although my good aunt Gratz would have had me wait upstairs in my rooms until you would find it convenient to see me. You will forgive me for this unceremonious assault?"

I would have loved to tell her what I really thought about it; but I put a curb on any such madness by reflecting that her anxiety had nothing in it personal to myself.

"It would take so long in the telling," I answered. "I can scarcely tell it to you here."

A look of regret and surprise dashed her face for the moment, and she withdrew her hands from mine and bit her lips.

"I have done wrong in rushing to you thus. You will think it unseemly. Will you let me know how soon you can come to me? Do believe, cousin, I would not wittingly do anything to displease you."

I stood silent like a dumb fool; and then after a pause she added:

"I ought to have reflected you would have many things to do, and that I—that I should be in the way. I will go."

"No, don't go," I blurted out, and then could say no more.

She looked at me in justifiable astonishment, and wrinkled her brows in perplexity.

"The Prince was saying as we drove here that he must see you at once, countess," interposed von Krugen, and I could have blessed him for the words. Then he went forward and threw open the door of the room next, and looked round as if inviting us to enter. It was the library.

I shook myself together with an effort and gathered my scattered wits.

"Can you spare me an interview at once?" I asked Minna.

"Cousin!" and her astonishment deepened and found expression in her tone. "Am I not here for that very purpose—and dying to learn the news? Come;" and she went into the room and led the way to the far end, as it chanced to the very window from the embrasure of which I had first seen her. "I hope your first news is that all this plot is at an end, and that the project of the marriage is dead with it?"

I had mastered my stupid embarrassment by this time and had found my tongue again.

"You must listen carefully to all I have to tell you, and then to what I propose to do," I replied, and plunged at once into as plain a recital as I could give of all that part of the proceedings which I deemed it necessary to tell her. I dwelt upon the reasons why in my opinion it was impossible to draw back yet, and upon all I expected to gain by the counterplot I had devised.

"I will not see the Count von Nauheim again," she said, and her dislike of him was the first and strongest feeling she expressed. Nor did I grieve at this.

"He will not come here," I said. "I was going to force a quarrel on him to make that impossible when he saved me the trouble by putting one on me. I then warned him off the place."