Diana

CHAPTER SEVEN

The funeral was over, and Eduard, ensconced in a corner of the carriage, was on his way back to the castle. He took off his shako and smoothed his hair. "Well that's finished! Not so bad after all. I'd thought the whole mumbo-jumbo was going to be insufferable. It's not much worse than a military parade. A bit too much gaped at—like the emperor's birthday celebrations.... But the driving out in state was horrible.... Old Oehlke made quite a decent oration; a trifle long, but not over unctuous. Dealt a little curtly with Stefan, who was, after all, a man of feeling. I wonder what his widow's going to do? ... Didn't she really ever have a child? ... Mathilde seems put out; even her attempt to do a little public sobbing did not deceive any one. Is this all one married Heinrich for? None of the joys of love, no children, and then at forty to be the relict of a prince who never came to the throne! And they're so poor! If only I had money to spare I'd dower her for a second marriage.... Papa wishes at all costs to pull the purse-strings tight. He's right. When all's said and done, it's the people who have to pay.... No, I'll not go out of my way to influence him.... Changes are always so obvious; he'd notice at once.... Glad I got him to stay at home this appalling weather. What rain! Last time I saw him ... must have been in March ... six or seven weeks ago ... we dined in some place or other on Unter den Linden, and he had an extra dish of carrots so as to gain the time to talk me over and bring me to reason. It was touching to witness his ill-success! He is absolutely incapable of commanding those he loves. If we were as bombastic as our brethren in Berlin, we'd nickname him 'The Good'! His eyes are blue.... I always feel I am having a glimpse of heaven when I look into them...."

The prince's cortège had reached the central streets of the little capital, and every window was crowded with the faces of those eager to see the procession go by. So Eduard replaced his shako, sat up straight, put on the facial expression his people might expect from him after the funeral, bowed to right and to left, studying meanwhile the countenance of the populace—in so far as that was possible through his mask of heroic moderation which (with his characteristic irony) he commended himself for having assumed.

"Broad heads, square rather than long, stubborn as are the middle Germans by temperament, their mistrust only overcome by degrees.... And yet loyal to the core, because their dynastic instinct is so strong.... Is there no end to this stately avenue leading to the castle? Ghastly! Three months' leave every year, otherwise I resign, as William so politely informed Bismarck.... There stands the worthy Tauernheim on the steps, ready to receive me! An end to these musings! To business!"

"His Highness is expecting Your Highness in the blue study."

"Where is the doctor?"

"He's waiting in the next room."

Eduard entered the hall, and motioned the old doctor back into the chair from which he had risen. Taking a seat himself, the prince removed his shako, sighed, and selected a cigarette.

"Everything went off smoothly—even the rain!"

"I'm sorry my professional duties should have kept me away from paying His Highness the prince my last respects...."

"Don't mention it, my dear Doctor! And now—are we alone? Are the doors shut? Or only closed?" Eduard got up to try the handles. Then resuming his chair, he continued: "You are amused? But there's always some Paul or Max or other, whose tall, black figure appears from nowhere, all unexpectedly, offering sherry—like Erda in Siegfried! Well, now that the black fate has fallen on me and nothing can throw it off, I am going to ask you the question which I had hoped my two brothers would save me from having to put."

The doctor looked gravely through spectacles which in no way dimmed the shrewdness of his eyes, and said in a matter-of-fact voice:

"I am sorry to say that the prince is rapidly going down hill. I told the late prince as much last March, and urged him to make ready. Last Sunday, after the terrible catastrophe, he had another attack in the night, which was only relieved by injections of camphor and morphine. Next morning his urine was loaded with albumin, as always after excitement. His pulse intermits every sixteenth or seventeenth beat. He has lost all interest in his work. Then you must remember that he is seventy-two years of age. Your Highness must realize that every day he is spared should be regarded as an unexpected gift."

Eduard got up, threw his cigarette end into the fireplace, strode over to the window, and lost himself in meditation. "Have I not read all this before? The crown prince, in the uniform of a hussar, spurs clinking, returning from a funeral, cannot bide the time for his father's death.... God, what would I not give this man if he could save my father for another decade—nay, merely for another three years!..."

Eduard turned to the doctor:

"Many thanks. I'll go in to see him." At the door he halted, and, turning again to the doctor, inquired casually, as it were: "No excitement, I suppose?"

"I must even urge that even those who have come to pay formal visits of condolence be not admitted to audience."

Huddled together, wearing a tunic of ancient cut, the old prince, in the half light of his spacious study, was sitting in front of the writing-table at which he had done his work for the last twenty years. He was pleased with his son's appearance, the dapper uniform becoming the slender figure well; and he was the more pleased seeing that hitherto he had never been able to persuade this youngest child of his to don the military livery unless directly commanded to do so.

"He's much smarter than he'd have us believe," thought the ageing prince as Eduard bent low to kiss his father's forehead.

"A fine brow," said Eduard to himself, "so nobly arched and furrowed...."

"Well," asked his father, "did it all go off decently, and in order? How did Adalbert behave?"

Eduard gave his report.

"So, he was not the first to be at the vault," murmured the father. "It would have been a handsome thing to do. And what about Mathilde?"

"Not a tear."

"Ah! I did not force him into that marriage. Tauernheim always thought it would have a soothing effect upon... He may have been right. But I'm against these marriages of cousins.... It's better to be childless than to breed idiots.... I imagined that, should Heinrich not feel inclined ... Stefan would provide the necessary progeny. Well, all that is over and done with now.... I am glad your mother did not live to see this day! Ah, Eduard my son, I am very weary. Are you going to take my place?"

Eduard, profoundly stirred, would have stroked his father's brow; but he took the proffered chair, placing his sword between his booted legs, and saying quietly:

"I would ask Your Highness to put at least some of the work on my shoulders."

The old man looked up, he saw the fair head, with its smoothly parted hair, bowed deferentially before him, he passed his hand over his own white locks, then he said:

"My dear Eduard, let's have none of that. We must speak to one another like two human beings. This may be the last time we shall ever talk together—or almost the last! As soon as possible I intend to pass the burden on to you: the whole burden when I go to join your mother. You are rather hypermodern, you know, and Tauernheim is anxious about the future; in fact, they are all worried about my death, now they know that Prince Eduard is to be the next ruler. For my part, I am tranquil, for I know you're a good fellow. Shall I assume Polonius airs with you, and teach you how to behave? You know the ropes as well as I do. Always have the people in mind—but don't try to play the twenty-first century game, especially in this little country. Be democratic, that goes without saying; but not Karl Marx, my dear Eduard, though I know you think a lot of him. Even Herwegh would be too strong meat. We are nothing but Liliputians here. Still, I don't need to go over all these things with you, and waste precious time. You've known my mind these ten years, and have seen eye to eye with me." He paused, making himself more comfortable in his arm-chair. "One thing, however, I have to ask, my dear Eduard. You see how quickly a motor car can be hurled down a mountain side. You must hasten to provide for the succession."

Eduard had determined not to disturb the serenity of his father's mood by disclosing any of his personal plans. He said quite casually, therefore:

"Of course, Papa, I'll marry. You have Leonore in mind?"

The old man smiled, and in a flash it was borne in on Eduard that death had indeed laid a hand on his father, for the eyes that were wont to twinkle with merriment, were now apathetic.

"The question is, rather, whom have you in mind."

"Raison d'état, my dear Father. We have often spoken of this before."

"Eduard?"

"Yes, Papa?"

"What sort of a time did you have on the yacht? I got the photo you sent—was it from Messina?"

Eduard fidgeted with his sword-belt.

"The 'Excelsior'? Oh, it was quite charming, those weeks on board."

"And did you gain your end? I doubt not that it was charming—but a capricious young woman, and five men hanging around—because Scherer of course had to count as a possible rival...."

The father had hoped great things from the cruise; for from what he had learned in Berlin, he could not but believe that this clever woman would bring the prince to the point of making an offer. Now that the disaster had changed the order of succession, he was seized with dread, knowing that the fate of the little country hung in the balance. The son, guessing what was passing through his father's mind, was resolved at all costs to save the invalid from agitation, for the dying ruler was now obviously not so much concerned about a morganatic marriage as about the lack of offspring competent to succeed, this implying an eventuality the old man had been so careful to guard against—the passing of the country into the hands of the collateral line. Eduard had made up his mind not to speak plainly, and yet deference for his father's wisdom and kindliness, made him unwilling to tell a direct lie. At the same time, foreseeing the question, he had vowed not to commit himself in words to anything which he would have to forswear after his father's death. He therefore evaded the immediate issue by rejoining:

"Yes, Scherer is a man of importance, and, besides, quite disinterested. He should be invited to advise us in financial matters."

"He's trying to fob me off," thought the father, and, obsessed by the thought that tomorrow would be too late, he asked without circumlocution:

"Did Scherer, too, win the lady's regard?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Eduard?"

"Yes, Papa?"

"Are you still free?"

"What just do you mean by that?"

"No commitments?"

"None," he exclaimed, while he thought: "Unfortunately, none as yet!"

The old man breathed more freely.

"But Father, heirs are not produced by love!"

"I need not worry, then?"

"He wants me to give him my promise," thought Eduard. "And I am determined not to give him any such thing." He smiled, and said politely:

"A difficult thing to guarantee, my dearest Father. Heinrich, for instance, had none in three years...."

"He's a good diplomatist," thought the father, "and it is a pity he cannot remain in the foreign diplomatic service." He, too, smiled, as he said:

"I feel confident you will do all that in you lies so that there shall be no change here...?"

Eduard shifted his sword-point an inch or so, hesitated, and then said:

"As a man of honour I can, of course, only speak for myself; and if I am called upon I will, when the time comes, make use of every power I possess...."

"The hours speed by," thought the old man, once more filled with anxiety, "and the youngster takes refuge in rhetoric! He needs to be decoyed—or at least his affections." He studied the bowed head, and the great flat surface of the writing-table seemed to him a symbol. He pushed back his chair; he needed to win his son's confidence, and yet he hesitated. At last he made up his mind. Almost in a whisper he said:

"Eduard, my dear boy, won't you promise me...?" The young prince trembled and, against his will, the sword clattered lightly as he held it between his knees.

"What is it, Papa?"

"You will see to it that there are legitimate heirs?..." He laid his gnarled hand across the table, towards his son; there was no tremor now. But Eduard did not raise his head; his eyes were fixed on the withered hand that lay there begging for one last gift which was at the same time the first it had ever been held out to receive. He was permeated with the realization of how intensely lonely was this dying man before him, an old man who had just laid two sons in the grave; at the same time he envisaged the future, as for three days he had envisaged it, with Diana at his side.... He rose to his feet; he took the old hand in his own: he kissed it: but he spoke no word.

"I have promised nothing," said the son to himself, as the world swayed purple before his eyes.

"He loves her," thought the father. "In that case I cannot bind him."

Silently, the two men looked at one another. Each knew that he had been understood.

The silence persisted for many seconds. Then the old man rose stiffly from his chair, looked about him, searching for his papers, sat down again, invited his son to do likewise, and pressed the bell. A manservant came to the door.

"Ask His Excellency Tauernheim to come in."

Another minute passed in silence. The young man's eyes rested lovingly on the old man, and Eduard marvelled that, after so many shattering blows, the veteran could put on the harness once more. The minister entered. The old monarch spoke:

"Please take a seat, my dear Tauernheim. Henceforward we shall always be three to discuss our plans—for Prince Eduard will want to take his bearings. Here, for instance, is the project for the Neuburg highroad. How does the matter stand...?"

CHAPTER EIGHT

Diana emerged from the great red-brick building which constituted the headquarters of the newspaper. She had been back some weeks, and spent the whole forenoon working in the office as before. Now, in her simple summer frock she was walking leisurely down the drive. Other young ladies, eager to catch a bus or to rejoin a lover round the next corner, overtook her, and scurried on their way. Diana seemed to see herself again, making her entry here that first day, ignorant of all these faces, scrutinized by the huge janitor at the door, a man she was subsequently to greet with such studied dignity; and as she dwelt on that time in reminiscent mood, it occurred to her that she was older now by two whole years. Was not this very day the anniversary? She took her way along the Friedrich Strasse, musing as she went.

"Yes, it was the fourteenth of May, the same date, I remember it well, for I started work the next morning, and on the last of the month I got my two weeks' pay, a hundred and twenty marks. Am I happier now that I get ten times as much? J'aime l'argent, parce que j'aime la liberté. Are those the words of the sage of Geneva, who had them from Voltaire? Or have I read them somewhere in Voltaire's works? ... Liberté! There's a flavour of gasconade about the French word. Libertà! That rings truer. Freedom has a hollow sound. Freiheit is beautiful. And yet it is an ancient word! At one time I could rattle off the libertatem concedere, desiderio libertatis flagrare; but the most lovely of all was the libertas innata! And then eleutheria! I remember when I was seventeen I read the definition in my Greek lexicon: 'eleutheros—1) free, independent; 2) self-disciplined, candid, also inconsiderate, unceremonious.' Yes, inconsiderate.... How the young toss the word in the air and never realize its implications! One just begins to understand it by the time one is twenty-five. The day has come when I can say: Ten years ago..."

Her attention was attracted to a pair of laughing young lovers crossing the street, and then coming to a halt in front of a great plate-glass window full of goods; she saw the girl point a tiny gloved finger at a little box containing the coveted knives and forks, and press this same finger against the window.

"They all seek out some brick-built den, and then they mate, and breed, and feed, and die. I have brought too high an ideal of the perfect from a previous life, too much presumption, too keen a demand for the princely.... Even this word will have to disappear before long. As soon as one sees a thing near at hand, it becomes meaningless. How hard it is for Eduard that his excessive seriousness should always make him misconceive the present. Ten days since we bade farewell.... Why does he leave me with never a word? I know his heart is in a fever, his head is throbbing; always grubbing in the mines of the future! ... Oh these men who are for ever practising renunciation, these architects of life, these Scherers, and Eduards, and Russians.... The Russian? He at least occasionally sends all his theories to the right about, so that they retire trembling into a dark corner!"

She turned into Unter den Linden.

"The lime trees are in flower, and their sickly-sweet perfume is wafted to me. I'm always driven to seek out Germany in May. Has one ever enough of it? Libertas? With seven hours at the office? It's lost its savour ... not only because of Scherer ... and yet... It used to be so jolly in the old days when he came towards three every afternoon to discuss things with me; and the paper he held in his hand had the appearance of a battle ground. With what evident pleasure he'd let me get the better of him in one round, though in the end he was still more delighted when he pinked me! Now it is nothing but recriminations; or he will beseech, or play the meek and humble.... Meanwhile, kindliness, such as we hoped to establish in our relations, murmurs deprecatingly: 'I am kindliness: let us try to understand one another.' ... How stately and white the library looks over there. It is peaceful, because it contains all the wisdom of the world. Had I not better once more go through its portals and start learning anew? Sometimes the game seems too ridiculous for words; the feverish activity to get the latest news, merely time lost."

She stopped before a travel agency, looking at a map of the world on whose oceans tiny ships sailed. An arm suddenly stirred the curtain from within the office, a huge hand gripped one of the tiny vessels which had nearly reached the Azores, and set it down again one degree farther westward. Then, another boat, nearing Cape Town, would suffer a similar fate.

"Just like the gods. Without that sleeve and cuff, one might take it for Neptune's arm. Thus, it is only Mercury's. How small are the seas: how swiftly the little ships travel across them! The 'Excelsior' could make no more than eleven knots; without a breath of wind to help them, these have made twenty-three.... Ought one not ... I could..."

She scrutinized the map, which was becoming more and more full of life as she looked. She planned, cast away her plans, and then pursued her meditations:

"Another fortnight, and Father will be taking the train through the Simplon, to Paris and London... Macdonald once promised me he'd keep a place for me in the British Museum.... The time has come when I should make another dive, experience new freedoms and unfreedoms...."

Now a jeweller's window caught her eye. She stopped to inspect.

"How old-world those diadems appear. If they were antiques, it would not be so bad. But to think that they are still made and still find purchasers! Eduard is perhaps the only one from that world who really feels deeply.... Yes, those are huge pearls, shaped like pears, a grey chain—I should not mind having that. They come from the sea, and he whom the gods permit to find the right shell has merely to open it and there the pearl lies in all its beauty. A gift from the depths, heavy with melancholy—not like these sparkling diamonds which it has taken thousands of black hands to hew from the earth with the aid of horrible machines bringing death in their train...."

"Do you like those glittering headbands?"

She turned abruptly at the sound of the deep voice, and found Kyril beside her.

"How do you do, Mademoiselle?"

Diana gazed into the earnest blue eyes; she felt the strong hand clasping hers.

"At the moment my mind was drifting so vaguely among thoughts of diamonds and princely crowns and what not, that they would ultimately have wandered to you had you not yourself spoken before I got there!"

"Then I may as well continue on my way, for it is probably far better for us to think of each other than to talk to each other."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because our talks have never yet led to anything. Are you going through the Tiergarten?"

"I'm on my way home," said Diana moving ahead, while Kyril—by chance or through an impish spirit of contradiction—remained on her right.

"How much nicer he looks in this old-fashioned get-up," she thought, "than he did in his soft hat and elegant clothes on the yacht."

"She's dressed herself with great simplicity today," he was thinking; "she seems more serious," he added to himself, having watched her for some time from a distance before he spoke to her.

Their conversation turned to questions as to what each had been doing since they had parted, and then Kyril asked for news of the prince. They passed by Diana's door, before she answered:

"I had thought you would be able to tell me something about him—you made the journey together."

"I've only had one letter since then. And you?"

"Nothing," said Diana quietly.

"She's lying," thought Kyril.

"I wonder what Eduard wrote to Sergievitch," thought Diana. Then she said: "Did he appear to be finding things hard towards the end?"

"No, he seemed all right during the train journey. We talked politics. With a wise head to guide him, he'll do well, I fancy. He has excellent intentions."

"Undoubtedly. Admirable disposition."

Unconsciously Diana had adopted Eduard's very tone and manner as she uttered the words, and Kyril was unpleasantly impressed: "How they snap at one when they have anything to hide, people of this class," he thought. "Oh, I'll clear out!"

He stopped when they reached the corner. Diana asked tentatively:

"Perhaps we shall meet at Herr Scherer's?" But her thoughts were: "He ought to come in with me and play the 'cello the whole evening!" She did not, however, even ask him to call.

"Maybe we shall," he said frigidly.

She had fallen into a brown study, and did not hear him when he spoke, saying absent-mindedly:

"And you'll play that sonata with him—the one you played alone in the Palazzo Tiepoletto."

"And you would be criticizing the time of day.... You want nocturnes at night!"

The mocking tone of his voice brought her back to the present.

"Good-bye," she said, merely nodding her head to him, and never raising her hand in farewell.

When she got home, she found her brother waiting for her. He had come to see her once before since her return, had asked after their father, had given no news of himself, and as he left had said casually that he might be going on a journey. She was pleased, and at the same time not overjoyed to see him here today, for she had looked forward to being alone and to thrashing her own problems out with herself.

"Forgive me," he said. "Am I disturbing you? I hope my cigarette... Is it too strong? A little opium.... Shall we open the windows?"

"Why's he talking so much and so unsteadily?" The question agitated her as she took a chair beside him.

"Won't you sit down?" she asked civilly.

"I'm just off...."

"What makes you so restless?"

"Can't help it. I know I am a trifle..."

"Do you need my help?"

"Yes."

"Money?"

"Of course."

Diana was pleased that he should come to her in his strait, rather than try to raise the wind among his friends. But this was the first time for two years that he had asked her for any pecuniary assistance, whence she concluded that he must be passing through a crisis.

"Only too pleased to let you have what I can...."

"Thanks. But it's rather a lot...."

"How much?"

"Four thousand."

She had completely regained her composure by now, and got up quickly to go over to the window. It was as one young man addressing another that she said:

"Absolutely necessary?"

"Urgent."

"Soon?"

"At once."

"I've only got five at the bank. You could have your four by tomorrow."

"Sunday tomorrow. Banks closed."

"By Monday, then."

"Too late."

"What on earth are we to do?"

"Borrow meanwhile."

"No!"

The word shot out so coldly that he became alarmed, for it sounded final.

"Well, for the present, a note of hand will do."

"Gladly."

She sat at her table, writing. Then she said:

"What name?"

"I'd—rather write that in myself."

Slowly she turned, and looked at him. As he stood there, so elegant and handsome and pale, she suddenly felt a loathing for him and his way of living. Yet there was also a little envy too; she envied him for being able to keep the secret of his life so completely.... Turning back to the table, she wrote, signed, and handed him the paper in an open envelope.

"I have no more. Besides, I am going to resign my post...."

He did not seem to hear. Thanking her, he took his departure. She pressed the button of the bell.

"Mary, please make me a pot of tea. No, I'd rather have some fruit."

"There's none to be had. Oranges are finished, and strawberries not yet in season."

"I saw a basket of strawberries at the florist's over the way."

"Ah, those!"

"Yes, those. Please go and fetch them."

"Silly old slow-coach," thought Diana petulantly as the old woman disappeared to do the commission. "She must come to cap my worries. The last straw! ... What a day! Cooped up in a stuffy office, business letters, trouble with the records, lunch in the office among unattractive persons, one of whom makes noises as he chews.... A note from Scherer, politely begging for a fresh statement of accounts, and remaining 'your...' Mine? ... Longing eyes cast in the direction of the library ... resistance to the lure of those diadems... A peasant, anarchist and 'cello player, who reviles me in his heart, because I annoyed him one evening in Venice when he had been playing Bach ... A servant who considers early strawberries too good for me... And yet ... hold on, Diana! Did you not see a huge hand manipulating ships upon the seas? True, the hand was only the hand of Mercury; still, it was the hand of a god... There's no way out of it... I'll have to start afresh..."

She held the little basket lovingly in both her hands, and carried it to her writing-table. Setting it down, she picked out the ripest, and nodded appreciatively as she ate. Gregor's face flashed upon her, and she remembered how they always inverted the order of the breakfast dishes.... She dug her teeth into the fruit, and sucked in her lips. Then she took another. At last squaring her elbows, she wrote:

"Two years ago, this very day, Paula Linke, in answer to an advertisement, stepped through the portals of your office. You read my reports, dear Herr Scherer; then you sent for me, and discovered Diana Wassilko.

"The fact that my eyes happened upon that advertisement, was not due to any skill on your part or on mine. Where you showed your mettle, was in being so quick to discover the merits of a stranger. I have to thank you primarily for all the experience I have gained in your service, in the matter of travel, of things, and of personalities; secondarily I owe my good fortune to a kindly fate.

"Above all what I value in you is the man, the teacher, and the friend. Don't take it amiss that I should leave you at such short notice. You will soon find a substitute. I am in urgent need of a change. The whole earth is open to me. I hope to get everything straight by June 1st, and to hand you over my final reports and accounts.

"Wherever life will take me I shall always look back with pleasure to the days I spent within the white walls of your office, shall never forget your round dining table, and the 'Excelsior.'

"DIANA."

She read the letter through, placed it in an envelope, stretched her hand out for her seal. The telephone bell rang.

"Scherer speaking. Good evening."

"I've just finished a letter to you."

"To me? That's something new! So far I've only received one card."

"Well, what's the news?"

"I've this moment had a telephone message to say that old Prince Heinrich died at four this afternoon. I thought you might be interested...."

CHAPTER NINE

Two telegrams lay on the table: one addressed to Herbert Macdonald, the superintendent of the new wing of the British Museum Reading Room; the other to Professor Dufour of the Institut Physiologique, in Geneva. In both, Diana asked whether she could be allowed to resume the work of previous years. She rang to have the two wires taken to the post. At that moment the house-bell sounded, too; there was an opening and closing of doors, the sound of voices, the rattle of a sword, and then Mary appeared, obviously a prey to inner excitement, to say that Prince Eduard wished to see her. As she announced him, Eduard himself, in his hussar's uniform, appeared on the threshold. Before coming up to where Diana stood, he glanced round, as if to assure himself that Mary had gone. He waited until the old woman had shut the door, and her footsteps had ceased to sound in the passage. By that time, he had mastered his agitation sufficiently to greet Diana with the customary clacking of the heels, and, as he bent to kiss her hand, to address her in conventional tones. She opened her eyes in astonishment at his get-up, and this gave him an excuse for lapsing into the ironical vein.

"I promised you I would come to see you once in more than Spanish grandeur! Do forgive me for this weird kind of dress."

He took off his shako.

"You ought never to dress in anything else!"

Diana was honestly surprised at his comely appearance. For a moment the thought of Klarchen and Egmont was irresistible. She stepped farther away to get a better look at him. He stood her scrutiny for a moment. Then he impulsively seized her by the hands, drew her to the sofa, fell on his knees before her, grappled her to him, felt her all over with his two hands, touched her delicately with trembling finger tips, breathing words rather than speaking them:

"... Diana... I've got you at last... Yes ... it is really you ... your very self... Forgive me... I've been... I've had... Oh these days ... the awful things ... and all the bowings and ceremonial ... no soul. It's not half as ridiculous as I had thought ... far worse ... it is ice ... it is Greenland.... Ah, let me rest, only for five seconds.... Time goes so much quicker than they tell us in the books ... two minutes, and a man is dead ... a motor flies off at a tangent at a bend in the road, a venerable head drops to one side even as the lips are still speaking.... It's all so quick, Diana ... and as one rises from the side of the deathbed, an old gentleman approaches and announces that one is a prisoner for life ... all, all, in twenty short minutes, all in the course of one fortnight, since I left the 'Excelsior' and came ... to ... this ... diadem!"

His head sank in her lap, two strangled sobs forced themselves from him in the overwhelming sense of release. She could only sit there in silence, shaken to the soul, holding the throbbing forehead between her hands.

Slowly he raised his head, took her hands in his, kissed each, one after the other, with great deliberation.

"How warm your silence is. Over there, at home, silence is so cold. The only feeling heart in the whole principality is inside the breast of our old butler."

"Eduard."

"Your curls wave above me, as though they were a life-boat. I catch a glimpse of your ears from time to time, that is the coast ... yes..."

"Aren't you tired of kneeling?"

"No, I'm in heaven. My only dread is that you should want to get up. Diana, I could stay here for ever."

She smiled, lay back among the cushions, and whispered:

"I thought you would kiss me."

In a flash he was on his feet, in another he had flung himself beside her on the couch, folding her in one long embrace from lips to knees. For the first time, those two young bodies, after so many palpitating months, so many moments of inspiration and happiness, felt the contact one with the other, vibrated in unison, full of pleasurable and eager expectancy, in a dream, silently.

After a while he whispered:

"Diana."

"Eduard."

"Are you mine?"

"I love you."

"Will you remain mine?"

"I'm so happy."

"Will you promise..."

"How awfully young you are!"

"Never to leave me?"

"Later."

"No. Now!"

He sprang up, pulled his tunic down, settled his collar, smoothed his hair, and sat by Diana as she lay. His last words had such a resolute ring that Diana felt she could no longer evade the issue. She raised herself on her arm, and smoothed her gown.

"My dear, won't you give me your promise?"

He spoke with the utmost simplicity, wooing her; but she heard in the words the rumble, the menace of distant thunder.

She laid her hand on his:

"Give me time..."

"Five minutes."

She took her hand away, and gazed through him into the void. He got up, stretched out his left arm abruptly, glanced at the watch on his wrist, and said composedly:

"It is now five minutes to six. I'll give you till six," and he kept his gaze fixed on the watch.

Suddenly Diana was beside him, her eyes bright with anger, her lips ready for a wrathful reply. But before the words were uttered she caught sight of the band of crape upon the sleeve of his tunic, and her expression softened, her mood changed, her body drooped; she longed to lean against him, to yield to a wish that she had been combating these many days, to seek support. Her yearning overcame her other scruples; she seemed to see her father before her once again; and, with a gentle and womanly gesture, she took Eduard's arm in her hand and kissed the black token of mourning. He, surprised and profoundly stirred by his victory, took her head in his hands, running his fingers through her curls.

When at last they drew apart, Diana crossed to the table, where the two telegrams still lay, and lifted them questioningly. But Eduard was already at her side, and wrenched them from her. She, taken aback by so autocratic a movement, reciprocated, snatching them back, and placing them under the crystal which served her as paper weight.

"What's all this, if I may ask?"

"Wires."

"Hm. To Scherer?"

"On the contrary—away from Scherer!"

"Meaning?"

"That I am going away."

"Diana!"

"Eduard?"

"It's gone six. Will you follow me?"

"I—don't want to be forced to a decision through compassion for your crape band."

"Time presses!"

"Why?"

"My car is waiting for me at the door, I've come here incognito, must be home by tonight. Tomorrow the court chamberlain administers the oath..."

"What's that to do with me?"

"I shall refuse to take it—unless you—promise..."

They stood confronting one another, the narrow table between them. His voice was thoroughly matter-of-fact, his manner outwardly calm, as he leaned his fists on the flat top of the table. She did not answer, but waited collectedly, her fingers poised on the crystal beneath which, in the form of telegrams, two ways opened before her. Thus they remained, eye to eye, silent, observant. Then, without shifting from her position, Diana asked:

"And if I refuse?"

"Formal abdication. The principality will pass to my cousin."

"What do I care for your cousin!"

"I am quite indifferent, too."

She knew the decisive hour had struck for her. Had she not long foreseen it? But she had no notion yet as to what the issue would be.

"He is waiting," thought Diana, gazing down upon the crystal, "and yet he knows that I never wanton with destiny. He woos, and yet he might well make a gift of a diadem. Shall I lure him from the path in which centuries of tradition have placed his feet? His arm will be around me, his eyes will guard me from fools and courtiers... I have just turned twenty-seven... I feel at least five years older... If one's life must inevitably become entangled with the lives of others, at least I can see to it that mine shall develop along the broadest possible lines... A park will encompass me about, but I need not see the walls...." She looked up. She saw him standing before her. She thought: "Elegant hussar, I will take you without your sacrifice!"

Eduard, never stirring a muscle, watched her as she communed with herself. He did not venture to put his question a third time.

At last she lifted her hand from the crystal, contemplated its inner surface for a moment, and smoothed the spot where the flesh had been slightly crushed by pressure on the cold surface of the stone. Then she looked over at him, her eyes begging for his hand which he slowly unclenched and slid over the smooth table towards her. She let it lie next hers for a while, comparing the lines in both their palms. Then she clasped his hand in hers, looked up at him, neither sorrowfully, nor boldly, but more gravely than he had ever seen her look before.

"Well, let's try!"

CHAPTER TEN

It was nearly eight in the evening, and still bright daylight, when on the fourth of June the closed carriage drove from the station to the Schloss Strasse. The wedding ceremony in Berlin, a civil affair at which Scherer and Tauernheim had acted as witnesses, had taken only ten minutes. Herr von Wassilko's distant attitude made it desirable to postpone a visit to him; Sidney had gone away; there was to be no religious consecration of the marriage; and public mourning for the late prince had been a good excuse for dispensing with a reception at the little palace—a formality which would have loosed a flood of questions of etiquette.

Eduard had wanted to catch the startled burghers when they were still in the initial confusion into which they had been thrown by the double interment, a regency, the death of the old prince, another funeral ceremony which had been attended by the emperor, the accession, and the taking of the coronation oath—a series of events which had given quiet people enough to talk about for a long time to come. When the news leaked out that the new sovereign prince (concerning whom the darkest rumours were already ripe) had made a left-handed marriage to a young woman of whom practically nothing was known, except that she had been the mistress of a count, and so on, and so on, their capacity for excitement had been exhausted, their minds had been saturated with alarms and crises, and they accepted the accomplished fact as one of heaven's decrees. Some even found the news interesting, looked up the record of similar marriages in Becker's Universal History, and noted that the children of morganatic unions had sometimes been granted the right of succession by the emperor and the estates of the realm. According to the latest researches, a crossing of blood was useful, and was certainly preferable to the inroad of strange collaterals into their beloved country.

When, in the end, the news was generally accepted as true, people found it impossible to stay at home. Though music and banners were out of the question because of the public mourning, and though it was late in the evening, as if by common consent they had decided to celebrate the occasion by sporting their new summer clothes which at so sad a Whitsuntide would otherwise have been left in wardrobes and drawers.

Amid multifarious duties, Eduard had found time to look forward in particular to this one evening. Accustomed as he had been, for a long time now, to think of Diana in situations in which he was used to seeing other women and chiefly women of his own order, and to watch her adapting herself to all aspects of reality—he now perceived in her restrained but free demeanour a confirmation of his premonitions. Thus it had been when the old minister of State had been introduced to her; again, at the wedding; again, when she had said good-bye to Scherer; again, when the station master had paid his respects; again, on getting into the carriage. Consequently, when they were driving to the palace he could talk to her as easily as if she had been to the manner born.

"Look, Diana," he said. "They are wearing tall hats, although it is late in the evening. Highly respectable people, ours!"

"Why are they all standing on one side of the street?"

"Because they thought you'd be sitting on my left."

Diana laughed behind her black veil, but so tonelessly that he was alarmed when he remembered how frank was her usual laughter, realizing that a constraint was for the first time imposing itself on her. To mask his embarrassment, he said:

"Houses pretty low, aren't they? Better than tall barracks!"

"And healthier," she rejoined.

"Do you find the cobbles very rough to drive over?"

"Not a bit."

"Schloss Strasse is going to be repaired soon."

"That will be a good thing."

"It has an excellent bridle path along the side."

"Is that so? Where does it go to?"

"Pretty farmsteads, good farmers, fresh milk."

"How lovely," she said, while thinking to herself: "He is the best of men, and I am driving straight into the blue of heaven."

"She is tired," mused he; "or sad. I wonder if a glass of champagne would do her good when we get in?"

"If only I could be vouchsafed a sign," thought Diana, as she sighted the castle tower.

Now, when the carriage made an unexpected turn, and a wide space in front of the castle opened into view, the sun, close to the horizon, dipped behind a small, thick cloud, lighting up its irregular edge with as much power as at high noon. Diana's heart beat furiously, but Eduard did not see what she was looking at, for his own gaze was fixed on the gates, to see if all his directions had been carried out.

Two servants, the minimum number allowed by court etiquette, were standing on the threshold; and in other respects, likewise, he had had the standard of reception kept down to that proper to a country mansion. On the first floor he led Diana into a little suite of panelled rooms. They were quite unpretentious, and yet Diana felt that he had chosen every curtain, every chair, every vase, expressly for her. She went over to the bay window, looked out into the open, and began to talk to the ancient walnut tree which towered up to the third story.

"How it rustles," she said in a low tone, turning to him.

"It is welcoming you," he answered.

"How many generations has it greeted already?"

"Three, or perhaps four."

"Are we the fifth? Five is a lucky number."

She sat down on the deep window seat in the bay, and, as she motioned him to her side, he saw her smile for the first time in her reflective way.

He seized her hand.

"Are you sad?"

"A little."

"Are you tired?"

"Not very."

"Are you ready for your dinner?"

"Yes."

He rang, and to the servant who answered, he said:

"The countess wishes to have dinner served."

"Very good, Your Highness."

The formality and baldness of these few words, the mechanical appearance and disappearance of the lackey, had all at once revived Diana's spirits. Sportively, as he turned back towards her, she flung her arms round his neck and exclaimed:

"Oh you! That was much older than the walnut tree. It dated from the Thirty Years' War!"

He was a trifle astonished, having given the order quite mechanically; but he was glad that the tension had been relieved. He said:

"Are you going to dress for dinner?"

"Very good, Your Highness!"

They dined at a small round table, waited on by two footmen who discreetly watched their prince's young wife in her low-cut dress with its crape edging, and noted that her short curls escaped from the mourning bonnet prescribed by custom. Diana and Eduard, meanwhile, refreshed by food and good wine, and enlivened by the conversation they had carried on in French, had recovered their natural gaiety. Having led her back to her boudoir, he said:

"Would your ladyship rather smoke her cigarette on deck?"

"Don't you think it rather too windy tonight, Prince?"

"North-west, eleven knots, we'll have to take in a reef!"

"And Giorgino?"

"Dr. Sergievitch must climb into the rigging."

The name had been spoken. As they sat opposite one another in the wide, tapestried chairs, Eduard saw a shade flit across her face, as if rising from her heart. But now he felt sure of himself, sitting under his forefathers' roof, with his ring on Diana's finger. Taking the bull by the horns, he said:

"With regard to Sergievitch, I have made sure of him for us."

"Us?" Diana gripped the arm of her chair.

"I mean, for this little country of mine."

"In what way?"

"I wrote to him before my father's death to ask whether he would be willing to attend to the much neglected matter of working-class welfare in this part of the world. He is an expert, took his degree in kindred topics, and would long since have been called to a professional chair in Leipzig or elsewhere had he not been a Russian. Since he is a foreigner, I shall have to make him accessory to our little ministry. Nominally he'll be librarian, though of course we have one or two learned men of our own to attend to that work. Does the idea please you?"

She smiled.

"What have I got to do with the matter?"

"Everything, Diana," he said gravely.

Standing up, he moved to lay his hand on her head. The bonnet was in his way, and he gently removed it.

"When did you write to him?"

"Some time during the week between my arrival and my father's death. Why do you ask?"

She thought: "The Russian kept that to himself when we met outside the jeweller's. Why? And why should Eduard single out this man in particular?"

She said:

"Eduard?"

"How pale you are."

"Why did you summon this Russian?"

Removing his hand from, her head, he strode twice up and down the room, and then, stopping short in front of her, said uneasily:

"Why? Not for the sake of welfare work or a library. We travelled to Vienna in the night train, and were arguing the whole time, as usual. I wanted to make sure that this explosive material would be safely housed. A hygienic precaution. The fellow incorporates the future, and we—we want to make the impossible possible, here, in Germany, the first, the only ones: you, and I!"

"Do you want a revolution?" she asked quietly.

"If I did, I should have renounced you, and should not have worried you today by putting that ring on your finger. What I want is that the call of the dissatisfied should always sound in my ears. While we are modernizing ourselves here, I want to go on hearing the voice which says: 'All that, so far, has achieved nothing!' Sergievitch represents the spire of a Gothic cathedral...."

While he still contemplated in imagination the figure of the handsome Russian, he turned the new ring round and round on his finger. Diana, standing up, said resolutely:

"You are young, and I, too, am still young! We will build a great work and make a splendid road! Whomsoever we need, we will swallow without winking, were it even a bomb-thrower!"

She stood in front of him, the brown eyes flashing into his blue ones. A wave of perfect happiness flowed through his taut frame. His eyes were fixed on the young woman who, after long hesitation, was at length to become his; he took note of the black trimming on her gown. Slowly stretching out his hand to her breast, he unfastened her brooch, she raised her arms a little, laughing at this sport of love. In the same deliberate way, he removed the sign of mourning from her shoulders, a double veil, which he dropped to the floor behind her. He looked at her, his lips trembling slightly. Then, precipitately, he clasped her in his arms.

THE END