CHAPTER XVI — ON THE WAY TO ST. VALENTINE'S
"By Jove, I like that fellow's coolness," said Lorry to Harry Anguish, after the meeting. "He's after my own heart. Why, he treats us as though we were the suppliants, he the alms-giver. He is playing a game, I'll admit, but he does it with an assurance that delights me."
"He is right about that darned old fort," said Anguish. "His knowledge of such things proves conclusively that he is no ordinary person."
"Yetive had a bit of a talk with him just now," said Lorry, with a reflective smile. "She asked him point blank if he knew who she was. He did not hesitate a second. 'I remember seeing you in the audience chamber recently.' That was a facer for Yetive. 'I assure you that it was no fault of mine that you saw me,' she replied. 'Then it must have been your friend who rustled the curtains?' said the confounded bluffer. Yetive couldn't keep a straight face. She laughed and then he laughed. 'Some day you may learn more about me,' she said to him. 'I sincerely trust that I may, madam,' said he, and I'll bet my hat he was enjoying it better than either of us. Of course, he knows Yetive is the princess. It's his intention to serve Beverly Calhoun, and he couldn't do it if he were to confess that he knows the truth. He's no fool."
Baldos was not long in preparing plans for the changes in the fortress. They embodied a temporary readjustment of the armament and alterations in the ammunition house. The gate leading to the river was closed and the refuse from the fort was taken to the barges by way of the main entrance. There were other changes suggested for immediate consideration, and then there was a general plan for the modernizing of the fortress at some more convenient time. Baldos laconically observed that the equipment was years behind the times. To the amazement of the officials, he was able to talk intelligently of forts in all parts of the world, revealing a wide and thorough knowledge and extensive inspection. He had seen American as well as European fortifications. The Graustark engineers went to work at once to perfect the simple changes he advised, leaving no stone unturned to strengthen the place before an attack could be made.
Two, three weeks went by and the new guard was becoming an old story to the castle and army folk. He rode with Beverly every fair day and he looked at her window by night from afar off in the sombre barracks. She could not dissipate the feeling that he knew her to be other than the princess, although he betrayed himself by no word or sign. She was enjoying the fun of it too intensely to expose it to the risk of destruction by revealing her true identity to him. Logically, that would mean the end of everything. No doubt he felt the same and kept his counsel. But the game could not last forever, that was certain. A month or two more, and Beverly would have to think of the return to Washington.
His courage, his cool impudence, his subtle wit charmed her more than she could express. Now she was beginning to study him from a standpoint peculiarly and selfishly her own. Where recently she had sung his praises to Yetive and others, she now was strangely reticent. She was to understand another day why this change had come over her. Stories of his cleverness came to her ears from Lorry and Anguish and even from Dangloss. She was proud, vastly proud of him in these days. The Iron Count alone discredited the ability and the conscientiousness of the "mountebank," as he named the man who had put his nose out of joint. Beverly, seeing much of Marlanx, made the mistake of chiding him frankly and gaily about this aversion. She even argued the guard's case before the head of the army, imprudently pointing out many of his superior qualities in advocating his cause. The count was learning forbearance in his old age. He saw the wisdom of procrastination. Baldos was in favor, but someday there would come a time for his undoing.
In the barracks he was acquiring fame. Reports went forth with unbiased freedom. He established himself as the best swordsman in the service, as well as the most efficient marksman. With the foils and sabers he easily vanquished the foremost fencers in high and low circles. He could ride like a Cossack or like an American cowboy. Of them all, his warmest admirer was Haddan, the man set to watch him for the secret service. It may be timely to state that Haddan watched in vain.
The princess, humoring her own fancy as well as Beverly's foibles, took to riding with her high-spirited young guest on many a little jaunt to the hills. She usually rode with Lorry or Anguish, cheerfully assuming the subdued position befitting a lady-in-waiting apparently restored to favor on probation. She enjoyed Beverly's unique position. In order to maintain her attitude as princess, the fair young deceiver was obliged to pose in the extremely delectable attitude of being Lorry's wife.
"How can you expect the paragon to make love to you, dear, if he thinks you are another man's wife?" Yetive asked, her blue eyes beaming with the fun of it all.
"Pooh!" sniffed Beverly. "You have only to consult history to find the excuse. It's the dear old habit of men to make love to queens and get beheaded for it. Besides, he is not expected to make love to me. How in the world did you get that into your head?"
On a day soon after the return of Lorry and Anguish from a trip to the frontier, Beverly expressed a desire to visit the monastery of St. Valentine, high on the mountain top. It was a long ride over the circuitous route by which the steep incline was avoided and it was necessary for the party to make an early start. Yetive rode with Harry Anguish and his wife the countess, while Beverly's companion was the gallant Colonel Quinnox. Baldos, relegated to the background, brought up the rear with Haddan.
For a week or more Beverly had been behaving toward Baldos in the most cavalier fashion. Her friends had been teasing her; and, to her own intense amazement, she resented it. The fact that she felt the sting of their sly taunts was sufficient to arouse in her the distressing conviction that he had become important enough to prove embarrassing. While confessing to herself that it was a bit treacherous and weak, she proceeded to ignore Baldos with astonishing persistency. Apart from the teasing, it seemed to her of late that he was growing a shade too confident.
He occasionally forgot his differential air, and relaxed into a very pleasing but highly reprehensible state of friendliness. A touch of the old jauntiness cropped out here and there, a tinge of the old irony marred his otherwise perfect mien as a soldier. His laugh was freer, his eyes less under subjugation, his entire personality more arrogant. It was time, thought she resentfully, that his temerity should meet some sort of check.
And, moreover, she had dreamed of him two nights in succession.
How well her plan succeeded may best be illustrated by saying that she now was in a most uncomfortable frame of mind. Baldos refused to be properly depressed by his misfortune. He retired to the oblivion she provided and seemed disagreeably content. Apparently, it made very little difference to him whether he was in or out of favor. Beverly was in high dudgeon and low spirits.
The party rode forth at an early hour in the morning. It was hot in the city, but it looked cold and bleak on the heights. Comfortable wraps were taken along, and provision was made for luncheon at an inn half way up the slope. Quinnox regaled Beverly with stories in which Grenfall Lorry was the hero and Yetive the heroine. He told her of the days when Lorry, a fugitive with a price upon his head, charged with the assassination of Prince Lorenz, then betrothed to the princess, lay hidden in the monastery while Yetive's own soldiers hunted high and low for him. The narrator dwelt glowingly upon the trip from the monastery to the city walls one dark night when Lorry came down to surrender himself in order to shield the woman he loved, and Quinnox himself piloted him through the underground passage into the very heart of the castle. Then came the exciting scene in which Lorry presented himself as a prisoner, with the denouement that saved the princess and won for the gallant American the desire of his heart.
"What a brave fellow he was!" cried Beverly, who never tired of hearing the romantic story.
"Ah, he was wonderful, Miss Calhoun. I fought him to keep him from surrendering. He beat me, and I was virtually his prisoner when we appeared before the tribunal."
"It's no wonder she loved him and—married him."
"He deserved the best that life could give, Miss Calhoun."
"You had better not call me Miss Calhoun, Colonel Quinnox," said she, looking back apprehensively. "I am a highness once in a while, don't you know?"
"I implore your highness's pardon!" said he gaily.
The riders ahead had come to a standstill and were pointing off into the pass to their right. They were eight or ten miles from the city gates and more than half way up the winding road that ended at the monastery gates. Beverly and Quinnox came up with them and found all eyes centered on a small company of men encamped in the rocky defile a hundred yards from the main road.
It needed but a glance to tell her who comprised the unusual company. The very raggedness of their garments, the unforgetable disregard for consequences, the impudent ease with which they faced poverty and wealth alike, belonged to but one set of men—the vagabonds of the Hawk and Raven. Beverly went a shade whiter; her interest in everything else flagged, and she was lost in bewilderment. What freak of fortune had sent these men out of the fastnesses into this dangerously open place?
She recognized the ascetic Ravone, with his student's face and beggar's garb. Old Franz was there, and so were others whose faces and heterogeneous garments had become so familiar to her in another day. The tall leader with the red feather, the rakish hat and the black patch alone was missing; from the picture.
"It's the strangest-looking crew I've ever seen," said Anguish. "They look like pirates."
"Or gypsies" suggested Yetive. "Who are they, Colonel Quinnox? What are they doing here?" Quinnox was surveying the vagabonds with a critical, suspicious eye.
"They are not robbers or they would be off like rabbits" he said reflectively. "Your highness, there are many roving bands in the hills, but I confess that these men are unlike any I have heard about. With your permission, I will ride down and question them."
"Do, Quinnox. I am most curious."
Beverly sat very still and tense. She was afraid to look at Baldos, who rode up as Quinnox started into the narrow defile, calling to the escort to follow. The keen eyes of the guard caught the situation at once. Miss Calhoun shot a quick glance at him as he rode up beside her. His face was impassive, but she could see his hand clench the bridle-rein, and there was an air of restraint in his whole bearing.
"Remember your promise," he whispered hoarsely. "No harm must come to them." Then he was off into the defile. Anguish was not to be left behind. He followed, and then Beverly, more venturesome and vastly more interested than the others, rode recklessly after. Quinnox was questioning the laconic Ravone when she drew rein. The vagabonds seemed to evince but little interest in the proceedings. They stood away in disdainful aloofness. No sign of recognition passed between them and Baldos.
In broken, jerky sentences, Ravone explained to the colonel that they were a party of actors on their way to Edelweiss, but that they had been advised to give the place a wide berth. Now they were making the best of a hard journey to Serros, where they expected but little better success. He produced certain papers of identification which Quinnox examined and approved, much to Beverly's secret amazement. The princess and the colonel exchanged glances and afterwards a few words in subdued tones. Yetive looked furtively at Beverly and then at Baldos as if to enquire whether these men were the goat-hunters she had come to know by word of mouth. The two faces were hopelessly non-committal.
Suddenly Baldos's horse reared and began to plunge as if in terror, so that the rider kept his seat only by means of adept horsemanship. Ravone leaped forward and at the risk of injury clutched the plunging steed by the bit. Together they partially subdued the animal and Baldos swung to the ground at Ravone's side. Miss Calhoun's horse in the meantime had caught the fever. He pranced off to the roadside before she could get him under control.
She was thus in a position to observe the two men on the ground. Shielded from view by the body of the horse, they were able to put the finishing touches to the trick Baldos had cleverly worked. Beverly distinctly saw the guard and the beggar exchange bits of paper, with glances that meant more than the words they were unable to utter.
Baldos pressed into Ravone's hand a note of some bulk and received in exchange a mere slip of paper. The papers disappeared as if by magic, and the guard was remounting his horse before he saw that the act had been detected. The expression of pain and despair in Beverly's face sent a cold chill over him from head to foot.
She turned sick with apprehension. Her faith had received a stunning blow. Mutely she watched the vagabonds withdraw in peace, free to go where they pleased. The excursionists turned to the main road. Baldos fell back to his accustomed place, his imploring look wasted. She was strangely, inexplicably depressed for the rest of the day.
CHAPTER XVII — A NOTE TRANSLATED
She was torn by conflicting emotions. That the two friends had surreptitiously exchanged messages, doubtless by an arrangement perfected since he had entered the service—possibly within the week—could not be disputed. When and how had they planned the accidental meeting? What had been their method of communication? And, above all, what were the contents of the messages exchanged? Were they of a purely personal nature, or did they comprehend injury to the principality of Graustark? Beverly could not, in her heart, feel that Baldos was doing anything inimical to the country he served, and yet her duty and loyalty to Yetive made it imperative that the transaction should be reported at once. A word to Quinnox and Ravone would be seized and searched for the mysterious paper. This, however, looked utterly unreasonable, for the vagabonds were armed and in force, while Yetive was accompanied by but three men who could be depended upon. Baldos, under the conditions, was not to be reckoned upon for support. On the other hand, if he meant no harm, it would be cruel, even fatal, to expose him to this charge of duplicity. And while she turned these troublesome alternatives over in her mind, the opportunity to act was lost. Ravone and his men were gone, and the harm, if any was intended, was done.
From time to time she glanced back at the guard. His face was imperturbable, even sphinx-like in its steadiness. She decided to hold him personally to account. At the earliest available moment she would demand an explanation of his conduct, threatening him if necessary. If he proved obdurate there was but one course left open to her. She would deliver him up to the justice he had outraged. Hour after hour went by, and Beverly suffered more than she could have told. The damage was done, and the chance to undo it was slipping farther and farther out of her grasp. She began to look upon herself as the vilest of traitors. There was no silver among the clouds that marred her thoughts that afternoon.
It was late in the day when the party returned to the castle, tired out. Beverly was the only one who had no longing to seek repose after the fatiguing trip. Her mind was full of unrest. It was necessary to question Baldos at once. There could be no peace for her until she learned the truth from him. The strain became so great that at last she sent word for him to attend her in the park. He was to accompany the men who carried the sedan chair in which she had learned to sit with a delightful feeling of being in the eighteenth century.
In a far corner of the grounds, now gray in the early dusk, Beverly bade the bearers to set down her chair and leave her in quiet for a few minutes. The two men withdrew to a respectful distance, whereupon she called Baldos to her side. Her face was flushed with anxiety.
"You must tell me the truth about that transaction with Ravone," she said, coming straight to the point.
"I was expecting this, your highness," said he quietly. The shadows of night were falling, but she could distinguish the look of anxiety in his dark eyes.
"Well?" she insisted impatiently.
"You saw the notes exchanged?"
"Yes, yes, and I command you to tell me what they contained. It was the most daring thing I—"
"You highness, I cannot tell you what passed between us. It would be treacherous," he said firmly. Beverly gasped in sheer amazement.
"Treacherous? Good heaven, sir, to whom do you owe allegiance—to me or to Ravone and that band of tramps?" she cried, with eyes afire.
"To both, your highness," he answered so fairly that she was for the moment abashed. "I am loyal to you—loyal to the heart's core, and yet I am loyal to that unhappy band of tramps, as you choose to call them. They are my friends. You are only my sovereign."
"And you won't tell me what passed between you?" she said, angered by this epigrammatic remark.
"I cannot and be true to myself."
"Oh? you are a glorious soldier," she exclaimed, with fierce sarcasm in her voice. "You speak of being true! I surprise you in the very act of—"
"Stay, your highness!" he said coldly. "You are about to call me a spy and a traitor. Spare me, I implore you, that humiliation. I have sworn to serve you faithfully and loyally. I have not deceived you, and I shall not. Paul Baldos has wronged no man, no woman. What passed between Ravone and myself concerns us only. It had nothing to do with the affairs of Graustark."
"Of course you would say that. You wouldn't be fool enough to tell the truth," cried she hotly. "I am the fool! I have trusted you and if anything goes wrong I alone am to blame for exposing poor Graustark to danger. Oh, why didn't I cry out this afternoon?"
"I knew you would not," he said, with cool unconcern.
"Insolence! What do you mean by that?" she cried in confusion.
"In your heart you knew I was doing no wrong. You shielded me then as you have shielded me from the beginning."
"I don't see why I sit here and let you talk to me like that," she said, feeling the symptoms of collapse. "You have not been fair with me, Baldos. You are laughing at me now and calling me a witless little fool. You—you did something to-day that shakes my faith to the very bottom. I never can trust you again. Good heaven, I hate to confess to—to everyone that you are not honest."
"Your highness!" he implored, coming close to the chair and bending over her. "Before God, I am honest with you. Believe me when I say that I have done nothing to injure Graustark. I cannot tell you what it was that passed between Ravone and me, but I swear on my soul that I have not been disloyal to my oath. Won't you trust me? Won't you believe?" His breath was fanning her ear, his voice was eager; she could feel the intensity of his eyes.
"Oh, I don't—don't know what to say to you," she murmured. "I have been so wrought up with fear and disappointment. You'll admit that it was very suspicious, won't you?" she cried, almost pleadingly.
"Yes, yes," he answered. His hand touched her arm, perhaps unconsciously. She threw back her head to give him a look of rebuke. Their eyes met, and after a moment both were full of pleading. Her lips parted, but the words would not come. She was afterwards more than thankful for this, because his eyes impelled her to give voice to amazing things that suddenly rushed to her head.
"I want to believe you," she whispered softly.
"You must—you do! I would give you my life. You have it now. It is in your keeping, and with it my honor. Trust me, I beseech you. I have trusted you."
"I brought you here—" she began, defending him involuntarily. "But, Baldos, you forget that I am the princess!" She drew away in sudden shyness, her cheeks rosy once more, her eyes filling with the most distressingly unreasonable tears. He did not move for what seemed hours to her. She heard the sharp catch of his breath and felt the repression that was mastering some unwelcome emotion in him.
Lights were springing into existence in all parts of the park. Beverly saw the solitary window in the monastery far away, and her eyes fastened on it as if for sustenance in this crisis of her life—this moment of surprise—this moment when she felt him laying hands upon the heart she had not suspected of treason. Twilight was upon them; the sun had set and night was rushing up to lend unfair advantage to the forces against which they were struggling. The orchestra in the castle was playing something soft and tender—oh, so far away.
"I forget that I am a slave, your highness," he said at last, and his voice thrilled her through and through. She turned quickly and to her utter dismay found his face and eyes still close to hers, glowing in the darkness.
"Those men—over there," she whispered helplessly. "They are looking at you!"
"Now, I thank God eternally," he cried softly, "You do not punish me, you do not rebuke me. God, there is no night!"
"You—you must not talk like that," she cried, pulling herself together suddenly. "I cannot permit it, Baldos. You forget who you are, sir."
"Ah, yes, your highness," he said, before he stood erect. "I forget that I was a suspected traitor. Now I am guilty of lese majeste." Beverly felt herself grow hot with confusion.
"What am I to do with you?" she cried in perplexity, her heart beating shamefully. "You swear you are honest, and yet you won't tell me the truth. Now, don't stand like that! You are as straight as a ramrod, and I know your dignity is terribly offended. I may be foolish, but I do believe you intend no harm to Graustark. You cannot be a traitor."
"I will some day give my life to repay you for those words, your highness," he said. Her hand was resting on the side of the chair. Something warm touched it, and then it was lifted resistlessly. Hot, passionate lips burned themselves into the white fingers, and a glow went into every fiber of her body.
"Oh!" was all she could say. He gently released the hand and threw up his chin resolutely.
"I am almost ready to die," he said. She laughed for the first time since they entered the park.
"I don't know how to treat you," she said in a helpless flutter. "You know a princess has many trials in life."
"Not the least of which is womanhood."
"Baldos," she said after a long pause. Something very disagreeable had just rushed into her brain. "Have you been forgetting all this time that the Princess Yetive is the wife of Grenfall Lorry?"
"It has never left my mind for an instant. From the bottom of my heart I congratulate him. His wife is an angel as well as a princess."
"Well, in the code of morals, is it quite proper to be so loyal to another man's wife?" she asked, and then she trembled. He was supposed to know her as the wife of Grenfall Lorry, and yet he had boldly shown his love for her.
"It depends altogether on the other man's wife," he said, and she looked up quickly. It was too dark to see his face, but something told her to press the point no further. Deep down in her heart she was beginning to rejoice in the belief that he had found her out. If he still believed her to be the real princess, then he was—but the subject of conversation, at least, had to be changed.
"You say your message to Ravone was of a purely personal nature," she said.
"Yes, your highness." She did not like the way in which he said "your highness." It sounded as if he meant it.
"How did you know that you were to see him to-day?"
"We have waited for this opportunity since last week. Franz was in the castle grounds last Thursday."
"Good heavens! You don't mean it!"
"Yes, your highness. He carried a message to me from Ravone. That is why Ravone and the others waited for me in the hills."
"You amaze me!"
"I have seen Franz often," he confessed easily. "He is an excellent messenger."
"So it would seem. We must keep a lookout for him. He is the go-between for you all, I see."
"Did you learn to say 'you all' in America?" he asked. Her heart gave a great leap. There was something so subtle in the query that she was vastly relieved.
"Never mind about that, sir. You won't tell me what you said in your note to Ravone."
"I cannot."
"Well, he gave you one in return. If you are perfectly sincere, Baldos, you will hand that note over to me. It shall go no farther, I swear to you, if, as you vow, it does not jeopardize Graustark. Now, sir, prove your loyalty and your honesty."
He hesitated for a long time. Then from an inner pocket he drew forth a bit of paper.
"I don't see why it has not been destroyed," he said regretfully. "What a neglectful fool I have been!"
"You might have said it had been destroyed," she said, happy because he had not said it.
"But that would have been a lie. Read it, your highness, and return it to me. It must be destroyed."
"It is too dark to read it here." Without a word he handed the paper to her and called the chair bearers, to whom he gave instructions that brought her speedily beneath one of the park lamps. She afterwards recalled the guilty impulse which forced her to sit on the tell-tale note while the men were carrying her along in the driveway. When it was quite safe she slyly opened the missive. His hand closed over hers, and the note, and he bent close once more.
"My only fear is that the test will make it impossible for me to kiss your hand again," said he in a strained voice. She looked up in surprise.
"Then it is really something disloyal?"
"I have called it a test, your highness," he responded enigmatically.
"Well, we'll see," she said, and forthwith turned her eyes to the all-important paper. A quick flush crossed her brow; her eyes blinked hopelessly. The note was written in the Graustark language!
"I'll read it later, Baldos. This is no place for me to be reading notes, don't you know? Really, it isn't. I'll give it back to you to-morrow," she was in haste to say.
An inscrutable smile came over his face.
"Ravone's information is correct, I am now convinced," he said slowly. "Pray, your highness, glance over it now, that I may destroy it at once," he persisted.
"The light isn't good."
"It seems excellent."
"And I never saw such a miserable scrawl as this. He must have written it on horseback and at full gallop."
"It is quite legible, your highness."
"I really cannot read the stuff. You know his handwriting. Read it to me. I'll trust you to read It carefully."
"This is embarrassing, your highness, but I obey, of course, if you command. Here is what Ravone says:
"'We have fresh proof that she is not the princess, but the American girl. Be exceedingly careful that she does not lead you into any admissions. The Americans are tricky. Have little to say to her, and guard your tongue well. We are all well and are hoping for the best.'"
CHAPTER XVIII — CONFESSIONS AND CONCESSIONS
Beverly was speechless.
"Of course, your highness," said Baldos, deep apology in his voice, "Ravone is woefully misinformed. He is honest in his belief, and you should not misjudge his motives. How he could have been so blind as to confound you with that frisky American girl—but I beg your pardon. She is to be your guest. A thousand pardons, your highness."
She had been struck dumb by the wording of the note, but his apparently sincere apology for his friend set her every emotion into play once more. While he was speaking, her wits were forming themselves for conflict. She opened the campaign with a bold attack. "You—you believe me to be the princess, sure 'nough, don't you?" But with all her bravery, she was not able to look him in the face.
"How can you doubt it, your highness? Would I be serving you in the present capacity if I believed you to be anyone else?"
"Ravone's warning has not shaken your faith in me?"
"It has strengthened it. Nothing could alter the facts in the case. I have not, since we left Ganlook, been in doubt as to the identity of my benefactress."
"It seems to me that you are beating around the bush. I'll come straight to the point. How long have you known that I am not the princess of Graustark?"
"What!" he exclaimed, drawing back in well-assumed horror. "Do you mean—are you jesting? I beg of you, do not jest. It is very serious with me." His alarm was so genuine that she was completely deceived.
"I am not jesting," she half whispered, turning very cold. "Have you thought all along that I am the princess—that I am Grenfall Lorry's wife?"
"You told me that you were the princess."
"But I've never said that I was—was anyone's wife."
There was a piteous appeal in her voice and he was not slow to notice it and rejoice. Then his heart smote him.
"But what is to become of me if you are not the princess?" he asked after a long pause. "I can no longer serve you. This is my last day in the castle guard."
"You are to go on serving me—I mean you are to retain your place in the service," she hastened to say. "I shall keep my promise to you." How small and humble she was beginning to feel. It did not seem so entertaining, after all, this pretty deception of hers. Down in his heart, underneath the gallant exterior, what was his opinion of her? Something was stinging her eyes fiercely, and she closed them to keep back the tears of mortification.
"Miss Calhoun," he said, his manner changing swiftly, "I have felt from the first that you are not the princess of Graustark. I knew it an hour after I entered Edelweiss. Franz gave me a note at Ganlook, but I did not read it until I was a member of the guard."
"You have known it so long?" she cried joyously. "And you have trusted me? You have not hated me for deceiving you?"
"I have never ceased to regard you as my sovereign," he said softly.
"But just a moment ago you spoke of me as a frisky American girl," she said resentfully.
"I have used that term but once, while I have said 'your highness' a thousand times. Knowing that you were Miss Calhoun, I could not have meant either."
"I fancy I have no right to criticise you," she humbly admitted. "After all, it does not surprise me that you were not deceived. Only an imbecile could have been fooled all these weeks. Everyone said that you were no fool. It seems ridiculous that it should have gone to this length, doesn't it?"
"Not at all, your highness. I am not—"
"You have the habit, I see," she smiled.
"I have several months yet to serve as a member of the guard. Besides, I am under orders to regard you as the princess. General Marlanx has given me severe instructions in that respect."
"You are willing to play the game to the end?" she demanded, more gratified than she should have been.
"Assuredly, yes. It is the only safeguard I have. To alter my belief publicly would expose me to—to—"
"To what, Baldos?"
"To ridicule, for one thing, and to the generous mercies of Count Marlanx. Besides, it would deprive me of the privilege I mentioned a moment ago—the right to kiss your hand, to be your slave and to do homage to the only sovereign I can recognize. Surely, you will not subject me to exile from the only joys that life holds for me. You have sought to deceive me, and I have tried to deceive you. Each has found the other out, so we are quits. May we not now combine forces in the very laudible effort to deceive the world? If the world doesn't know that we know, why, the comedy may be long drawn out and the climax be made the more amusing."
"I'm afraid there was a touch of your old-time sarcasm in that remark," she said. "Yes, I am willing to continue the comedy. It seems the safest way to protect you—especially from General Marlanx. No one must ever know, Baldos; it would be absolutely pitiful. I am glad, oh, so glad, that you have known all the time. It relieves my mind and my conscience tremendously."
"Yes," he said gently; "I have known all along that you were not Mr. Lorry's wife." He had divined her thought and she flushed hotly. "You are still a princess, however. A poor goat-hunter can only look upon the rich American girl as a sovereign whom he must worship from far below."
"Oh, I'm not so rich as all that," she cried. "Besides, I think it is time for a general clearing-up of the mysteries. Are you Prince Dantan, Prince Frederic, or that other one—Christobal somebody? Come, be fair with me."
"It seems that all Edelweiss looks upon me as a prince in disguise. You found me in the hills—"
"No; you found me. I have not forgotten, sir."
"I was a vagabond and a fugitive. My friends are hunted as I am. We have no home. Why everyone should suspect me of being a prince I cannot understand. Every roamer in the hills is not a prince. There is a price upon my head, and there is a reward for the capture of every man who was with me in the pass. My name is Paul Baldos, Miss Calhoun. There is no mystery in that. If you were to mention it in a certain city, you would quickly find that the name of Baldos is not unknown to the people who are searching for him. No, your highness, I regret exceedingly that I must destroy the absurd impression that I am of royal blood. Perhaps I am spoiling a pretty romance, but it cannot be helped. I was Baldos, the goat-hunter; I am now Baldos, the guard. Do you think that I would be serving as a Graustark guard if I were any one of the men you mention?"
Beverly listened in wonder and some disappointment, it must be confessed. Somehow a spark of hope was being forever extinguished by this straightforward denial. He was not to be the prince she had seen in dreams. "You are not like anyone else," she said. "That is why we thought of you as—as—as—"
"As one of those unhappy creatures they call princes? Thank fortune, your highness, I am not yet reduced to such straits. My exile will come only when you send me away."
They were silent for a long time. Neither was thinking of the hour, or the fact that her absence in the castle could not be unnoticed. Night had fallen heavily upon the earth. The two faithful chair-bearers, respectful but with wonder in their souls, stood afar off and waited. Baldos and Beverly were alone in their own little world.
"I think I liked you better when you wore the red feather and that horrid patch of black," she said musingly.
"And was a heart-free vagabond," he added, something imploring in his voice.
"An independent courtier, if you please, sir," she said severely.
"Do you want me to go back to the hills? I have the patch and the feather, and my friends are—"
"No! Don't suggest such a thing—yet." She began the protest eagerly and ended it in confusion.
"Alas, you mean that some day banishment is not unlikely?"
"You don't expect to be a guard all your life, do you?"
"Not to serve the princess of Graustark, I confess. My aim is much higher. If God lets me choose the crown I would serve, I shall enlist for life. The crown I would serve is wrought of love, the throne I would kneel before is a heart, the sceptre I would follow is in the slender hand of a woman. I could live and die in the service of my own choosing. But I am only the humble goat-hunter whose hopes are phantoms, whose ideals are conceived in impotence."
"That was beautiful," murmured Beverly, looking up, fascinated for the moment.
"Oh, that I had the courage to enlist," he cried, bending low once more. She felt the danger in his voice, half tremulous with some thing more than loyalty, and drew her hand away from a place of instant jeopardy. It was fire that she was playing with, she realized with a start of consciousness. Sweet as the spell had grown to be, she saw that it must be shattered.
"It is getting frightfully late," she sharply exclaimed. "They'll wonder where I've gone to. Why, it's actually dark."
"It has been dark for half an hour, your highness," said he, drawing himself up with sudden rigidness that distressed her. "Are you going to return to the castle?"
"Yes. They'll have out a searching party pretty soon if I don't appear."
"You have been good to me to-day," he said thoughtfully. "I shall try to merit the kindness. Let me—"
"Oh, please don't talk in that humble way! It's ridiculous! I'd rather have you absolutely impertinent, I declare upon my honor I would. Don't you remember how you talked when you wore the red feather? Well, I liked it."
Baldos laughed easily, happily. His heart was not very humble, though his voice and manner were.
"Red is the color of insolence, you mean."
"It's a good deal jauntier than blue," she declared.
"Before you call the bearers, Miss—your highness, I wish to retract something I said awhile ago," he said very seriously.
"I should think you would," she responded, utterly misinterpreting his intent.
"You asked me to tell you what my message to Ravone contained and I refused. Subsequently the extent of his message to me led us into a most thorough understanding. It is only just and right that you should know what I said to him."
"I trust you, Baldos," she protested simply.
"That is why I tell this to you. Yesterday, your highness, the castle guard received their month's pay. You may not know how well we are paid, so I will say that it is ten gavvos to each. The envelope which I gave to Ravone contained my wages for the past six weeks. They need it far more than I do. There was also a short note of good cheer to those poor comrades of mine, and the assurance that one day our luck may change and starvation be succeeded by plenty. And, still more, I told him that I knew you to be Miss Calhoun and that you were my angel of inspiration. That was all, your highness."
"Thank you, Baldos, for telling me," she said softly. "You have made me ashamed of myself."
"On the contrary, I fear that I have been indulging in mock heroics. Truth and egotism—like a salad—require a certain amount of dressing."
"Since you are Baldos, and not a fairy prince, I think you may instruct the men to carry me back, being without the magic tapestry which could transplant me in a whiff. Goodness, who's that?"
Within ten feet of the sedan chair and directly behind the tall guard stood a small group of people. He and Beverly, engrossed in each other, had not heard their approach. How long they had been silent spectators of the little scene only the intruders knew. The startled, abashed eyes of the girl in the chair were not long in distinguishing the newcomers. A pace in front of the others stood the gaunt, shadowy form of Count Marlanx.
Behind him were the Princess Yetive, the old prime minister, and Baron Dangloss.