A prince of lovers

“I  HAVE found your man I think,” Udo said to his father.

“Ah? Who is he?”

“That I propose to find out. A stranger.”

The Chancellor looked serious. “Are you sure? How can the Princess have become acquainted with a stranger?”

Udo gave a shrug. “At least he is known enough to be here. Come; I will show him to you.”

They strolled observantly through the rooms. “There! The man in the foreign uniform talking to General Rovigno.”

“So!” The hawk’s glance had marked down the victim. “You are certain, Udo?”

“Hardly enough, perhaps, to send the fellow to the fate that awaits him,” Udo answered casually. “But I will make certain. It is a mere question of watching.”

“Better find out first who he is,” the Chancellor observed. He signed to a resplendent Court official who immediately came up with a bow.

“I do not recognize that young officer, Herr Oberkammerer.”

“Possibly not, Excellency,” the functionary replied with another bow. “He is a stranger visiting the country. He comes from Beroldstein. His name is Lieutenant von Bertheim.”

“From Beroldstein? You are sure?”

“Quite, Excellency. He came furnished with a Court introduction through the Drax-Beroldstein embassy. Is there any reason for objecting——”

“Oh, no,” Rollmar protested. “A very distinguished looking young man. Thank you, Herr Oberkammerer.”

He turned away from the ceremonious official and drew Udo aside. “Make certain,” he said; “and as soon as you have put the matter beyond a doubt, let me know.”

He thought the identity quite feasible, still a blunder was a thing he detested. Before striking he must make sure.

And Udo watched lynxlike for the confirmation of his guess; shrewdly keeping observation on the Princess rather than on her suspected lover. But for that untoward episode of a few minutes before, he might have watched till the sharp green eyes grew tired without detecting what he sought. Von Bertheim had been cunningly warned by Minna and was not likely to betray the Princess or himself by the slightest sign. But now discovery was threatened by Ruperta’s distress. A pretty greeting, she told herself bitterly, she had given the lover who had a few hours before risked his life for her, whom she might have been supposed to believe dead, to be surprised in the act of allowing another man to make love to her. Ludovic’s face had shown his mortification, he had seen enough for that, too little to comprehend the real nature of the scene. He would know she was not a woman to permit an admirer to go to that length unchecked unless she were willing. She was pre-eminently one who could fence herself round with a cold indifference which no unacceptable ardour could melt. The unlucky moment had found her in a hatefully false position, one of which the mere thought was intolerable. She must at all hazards set it right, and, above all, warn her lover against the Rollmars and their manifest designs. That she would run a terrible risk was obvious, but, at least to Ludovic von Bertheim, the danger was pressing in any event.

“Come,” she said to Minna, “I must speak to him, must warn him.”

“Your highness!” the girl remonstrated. “No, no. It is sheer madness. I have already warned him. If it must be repeated, let me speak to him.”

But Ruperta was determined. “Come with me. Trust me to take care. I am no fool.”

The throng was thinning now; some had left, many were at supper. The Princess could go where she would without the irksomeness of finding a lane opening for her, or the risk of being jostled.

“I last saw him in the Vandyke room,” Minna said. They strolled arm in arm through the rooms, the Princess greeting many of the guests as they passed. Ludovic was still where Minna had left him, still talking or rather listening to the garrulous old General.

“Take care,” Minna said in a warning undertone, “Udo is watching us.”

Ruperta laughed. They passed through the room without noticing von Bertheim by more than a return of the bow with which he and his companion saluted them. “Oh, that noble Udo, that preux chevalier,” was Ruperta’s mocking comment. “Let us turn. Now keep your eyes open for the red fox. Ah, he is gone.”

“At least he is invisible,” Minna said, on her guard.

As they passed von Bertheim and the General the Princess’s handkerchief fell. Ludovic saw and sprang forward to restore it. She stopped for an instant and took it from him. Several people had come into the room and saw the action; none of them could have noticed in it more than a common incident of courtesy. They could not dream that the receiving hand thrilled that which gave with a quick pressure, that the murmured words were far more than those of thanks. Only one pair of sharp, avid, ravening eyes, suddenly visible from their ambush, saw what they desired, yet hated to see, saw proof of what had been conjecture, saw a near and certain revenge. It was enough. The jealous, vindictive glance just lingered for a moment on the pleasant sight of death in that face which raised itself in happy confidence; then the gallant Udo von Rollmar turned with a smile of satisfaction and hurried to his father.

“It is as well to be certain,” observed the Chancellor with his cynical smile, as he nodded his acceptance of the information. “You may leave the affair to me, Udo.”

“Can I be of any use?”

“You? No. My men are ready. It is butcher’s work.”

Ten minutes later a written message, signed R., was mysteriously put into the Lieutenant’s hand bidding him wait in the little garden pavilion which stood in the shrubbery a short distance from the place. It was called the Pavilion of Mercury, from a figure by which it was surmounted. He had freed himself from the General’s somewhat boring prolixity and was debating with himself whether he should stay or go, when the message was brought him by a little page of honour. In delight that he had waited and so not missed it, he made his way out into the palace grounds, taking heed that his movements were not too curiously observed. The words which Ruperta had spoken when he restored her handkerchief had been enough to allay the doubts with which the scene he had witnessed with Udo Rollmar had filled his mind. Indeed it was almost inconceivable that a girl of the Princess’s character could be captivated by a man like the Chancellor’s son. And now the full explanation of that equivocal situation would doubtless be given him.

Von Ompertz had received his orders, the most distasteful of his life, and stood with his two satellites waiting grimly for his man. He had on the first shock of Rollmar’s order, met it by a refusal. It was indeed, as the Chancellor had designated it, butcher’s work, and he was a soldier with the strain of his innate nobility ever ready to assume, sometimes to his detriment, the function of a conscience. He loved fighting for its own sake and was ready enough to slay his fellow man in hot blood; but in cold? To become a midnight assassin? Pfui! It went against that same make-shift conscience of his. But the astute old reader of men’s characters and motives had made short work of his objection, although he judged it prudent to condescend to a certain amount of persuasive argument. It was a State service, this deed which looked so black; far more important in its way than the killing of a score of the Duke’s enemies in battle. The honour of an illustrious house, of a royal name, was deeply concerned; only to a man like the Captain, of absolute trustworthiness, of honourable principles above the run of his class, could the secret vindication of the royal honour be entrusted. And then there was the obvious ugly alternative should the quixotic refusal be persisted in. The rope round Captain von Ompertz’s neck was only loosened, it was still there, but this service would make him quit of it altogether.

So the free-lance, seeing this was no situation for trifling, was fain to buy his life by consenting to what he tried to persuade himself was a bounden if disagreeable duty to the State whose hospitality he had enjoyed and to its Minister whose pay he was taking, and who, after all, was a better judge of the act’s justification than he himself could be.

Accordingly he had taken his station, secure from notice, at a point among the azalea bushes which commanded the path leading from below the terrace to the Mercury Pavilion. He saw a man’s figure emerge from the shadow of the high parapet and advance quickly along the alley which ran a few yards in front of where they stood. He made a sign to the two who waited behind him, and all three crouched down expectantly.

Von Bertheim came on steadily, unsuspectingly. They could hear his footsteps, now passing close to their ambush, presently striking the stone step of the pavilion and entering. Like feline beasts of prey they crept toward their quarry; Ompertz with a campaigner’s expert caution, the two Italians with the fell litheness of tracking leopards. Noiselessly they gained the alley and now retreat was cut off, the trap was complete.

“Wait here,” he whispered, motioning back the cutthroats at his side. “If I need you I will call.”

But one pressed forward at his shoulder. “Better make sure this time, Captain,” he urged.

However, Ompertz preferred to do the ill work his own way. In his idea the victim, being, as the uniform had told him, a soldier, should meet his death at the hands of a soldier, not at those of a professional spy and assassin which he shrewdly suspected to be the vocation of his two assistants.

“Stay here,” he repeated authoritatively. “I am no bungler—this is one’s man’s work.”

He went forward alone and stood in the doorway of the pavilion. Ludovic, who was sitting on a rustic chair at the farther side of the little room, started up at the sound of his step and began to cross to the door. Then he stopped, seeing it was a man’s figure that filled the entrance. A stream of moonlight came through the window and lay slantwise across the room, dividing the two men. Into this band of light a glittering object was suddenly projected. It was the barrel of a pistol pointing straight at Ludovic’s heart. He gave a quick cry.

“Hold your hand, fellow! I am——”

There was an answering, half smothered exclamation as the pistol was lowered and Ompertz’s face peered forward, coming into the shaft of light. “Lieutenant von Bertheim!” he said in a shocked whisper. “You? And, God forgive me, I was about to——”

“To put me out of Chancellor Rollmar’s way,” his intended victim supplied with a laugh. “If you have any scruples as to disobeying your orders I think I can remove them.”

Ompertz held up his hand warningly. “There are two Italian scoundrels outside to make sure the thing is done,” he said in a rapid whisper. “You saved my life; I’ll pay that debt if it costs my own.”

“There is no need, my friend,” Ludovic began, but before he had time to say more, Ompertz had raised his pistol and fired at the wall. “Now,” he commanded hurriedly, “fall down, quick! down with you and I’ll swear you are dead.”

He had caught Von Bertheim by the shoulders and urged him to the floor. For a moment the other seemed inclined to refuse, then changed his mind and, with a laugh at the situation, lay down as he might have fallen had the shot taken its originally intended effect. Ompertz bent down and covered his supposed victim’s face with his cloak just as the two evil visages of his assistants looked in at the door.

He held up a restraining hand as they came forward. “No bungle this time,” he announced grimly; “a bullet through the heart leaves no room for doubt.”

He whipped aside the cloak from Ludovic’s face, which happily lay in shadow, and then replaced it; pretended to feel the pulse, let the hand fall with a thud, and turned to the door. “Now to report to his Excellency,” he said motioning them out before him. “Come! I’ll have the fellow respected now that he can do no more harm.” So he baulked their curiosity, sturdily sent them out of the place and, following, closed the door.

The Princess and Minna with arms linked had strolled out upon the terrace. The atmosphere of the rooms had seemed charged with excitement that evening, and the calm glory of the night with its soft, pure air was infinitely refreshing. Here the Chancellor found them when he came out in grim expectancy of the report that one more human obstacle had been removed from his path. It was an untoward encounter; certainly the Princess, glad as perhaps he might have been to teach her a lesson and show his fell power, was otherwise the last witness he wanted for his anticipated interview.

Still he greeted them suavely enough, and then remarked that the air was chilly and that the Princess would do well to go indoors.

“I do not feel it,” she objected. “It seems to me quite warm and balmy.”

“Nevertheless it is chilly,” he insisted in the domineering tone which came so easily to him. “Your Highness should be advised. The obligation not to trifle with royal health extends far beyond a personal consideration.”

“It seems that royal health is of far more account than royal happiness,” she could not help retorting.

“Indeed, no,” he returned, ignoring, in his unruffled way, any significance in the speech. “Your health, gracious Princess, means happiness to all your father’s subjects and surely to yourself. And it is your happiness for which with all my ability and experience I unceasingly strive. Only be convinced of that, dear Highness, and let me——”

The sound of a shot broke the stillness of the night-shrouded park. Ruperta turned quickly in the direction whence it had come.

“What was that?” she exclaimed, in a voice which foreboding filled with dread.

“It is nothing,” Rollmar answered with a shrug, “which need concern your Highness.”

She was regarding him searchingly, her eyes full of a fearful suspicion. “A pistol shot under the very palace walls. Surely——” She stopped as though unable to control her voice. Her lips were trembling and her face, in the light from the window, was white.

“May I beg you to go in, Highness?” the Baron repeated, extending his arm to keep open the window.

In that moment the cold, statuesque beauty was transformed in a fashion that startled even the imperturbable Chancellor. Her face flushed and her eyes were alight with bitterness and anger.

“I know now,” she said hotly, “why you were anxious for me to go in, what this chill air of yours meant. It was to get me out of the way of your dastardly act, your fiendish work. I know. You have killed the man whom you have been hunting down so atrociously; assassin, vile murderer that you are. And you dare, hypocritical wretch, to talk of my health. I will go and see your work, and if it be as I suspect, I swear before Heaven you shall bitterly rue it!”

Rollmar stepped before her. “Princess, this is madness. You must not go. You are wrong.”

“Liar!” she flashed out at him passionately, the flood of her anger keeping back the waters of desolation that were ready to flow over her soul. “Show me that I am wrong. Take me there. Prove it. Ah, you dare not! But I will see——”

“Dear Highness——” Minna began to remonstrate apprehensively, but Ruperta had pushed aside all opposition and was running towards the steps that led down from the terrace.

As Rollmar followed her, his temper hardly soothed by the unfortunate chance which had marred the complete success of the business, his sharp eyes saw the expected three figures drawing out from the shadow of the wooded alley. He quickened his pace, meanwhile sternly ordering Minna to stop the Princess. “Come back, Highness!” he cried, “I order you. Your father shall know of this.”

Minna, impelled more by fear of the horror which might be waiting them than the Chancellor’s threat, ran quickly and caught her by the arm, trying to draw her back.

“Dear Highness, I entreat you, do not go farther,” she panted.

But the three were by this time quite visible.

“Look! Those men!” Ruperta cried. “Ah, I will know!”

Rollmar caught her, angrily, it seemed, by the arm. “Your Highness is exceeding all propriety,” he said.

“As your Excellency is exceeding all justice and all humanity,” she retorted.

He made a gesture of impatience. “Have your own way, then. But I have warned your Highness.”

Without staying for further words, Ruperta turned again and ran distractedly down the alley leading to the pavilion. Recalling himself from a moment’s critical thought, Rollmar looked round at his agents, “Well?”

Ompertz bowed. “It is well, Excellency. I have hardly bungled this time. These men have seen him dead. One shot was enough.”

The Chancellor glanced for corroboration at the Italians who bowed with a word of confirmation. “Good,” he said. “I will see what further orders are needful. Captain von Ompertz, you may report yourself at my bureau at ten o’clock to-morrow morning.”

As the soldier bowed and turned away, Rollmar made a sign to one of the Italians, and, as he came near, whispered a hurried word to him. The man nodded, and then the two went off by the way Ompertz had taken, leaving the Chancellor standing alone in keen thought.

Ruperta, followed fearfully by Minna, had reached the pavilion and it was not until her foot was on the threshold that she stopped, sick and faint at heart, not daring to look in. But her pause was in silence, save for her quick breathing; the cry of her heart found no utterance. Then a desperate longing to know the worst nerved her to look in, and she saw the room was empty. Scarcely daring to trust her eyes, she signed to Minna and went in. The thing she dreaded was not there; the two women stood and looked into each other’s face in wonder. Then there was the sound of a step at the door. If it were Rollmar——. Ruperta went quickly to it, and gave a great gasp of joy as she was clasped in her lover’s arms.

“Ah, my love, my dear love!” she murmured. Then, when their kisses allowed speech, he told her in a few words what had happened.

“You are mad to stay here,” she said, holding him fast nevertheless.

“How can I go?” he protested. “Ah, if you only were content to marry Prince——”

She shook her head impatiently. “That is now farther from me than ever,” she declared. “That shall never be, I swear to you, my love.”

At last she made him go, saying she would let him run no more risks for her sake, yet doubting how they should cease. And he assured her that he feared nothing, that with a love like theirs all must be well. And that made her sad, knowing well how experience was against that comfortable hope and that love counts as a very minus quantity against State policy.

Nevertheless, when she went back to the Palace, the Chancellor, watching for her with grim expectation, was not a little puzzled at what he saw in her face.