The Game and the Candle

"Come in, Officer," Stanief invited pleasantly.

"Yes, sir," answered an embarrassed voice, a voice which for months had represented autocracy for Allard. "We just want to report a complete search, sir. I'm sorry to trouble."

Stanief lighted a cigar, letting the man slowly take in the scene. The gorgeous, velvet-draped salon, the last course of the dinner, the serene "distinguished visitor,"—there was no clue here. And certainly there was nothing to suggest a desperate convict in the gentleman in evening dress whose back was to the door, and who stirred his café noir so indifferently.

"Why did you fancy he came to the yacht?" Stanief inquired.

"Oh, excuse me, sir; it was only one chance. We thought he might have got to the river and swam for here. You see, it would be pretty hard to get out the other way in his clothes."

Allard raised his head impulsively.

"Why," he began, then remembered the punctilious Vasili and checked himself. "I beg pardon, your Royal Highness."

A gleam of amusement flickered across Stanief's black eyes at the quickly-learned etiquette.

"Faîtes, my dear John," he granted, waiving the point.

"It occurred to me that your Royal Highness had ordered a rain coat to be left on the bench by the rear door, and when we returned it was not there. Could it be possible—"

"That it was stolen?" caught up Stanief, grasping the audacity of the idea. "Undoubtedly so. I fancied my order neglected and intended rebuking the one responsible. Officer, behold your clue: a hatless man in an English rain coat."

The phrase captivated the man's dull imagination.

"A hatless man in an English rain coat," he echoed, fascinated. "Yes, sir, thank you, sir. We will telegraph all around. If I may go, sir—"

"You are quite certain he is not aboard? I do not wish to carry any dangerous stowaways, and we sail at once."

"Quite sure, sir. I must waste no more time."

"Good night, then. I imagine you will have no more trouble with that prisoner."

"Oh, no, sir," not understanding the double meaning. "Not after this. A hatless man in an English rain coat! Good night, sir."

"Marzio," said Stanief, when the door closed, "you may bring some cognac, and leave us. No one enters."

Voices on deck, hurrying feet, and presently the retreating throb of a little engine.

"Drink your cognac, Monsieur John."

"Thank you."

"Bah, your nerves are superb, but they pay beneath your stillness. Drink; I warn you that I have the habit of domination."

Allard drank.

THE BOND

The habit of domination Stanief assuredly had, however gracefully it were disguised. Nor was Allard, bruised with conflict, exhausted, dazed, in the mood to resist. He desired feverishly to speak; to tell his story and let Stanief, fully informed, decide whether the aid already given was to be continued further. The idea of a deception, a false belief in an injustice suffered by him, was intolerable. But Stanief smilingly imposed silence, and he yielded passively.

The cigars burned out slowly, the tumult on shore died away. A quivering vibration awoke to delicate life the yacht. Stanief smoked or played with his coffee-cup, his heavy double fringe of lashes brushing his cheek; Allard leaned back in his chair, less in reverie than in utter exhaustion.

Exactly as the bells rang the hour came the metallic clank of anchor chains. The yacht shuddered under the screw, the glass and china tinkled faintly, then all settled into regularity as the engines fell into their gait and the beautiful boat moved down the river.

"And Vasili is out there in poignant distress because he can not come in 'to have the honor to report that we sail,'" remarked Stanief, breaking the long pause. "It was daringly conceived, Monsieur John, but were you not a trifle imprudent in speaking before that brilliant visitor of ours? Your voice?"

Allard aroused himself abruptly.

"Our speech back there was confined to monosyllables," he answered. "No, your Royal Highness, I think there was no risk."

Stanief did not deprecate the title, perhaps unnoting, perhaps willing to let the other learn.

"We are on the high seas, and quite free from listeners," he said composedly. "I ask no questions, demand nothing of you, but if you indeed wish to speak of the closed episode, Monsieur John, I am ready. After to-night we shall have other things to occupy us."

Allard leaned forward eagerly, his clear gray eyes baring to the other man all their tragedy and compelling truth.

"I want you to know, it is your right to know," he answered, with a very fierceness of pride and sorrow. "I am going to place in your power more than you have given me to-day. Hand me to those who hunt me, give me the pistol promised and the word to use it, but keep my confidence. Forgive me, I am not distrustful, only trying to show what I mean."

"I understand."

Allard looked down at the polished surface of the table, his pallor deepening if possible, then suddenly brought his eyes back to Stanief's and began to speak.

It was a very quiet story, very quietly told. It had never occurred to the Anglo-Saxon Allard to idealize his course into heroism; even mistaken heroism. Rather, he had learned to see more clearly, to condemn himself, during those long, bitter months. He bore no resentment for the punishment inflicted; simply it seemed to him that he had paid enough. Over the weeks of suffering in the hospital, the bitterness of the public trial with its torturing dread of recognition, he passed in a few brief words. Of Theodora he spoke only as his cousin and as Robert's betrothed; yet dimly he felt that the mute Stanief was reading all he left untold.

"There was no other way," he concluded, and the phrase was the key-note to all. "Undoubtedly it was the wrong way, but there was no other I could find, and I had to take care of them."

So far he had spoken of those he loved merely by their relationship. It was the final trust that Stanief asked by his next question:

"Will you tell me your name?"

And Allard laid his heart in the other's hand.

"John Leslie Allard," he answered.

There was an instant's pause. Stanief folded his arms on the table and spoke in his turn with no less quiet sincerity.

"Of the ethics of what you have told me, Monsieur Allard, I am perhaps not a good judge. I come from one of the world's greatest countries, where from sovereign to peasant necessity is an excuse for all things. I have seen the highest officials of the state stoop to accept systematic bribery; I have seen nobles whose blood was filtered unmixed through centuries, tricking one another and the Emperor who trusted them; I have seen the commanders of the army selling for private gain the supplies which stood between their soldiers and starvation. In what you have done I confess to realizing nothing but incredible courage and self-sacrifice, possibly misdirected. But the result has been to leave you alone, as I stand alone in a different sense, so placing a bond between us. There is no one in my world to whom I could give the trust I offer you. Offer merely: I have done for you no more than you did in warning me against Dancla to-day, and you owe me nothing. You are absolutely free; will you cast your fortune with me, or shall I set you down in some one of the European ports at which we shall touch?"

Allard bent forward to lay his hand in the one so frankly extended. He remembered Stanief's name now, and remembering, comprehended many things.

"I have no one, nothing," he answered earnestly. "The purpose for which I gave all is accomplished and laid aside. Your Royal Highness, if you will let me serve you, take your purpose for my goal, your life for my empty existence, I will give you all I can."

Stanief's firm clasp closed.

"Agreed. Soit que soit."

And Allard repeated the promise as seriously:

"Be what may."

The whistle of a passing tug, laboring through the mists toward Haverstraw with its train of scows, drew the corresponding blare of the yacht's siren. Involuntarily Allard started, his over-strained nerves shrinking. Stanief smiled.

"Let Rome howl, John, I may call you John, since we commenced so? Indeed I must, after giving you that name in public. You are mine now, and all America can not take you. Rest so far; it is one of our old sayings at home: 'A Stanief guards his own!'"

His own! The long loneliness snatched the phrase greedily; worn out, Allard submitted to protection without resentment. A student of men, Stanief's eyes smiled behind their lashes as he continued more lightly:

"But now for details. You take the place of my secretary, whom I dismissed this afternoon and saw on board a train for Albany, very much against his will and very badly frightened. I have ordered his rooms prepared for you. His things are there, and I imagine you will probably find some of them you can use until your own arrive in the morning. I will send Petro to you; his ideas are confined to doing as he is told, and I shall tell him that my invitation left you no time for packing. Of course you will resume your own name."

Allard drew back aghast at such a proposition.

"My own name—"

"Why not?" Stanief demanded. "Could anything be more safe? Masquerades are always dangerous and to be avoided. John Allard's unquestioned history, his journey abroad from which he reappears as my secretary, defy all investigation, where an assumed name and past could only arouse doubt. If you were challenged now as the escaped prisoner, your safest course would be to give indignantly your own name, proving it by your Californian connections and by me. John Allard has stepped back upon his stage. Write to your brother, if you choose; pick up your old friendships. The last three years simply do not exist for you; knot the past and the future together and let the marred strand go."

The logic was unanswerable; with a quivering breath Allard took back all he had resigned for ever.

"You are right," he yielded, and bent his head to hide what flashed on his lashes.

Stanief touched the bell and rose.

"You are tired, and I have much to arrange. No doubt," the dark eyes were amusedly expressive, "Monsieur Allard is familiar enough with yachting not to be bored to-morrow. You will find Vasili a cheerful companion, Rosal also. Marzio, show monsieur his rooms and send me Petro. And tell Captain Delsar that I shall have pleasure in receiving him. Good night, John."

"Good night, your Royal Highness," was Allard's reply, but his straight eloquent glance carried its message to the other's heart.

Alone at last in the coquettish suite set apart for him—the jewel-box luxury of the yacht here manifested in azure and silver daintiness—the great reaction seized Allard. So few hours since, he was Leroy; it was hard to grasp this reality. He was weary to exhaustion, but something very near fever drove him to the round window which swung back at his touch and let the wet sweet air rush in. Leaning there, the very chaos of his thoughts left physical torpor.

Petro aroused him an hour later—and still with that curious passivity Allard allowed himself to be cared for, measured, respectfully consulted. He even found himself ordering the old dishes for breakfast, specifying the old hour of service. And with the once familiar comfort came more restfulness.

Much later he came a second time to the round window and opened it to the rain and darkness. The April wind passed chill fingers among the boyish curls still warm from the bath, the tiny cold drops sprinkled the throat from which the departed Dancla's silken dressing-gown fell back, but Allard felt nothing. And suddenly his head sank on his arm.

"Desmond," he breathed, "I can forgive you, now. Can you hear out there, Desmond?"

The yacht slipped on through the mist, monotonously, steadily.

THE NEW DAY

The morning sunlight penetrated the room riotously, merrily defying the azure silk and lace muffling the windows, glinting in every polished surface and running golden-footed from point to point. Lying tranquilly among his pillows, Allard watched the man busied in folding and laying away a multitudinous array of garments, placing gloves and handkerchiefs in drawers and arranging toilet articles.

"You are not Petro," Allard remarked finally.

The man started and turned.

"No, monsieur. With monsieur's permission, I am Vladimir. His Royal Highness said that as monsieur had not yet engaged a valet for the voyage, perhaps I might be accepted. I would be very glad to serve monsieur."

"Very well," Allard assented. Stanief was not to be contradicted, but certainly embarrassment seemed unavoidable in view of an absent wardrobe. Dancla had been of a decidedly different figure from his successor. "What time is it?"

"Nearly ten o'clock, monsieur," and he approached and kissed the hand outside the coverlet before the surprised American could object. "Every thanks, monsieur; I am monsieur's devoted servant. It pleases monsieur to rise?"

"I—suppose so. The yacht has stopped."

"Yes, monsieur. We are anchored before the great city, New York, since many hours."

Allard had yet to learn his Stanief; the time was to come, when to know an affair in his charge was to abandon anxiety concerning it. The question of the wardrobe was embarrassing only from its overwhelming answer. Never even in the other days had Allard, naturally simple in tastes, provided himself with the lavish and sybaritic completeness he found awaiting him now. No detail was forgotten; the very toilet-table bore its shining array, each dainty article carrying the correct monogram, J. L. A. Marveling, Allard pictured what it meant to have produced this in one night; and vaguely realized that there must be a deeper object than mere consideration for his comfort, behind all this unnecessary elaboration.

Breakfast was served in his own miniature salon.

"His Royal Highness is awake?" he inquired.

"Monsieur, his Royal Highness went ashore an hour ago, to pay farewell visits of ceremony."

They were to sail soon, then. Allard's pulses quickened with relief at the prospect. Remembering Stanief's expressive injunction to show himself at ease and make friends with his new companions, he resolved to go on deck. But before the white and silver writing-desk he lingered wistfully.

"You can mail a letter for me, Vladimir?"

"Certainly, monsieur."

The letter must be convincing, and not dangerous in the wrong hands. With a tenderness that was almost pain he recalled the last signed letter to his brother, written on that final night at home, while Robert sat by with hidden eyes. A letter he had headed South America, the date blank, to be used as explanation to Theodora and her mother if the crash came and he disappeared for years.

The thick cream-tinted paper was convincing in itself, bearing in gilt letters the name of the yacht, Nadeja.

My Dear Old Robert:

I have just returned from the South, and of course intended to come straight home. But I met H. R. H. the Grand Duke Feodor Stanief, who has been visiting the United States, and he is taking me with him as his secretary. I owe him more than I can tell, or you guess, Bertie; and this service is a service of love. I will write again; you know there was no opportunity where I have been.

Give my love to Aunt Rose and Theo—is she quite my sister by this time?

Very happily and lovingly, my brother,

Your brother,

John Allard.

Like a girl he touched the letter to his lips before putting it in the envelop. Robert would watch the eastern newspapers, he knew, and couple the two stories together.

The lower Hudson was swept by a strong salt wind when Allard reached the deck, green and white waves running under the bright sunshine and lashed to swirling froth by the innumerable boats plowing back and forth. On the yacht everything was activity and preparation, all sound overborne by the crash of loading coal. The busy Captain Delsar left his affairs and came to greet the guest punctiliously, if hurriedly.

"We sail this morning," he explained, "and you will understand all that involves for me, monsieur."

Allard responded cordially; it was so wonderful, so beautiful, just to meet other men again and be himself. And presently Lieutenant Vasili came to add his cheerful greeting and lead the way to the forward deck, where wicker chairs and small tables stood under a gay scarlet awning.

"His Royal Highness told me this morning to amuse you, if I could," he declared. "Indeed, I think he left me behind for that purpose, Monsieur John."

"Allard," the other corrected pleasantly. "I am infinitely obliged to his Royal Highness, then, I am sure."

"A thousand pardons; I misunderstood your name last night."

"Not exactly, his Royal Highness calls me John, my Christian name."

Vasili's eyes opened and he regarded his companion with marked respect.

"He told me he had known you a long time," he assented, "and that you had been ill. The voyage across will tone you up—if you are a good sailor—before we reach home."

"I am a good sailor," Allard affirmed, rather astonished at Stanief's account of his health. He had no idea of the extreme delicacy of his own appearance, of how those years of torture had left him worn and colorless.

Vasili tilted his chair against the rail and smiled engagingly.

"For my part I am always happiest at sea," he confided. "Not that I am concerned with political affairs—pas si bête; I leave that for wiser heads. But still one is never secure in a country like ours. I walk straight ahead without asking questions, and hope the Grand Duke sees I am doing no more; nevertheless, one is more comfortable at sea. Ah, this America is a restful place! No intrigues, no rivals, no salt-mines in the background."

"A delightful picture you are painting for me," suggested Allard laughingly.

"Oh, you are the friend of his Royal Highness, monsieur. Moreover, every one believes an American or an Englishman when he declares himself with one party; it is only each other whom we always suspect. Tiens, the little white boat!"

The little white boat in question was one of the city police launches, and Allard's hand closed sharply on the arm of his chair as the officer in charge hailed the yacht, signifying his intention of coming on board. Captain Delsar went down to receive the visitors, not without visible impatience at the interruption.

"Come," exclaimed the diverted Vasili, after watching the colloquy for a few moments, during which several of the yacht's officers joined their chief. "If it is droll!"

"What is it?"

"Why, of course we all speak French—as does every one at home except peasants—but since Dancla went only the Grand Duke is left who speaks English. And evidently our guests have no French."

Allard surveyed the group, and glanced up at the gorgeous flag fluttering in the breeze and casting its shadow over him. Foreign ground, Stanief had called this.

"I might play interpreter," he offered slowly.

"Surely! Am I dull not to think of that? Shall we go?"

The mutually exasperated group paused to look at the pair coming down the deck toward them, Vasili in his gold-laced uniform and the gentleman in yachting flannels.

"Monsieur Allard, if you will indeed assist us!" welcomed the captain gratefully. "Consider that we sail in an hour, and the moments are going. His Royal Highness does not accept an excuse instead of a result."

"Delighted," Allard responded, nodding an acknowledgment of the sergeant's equally relieved salute. "Officer, can I translate for you? His Royal Highness is not on board, but I am his secretary—"

Oh, Stanief was very thorough! The cards Vladimir had presented were waiting for their owner to use on the occasion.

"You are very kind, Mr. Allard," said the deferential officer, reading the square of pasteboard. "You see, we received a telephone call from up the river at Peekskill, asking us to get a better description of the clothes that were stolen by an escaping convict. They've picked up a coat, but it looks rather different from what would be expected. In fact, there was a man inside of it; but he says he lost his hat in the wind, and they haven't yet got the prison people to identify him."

It was so long since Allard had really laughed that he startled himself, but the humor of the situation was too much.

"I think you want to see the Grand Duke's valet," he explained, and translated for the others.

Petro was hurriedly sent for, and the fuming captain left the affair in charge of the two young men.

"Poor wretch; hope he gives them a run," commented Vasili. "Last year, at home, I had to ride second-class on a crowded train. In the compartment was just such a case as this man's,—convict being taken back to a fortress. We rode ten miles, twenty; suddenly he spoke to me as naturally as possible. 'You know what I'm going to; give me a cigar,' he said, just like that. I gave his guards a ruble, gave him a cigar, and went on reading my Figaro. Before we reached the next station, just over a deep ravine, he flung himself right through the door and down. Always felt glad I gave him the cigar."

There was a curious unreality in the scene for one of the actors, as he leaned listening against the rail in the warm April sunshine, Vasili chatting gaily by his side and the imperturbable policeman opposite. But he answered the little lieutenant's last sentence with a very sympathetic glance of comprehension.

Petro appeared presently, and Allard gravely repeated a description of the famous rain coat, giving the name of the English firm that had made it.

"Thank you, sir," said the satisfied officer, snapping shut his note-book. "Much obliged. You've no objection if your name gets to the papers, sir?"

Allard thought of Robert.

"Why, no, none at all. But I have done nothing."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"And now?" queried Vasili. "Shall we go back and chat, or first go over the yacht? Unless you know it already, of course; I forget you are an old friend of his Royal Highness."

"Let us go over the yacht, if you will," Allard evaded, not at all certain of what Stanief might please to assert. He sighed relievedly, hearing the puff of the launch below. "We can rest afterward."

Vasili contemplated him reflectively, inwardly deciding that Stanief's American must have been very ill indeed to be so easily tired. But he led the way below, charmed with the new companionship, and they wandered together over the costly floating toy.

They ended in the general salon, and Allard's long-starved eyes went eagerly to the magazines and newspapers littering the table.

"Pleasant place," assented Vasili to the expression, dropping into an easy-chair. "And you will usually find some of us here. Of course, Count Rosal is ashore now with the Grand Duke, but he will be enchanted to learn that you are going with us. These voyages nearly kill him with ennui. He likes fast horses and fast motorcars, and the Théâtre Français."

"Then why does he come?" Allard inquired interestedly.

"Why? There is a question! Because he is the Grand Duke's aide, because he wants to win favor with the man who will rule the country by the time we reach it."

"Why, the Emperor—"

Vasili raised one eyebrow significantly.

"Of course, if you do not want to talk," in slightly injured tones. "But every one knows that the Emperor is dying."

Allard summoned his recollections of affairs European, doubtfully allowing for the gap of more than two years.

"The Grand Duke Feodor is the Emperor's nephew, not his son," he objected.

"Oh, he will only be regent, certainly," was the dry reply. "Never mind; I told you I understood nothing of politics."

Allard opened his lips to avow equal ignorance, then closed them. He had no idea of the rôle Stanief designed for him, or of what he was supposed to know. He moved to the table, instead of answering, and let his gaze devour the topmost paper of the pile. Vasili watched him, deeply impressed by the reticence and a little anxious as to his own frankness. When Allard again turned to him, the lieutenant welcomed the amity with relief and joyously accepted the suggestion of return to the deck.

The morning wore on quietly. The preparations for sailing were completed; the yacht poised restlessly like a snowy bird on the point of flight. Allard no less quivered with the restless desire for departure, the thirst for the peace which would come with absolute security. Lying in his chair, regarding the teeming river shut in on either side by the two great cities and feeling all alike hostile toward him, he clung almost superstitiously to the phrase of the night before:

"A Stanief guards his own."

And not all content with bare liberty, he treasured the being no longer an outlaw; he had learned the old primitive ache of the "masterless man."

Near noon a tiny boat darted from shore. The captain hurried to the head of the miniature stairway; Vasili uttered a hasty excuse and also went in that direction. Allard hesitated, in some doubt before this new etiquette, then judged by the others' attitude and remained where he was.

As Stanief stepped on the deck, another gorgeous flag rose majestically into place and unfolded its emblazoned notice of his presence. His drowsy black eyes swept over the scene comprehensively, then he gave a brief order to the captain and crossed directly to Allard. And Allard, rising to receive him, suddenly felt his heart quicken with a strange, familiar violence. "We Allards love more than other people," Robert had said. This was what he was giving Stanief, he realized with something like dismay,—that passion of fierce un-English intensity which considered nothing and made him its plaything. He had not meant to care like that again—

"Good morning, John," said the cool, faintly imperious voice; the warmly dark eyes met his.

Sighing, Allard yielded up the last resistance and gave his all.

"Your Royal Highness—" he murmured, and hated himself for the unsteadiness of his tone.

Stanief sank into a chair and waved him to the one opposite.

"We are going to sail at once," he announced. "We will watch our progress out of the harbor and then have lunch. You have passed an agreeable morning?"

"Yes—no," answered Allard incoherently, taken by surprise. "That is, everything is right now."

Interpreting for himself, Stanief smiled.

"Tell me about it," he suggested.

The ringing of anchor chains ceased, the little launch again swung in its davits. The yacht shuddered, moved. Vasili came up and saluted rigidly.

"I have the honor to report that we sail."

Stanief rested his dark head against the chair-back and met the brilliant gray eyes with the sweet serenity of his own.

"THE KING IS DEAD—LONG LIVE THE KING"

The ennuied Count Rosal lunched with them,—a sallow, fatigued young patrician who wore a pince-nez. He obviously was much pleased by the American, and inquired anxiously whether he ever motored. Receiving an affirmative reply, he invited him, with an actual approach to enthusiasm, to try a new French car as soon as they landed.

Allard accepted willingly, even gaily; a little of his color had revived with the ocean wind, some fine elixir had mounted through his veins as the yacht drew from the arms of the harbor and danced out over the long Atlantic swell.

After luncheon Stanief dismissed the third member of their party with that nonchalant grace of his.

"Did you write any letters this morning?" he asked, when the salon had settled into its usual repose.

"One; to my brother."

"Good; every one writes letters—an excellent thing to do. I gave your name to an avid-eyed band of reporters, as one of those sailing with me. You will be a person of some importance in the tangled affairs to which I am taking you; it is just as well to prepare."

"I have no desire to be curious," Allard began tentatively.

"But you naturally would like to know what is happening. Indeed, it is necessary that you know." He paused an instant. "Do you recall what I said to you last night of my country, of its intrigue and wrong and lack of faith?"

"Yes."

The shadows deepened across the fine dark face. Watching Stanief, it seemed to Allard as if the rose-hued salon lost a little of its brightness also, as if both man and room remembered hours not happy.

"All my life I have walked in the shadow of one man's hate," Stanief said quietly. "I have known it watching greedily for my least indiscretion, heard its wild-beast breathing as it crouched beside me in the dark, stepped cautiously to avoid the snares it spread for me. Unable to touch me openly unless I myself stooped from inherited safety, my enemy has employed every secret artifice to lure me into reach, every petty goad to sting me to a moment's forgetfulness. I never have taken a friend, conscious that one would be forced to betrayal if not already planning it. I learned long ago that the bright-eyed, fragile ladies of the court were not for me to trust. Living in the center of a dazzling pageant, the focus of a dazzling hate, I have had just one hope to carry with me. Not a pleasant hope, but it is about to be fulfilled. My enemy is dying."

"The Emperor—"

"Exactly."

Allard remained silent, understanding Vasili better now. Stanief rose and walked to the window, gazing out over the tumbling field of water. When he returned it was with a touch of scarlet burning in his clear cheek.

"Before I started on this voyage, taken at his command," he said, "I bade farewell to my imperial uncle. Ill, grimly and helplessly conscious of the ultimate end, he looked up from his pillows at me. 'Your day is coming,' he declared. 'I know how long your regency will last, how completely my son will be left your toy and victim. But I shall wait on the threshold of the next world, Feodor Stanief, until you come and I see your punishment. Now go.' It was the confession of failure, the laying down of the cards, the first frankness between us."

The two men looked at each other.

"I am probably Regent now," Stanief added.

Allard's eyes did not leave the other's; no doubt clouded the unwavering confidence of his regard.

"'A Stanief guards his own'," he quoted. "If I were the little prince, I should have no fear, monseigneur."

Stanief lifted his head, the sunlight flashed back to the room before his expression.

"Thank you," he answered proudly. "And from emperor to peasant I could find no one else to grant me so much."

"But—I do not understand."

"Then you have not read our history."

Allard turned to the gates of memory, and gazing down dim vistas at many a vague crime and ambitious treachery, remained silent.

"My cousin Adrian," Stanief resumed, after a moment in which he also looked across the past, "by this time perhaps my Emperor Adrian is fourteen years old. Not until he is seventeen can he be crowned and take the government in his own grasp; that is, the country is absolutely ruled by me for the next three years. By me; but those years will be a splendid warfare, a struggle muffled in cloth-of-gold, a ceaseless vigil beside which my old life was peace. The country is divided into two great parties: those who wish me to take the crown, and from whom I must protect Adrian; those who wish to rid themselves of me and govern as they choose through the child-emperor. Remember that neither faction believes I shall ever permit my cousin to take the Empire from me. Loyalty, honor, justice,—those are pretty, extinct phrases of chivalry to their minds."

Allard made a movement of protest.

"Surely not so bad, surely not nowadays," he objected incredulously.

"Our country is still medieval," Stanief retorted. "I tell you not one-half the fact. But, I make no pose of virtue and perhaps I am merely obstinately resolved not to do what is expected of me, but I will carry this through and crown my cousin on his seventeenth birthday, if I live."

His voice hardened into steel, his velvet eyes flashed through their curtaining lashes. Allard rose impulsively and held out his hand.

"'Soit que soit,' we said last night," he cried. "Let me aid; stand or fall."

"A desperate cause," warned Stanief, keeping the hand in his firm clasp. "For day and night my enemies will pour their poison into Adrian's ears; Adrian, whose father must already have taught him distrust and dread of me. It may very well be that when I resign the absolute power to the young Emperor, he himself will first use it to crush me."

"Impossible! And if it be so, at least we shall have fought the good fight."

"Then open the lists to Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. We will live our own way for these three years, and abide the decision."

There was no question of etiquette between the two who stood together, with laughter glancing across the surface of an earnestness too deep for speech. Allard had no way of divining that the Stanief he knew did not exist for any one else; that the reserve of a lifetime was broken in their friendship.

They sat down again, presently.

"Long ago, when Adrian was very much younger, I used to see him more intimately," Stanief mused rather sadly. "Then I never considered a regency, believing the Emperor would live until his son could take his place. I was weary even then of the constant strife and suspicion; I longed to make a friend of my small cousin and some day find calm under his rule. But the Emperor interfered, and we have seen each other only formally since. Now comes your part, John. I shall place you in Adrian's suite as his personal attendant. I want you to do what I can not; to guard him from hour to hour, as far as possible, from my self-styled friends and his enemies. He will like you,—you have that gift."

"Gift?" Allard puzzled.

"The gift of being liked. And being an American, you will escape much of the jealousy which would attach to one who could demand more. It is absolutely necessary for me to have some one near my cousin whom I can trust implicitly."

"I will do anything you wish," he answered simply. "Your purpose—let me serve it also. Only I will have to ask you to teach me a bit; I am afraid my ideas of the most formal court in Europe—"

"I shall teach you nothing whatever," Stanief declared, with his sudden smile. "Let the imperial Adrian have that amusement. Do not forget what I have implied to those you meet here: that you are merely my secretary as a whim, and are in reality my friend. You understand?"

Allard did understand,—the elaborate luxury with which he had been surrounded, the deference of even Count Rosal, the caution of Vasili.

"I would rather stay with you than be a child's plaything," he said wistfully. "But it is all right."

Stanief regarded him for an instant, then reached for a cigarette.

"You will be with me. But if you have any idea that Adrian is like a child, wait," he observed dryly. "And now let us enjoy the voyage, since it is our last quiet period for several years."

Before Allard could reply, an agitated knock fell on the door and Marzio admitted the pale and breathless Rosal.

"Well?" Stanief questioned, instinctively rising.

Allard rose with him, and standing they received the message.

"I regret to report, by wireless from New York, the death of his Imperial Majesty the Emperor, at noon to-day."

A brief hush, then Rosal again in nervous conclusion:

"His Imperial Majesty the Emperor Adrian requests the return of your Royal Highness to the capital."

ALLEGIANCE

"Check. You are losing your game, my John."

Allard laughed in frank admission,—a tanned, bright-eyed Allard after the long voyage.

"I am stupid to-night, monseigneur. It is difficult to sit here and play chess when we are anchored at last before our goal, the city of excitements. One has the feeling that one should go ashore at once."

"When one arrives in a port near midnight, one does not arrive officially until next morning. Since my first act must be to go direct to the palace, you will comprehend that the hour is unfortunate."

"Yes. Although every one must know."

"Certainly. The approach of the Nadeja was undoubtedly signified to the Emperor hours ago. Play, play; to-morrow will come without our aid."

Allard moved a piece at random.

"I am not the only one impatient," he defended. "Count Rosal and Vasili spent the evening hanging over the rail toward the lights of the city, and telling me all we would do, from seeing Mademoiselle Liline dance to trying that new automobile. They went to bed at last from sheer exasperation."

"They do not have to stay awake to amuse his Royal Highness."

"Oh, I could not sleep, monseigneur. But I play bad chess."

Stanief shot a glance at him; perhaps he himself could have confessed a similar inability, if he had chosen, in spite of his indolent impassivity.

"You assuredly do," he agreed. "Checkmate. Set up the board again and avenge yourself."

The lap of the calm water against the ship's side marked the rising of the tide; the roar and hum of the huge city came strangely after ocean silences. On the river's bank a girl was singing a minor, half-Gipsy air which penetrated at intervals, almost as if with timidity, into the rose-and-gold salon. Allard gathered his straying thoughts together and compelled his attention to the game. They are changing the watch on deck, he reflected absently; he heard the movement and agitation.

For any one to disturb Stanief unsummoned was rare; for the door to be opened like this, without permission, was unprecedented. But Marzio offered no excuse as he held aside the heavy portière. Stanief lifted his eyes languidly, then sprang to his feet with an abruptness that sent the chessmen rattling over the floor. Allard, startled, rose also and turned, to draw back mechanically into the shadow and leave host and guest face to face. Marzio dropped the curtain, closing the door softly as he went out.

The slight, rather frail boy clad in deep mourning was not unlike Stanief himself in fine, dark beauty of feature, and there was a composed stateliness worthy of both in the gesture with which he extended his small hand in greeting. Stanief moved forward without a word, and, kneeling, bent his head to the slim fingers for which the one great jewel seemed too heavy. Still on his knee, in constraint of their difference in height, he received the young Emperor's formal embrace.

"I am glad you have returned, cousin," the boy said, with a grave dignity of speech corresponding to his bearing. "To-morrow—I wished to see you before then."

Stanief looked into the eyes on a level with his own, before rising.

"I shall hold this visit always in my heart, sire," he answered, his tone infinitely gentle. "I have not been given many such pleasant memories."

"It is a long time since we saw each other; you did not come to me—"

"That was never my fault, sire."

"No," he conceded calmly. "I knew it was not, although they told me so."

"I am grateful for so much justice. Permit me—"

Adrian took the arm-chair which the other advanced, and himself indicated a seat very near for his cousin. He had, of course, seen Allard on entering, but, accustomed to the constant presence of others, lent no further attention to the gentleman who remained standing at the shadowed end of the salon. On Stanief his large, intent eyes were fixed with an imperiously eager scrutiny.

"You are the same as always, as you were last winter," he declared slowly. "Dalmorov has insisted that I would find you very different, now."

"The Baron Dalmorov is more than kind," Stanief replied, betrayed into his unusual frown. "May I ask why I should have changed?"

"Because you are Regent, and you govern all."

"I beg pardon, sire; if I am Regent, you are none the less Emperor."

Over the young face swept an expression that so altered, so hardened it, that it was as if another and dual self came into view.

"Then I rule you, as my father did," he flashed.

Allard gasped in his corner; was this the child of fourteen whom he had expected to amuse? And not as to a child was given the difficult answer by the one who knew him.

"Yes, sire," Stanief returned steadily. "But—"

"But! You say but?"

"May I speak frankly? You will find many people to flatter you, to tell you facile, surface truths; let me for once tell exactly my meaning. Assuredly you do rule me and your country, so far as the possibilities permit. Yet you are surrounded by those who hate me, and even you, sire, who would joyfully see us both fall if they might mount upon the ruins. Many times I may see what is hidden from you, and I must act accordingly. Sire, it is my intention to hold this seething Empire of yours in my grasp, to force it to bend or break in its stubborn wilfulness, until three years from now I give it back to you a tranquil government. But—and for this I said 'but'—if necessary, I shall act against your will, as against all other forces, until I carry my purpose to its end and have you crowned on your seventeenth birthday."

He drew a swift breath, caught by his own vehemence, his eyes never leaving the unchildish ones opposite.

"And on the day of your coronation, sire," he concluded, with a touch of sadness, "you will rule without the but. Call me to account then; I assure you I shall have no friends to protest."

Allard's own heart quickened at the fire of determination in the other's low voice. If only it had been a man who met that splendid frankness, he mourned furiously, not a child, a sullen child. For Adrian did not move at all, or answer the daring declaration. His head averted, he looked down at the floor.

Stanief waited a little, and the light died out of his face.

"You do not understand me, sire," he said, very quietly. "Or, understanding, you do not pardon one who serves you even against your will. I am thirty-two years old; it is my comfort to believe that when you reach my age, when jealousy and anger have passed away and perhaps taken me with them, that you will think differently of Feodor Stanief. Will you allow me to order some refreshment brought?" he added.

Adrian moved then, and the color rushed over his cheeks as he struck one small open palm on the arm of his chair.

"I understand you," he cried passionately. "Oh, I understand! Can I trust you? It is that, Feodor. No one speaks his thoughts to me; every one lies. The Emperor told me that many times before he died. 'Do not trust your cousin,' he whispered to me on the last day. 'Then I must trust Dalmorov?' I asked. 'No,' he said, 'no; better Feodor than him. Trust no one.' And now you ask it of me."

"Yet you came here to-night, sire," Stanief reminded him.

"Because I must trust some one. Because I know Dalmorov and his falseness, while I do not know you, cousin."

"Then I ask you only to suspend judgment until you do, sire. A regent there must be, I, or another if I die—"

"I would rather have you than any one else in the world."

"There is no one—I speak knowing our court—no one else whose pride and honor so compel him to loyalty. And I stand in grievous need of your protection, my imperial cousin."

Adrian's head lifted haughtily.

"Of my protection! You, now?"

"I, now. Through you, if you lend your name to their use, my enemies can make the task I have set myself difficult beyond description."

The kindling fire had caught, at last; with the first boyish impulsiveness of the interview Adrian's response flashed to meet the appeal.

"You need not fear that! You need not fear me."

"Thank you, sire," Stanief answered, simply and gravely.

There was a pause. Allard wondered, as he discreetly observed the two, just what would have been the result if Stanief had brought less convincing seriousness to answer his cousin's sensitive pride and incredulity.

"I have come alone," Adrian mused, with a half-sigh, "with Gregor. He does what I wish because he knows Dalmorov hates him and he is afraid to stand alone. So when I bade him bring me here secretly to-night, after I had presumably retired, he obeyed. I like to be obeyed." The expression of several moments before returned transiently.

A playfully earnest warning of the other cousin's recurred to the listener; it appeared that both had "the habit of domination."

"And so I must return at once, or they may discover I have gone. But I am glad I came, cousin; it seems easier now."

"Sire," Stanief said, and somehow his tone made Allard feel suddenly abashed, as one who stands before a thing not for his eyes, "there will come a day when you will stand in the great cathedral to receive the oaths of allegiance of your nobles. There will be all ceremony, all solemnity, but—take mine now. The one I shall give you then can mean no more. You have been taught to have no faith in such promises; when you receive mine for the second time, I hope it will have gained some value in your sight."

"I wish it had now; I almost think it has," he answered, with a bitterness and energy singularly strange from his boyish lips. "I want to have faith in you, cousin."

He rose, and Stanief with him.

"I care for nothing," he added, reverting to the previous invitation. "I have already stayed too long. Monsieur," his eyes went to Allard for the first time, "monsieur is the American gentleman who sailed with you from New York?"

Allard came forward in response to a glance from Stanief.

"Sire, I have the honor to present Monsieur John Allard, whom I have persuaded to come with me because I also have need of one friend whom I can trust."

He was after all so pathetic in his lonely and sophisticated youth, this child. Saluting him, Allard's clear gray eyes involuntarily expressed all their sympathy and warm kindliness. And, meeting the regard, Adrian gave him his only smile of the evening.

"It is easy to trust you others, Monsieur Allard," he said wistfully. "I wish you were my friend instead of Feodor's."

"Is it not the same thing, sire?" Allard questioned.

"Is it?"

"I sincerely believe so, sire."

"Bring Monsieur Allard with you to-morrow, cousin," Adrian directed, lifting his gaze to Stanief. "And good night."

"You will allow me to accompany your return, sire?"

"Certainly not,—to attract all the capital!"

"Pardon, I meant as secretly as Gregor attends you; who—again pardon me—is scarcely attendance enough."

Adrian shook his head decisively.

"Your people on the yacht—"

"They are not already aware that your Imperial Majesty is here?"

"You can order them to be silent," he retorted, with angry irritation.

"Exactly, sire," said Stanief, and waited.

Adrian was nothing if not swift of thought; he drew the inference intended and conceded the point.

"Very well," he yielded. "As you will, cousin. Good night, Monsieur Allard."

He held out his hand, and quite unconsciously Allard took the little fingers in his warm clasp. Stanief, holding aside the curtain, smiled to himself; but Adrian accepted the Americanism equably and his last glance was all friendly.

It was three o'clock in the morning when Stanief reëntered the Nadeja's salon. Allard was still there, and rose expectantly to receive him.

"I waited," he explained.

"You need not have," Stanief replied, with all his usual cool serenity. "Go and rest; to-morrow the battle opens. Only—"

"Only, monseigneur?"

He came over to the table to find the tiny gold-tipped cigarettes.

"Only it was not with you I played chess to-night, John, but with Dalmorov and the late Emperor, my uncle. And I claim check."

TO MEET THE EMPEROR

There are some periods which offer to the backward glance of memory rather a blur of blended color than a distinct picture, a rich and shining tapestry in which no one thread can be distinguished. So always to Allard seemed that first week in the country he learned to call home. The stately ceremonies of Stanief's reception and assumption of the regency; the dazzle and pageantry of the court even when thus subdued by mourning; his own sudden importance as the favorite of the actual sovereign, all merged into a glittering confusion through which he moved automatically.

But there were two incidents which detached themselves from the bright background and always remained with him. The first was the first morning when Stanief formally met the Emperor at the palace; and, as he had stooped to the salute, Adrian had deliberately given him an embrace so markedly affectionate that even Allard felt the significant thrill that ran through the room. And then, even while the unusual color still flushed Stanief's dark cheek, Adrian shot a glance at a sharp-faced man opposite, a glance so sneering, so bitterly triumphant, that the straightforward American actually shrank from the revelation of dual thought. Evidently the embrace was given less to please Stanief than to annoy this other. Seeing the man's rigidly held face beneath the ordeal, he knew without question that this was the Baron Dalmorov whose desire in life was to prevent this very friendship between the cousins.

Never again did Allard make the mistake of measuring Adrian by his few years.

The second event was near the end of the week,—one noon when Stanief came home from a visit to the palace and found Allard alone.

"Do you remember the trust you offered to take for me?" he asked abruptly. And, without waiting an assent, "You are summoned to it already."

"Monseigneur?"

"The Emperor this morning asked me to add you to his household. It is more than I hoped to gain, that he should himself make the request; yet—"

They looked at each other, Allard startled and half dismayed, Stanief's velvet eyes less tranquil than usual.

"Yet I shall miss you, John," he concluded, his voice a caress.

The regret and the tone lay unforgotten in the closed room of Allard's heart. Years after, he could turn and find them there.

So from the gorgeous household of the Regent one man passed to the still more gorgeous palace. Vasili and Count Rosal regarded him with respectful envy; he was elected to membership of the two clubs of the capital's jeunesse dorée, and overwhelmed with friends and invitations.

But the Emperor was not at all inclined to let his new companion remain away from him very much, and Allard was quite as willing to stay at what he privately considered the post of duty. So it happened that he went riding with Adrian more frequently than he went motoring with Rosal, and accepted readily a routine which left him few hours unoccupied.

It was not possible to live at the palace without learning many things. But it required just one day for Allard to learn enough of Adrian to make him smile at ever having thought Stanief imperious. The desire for absolute dominion and power over those near him was the most obvious characteristic of this descendant of a hundred autocrats. Moreover, he tolerated no contradiction, no evasion of a resolve.

"You are not rich in your own right, Monsieur Allard?" he said one day, with his mature directness and self-possession.

They were strolling up and down a terrace overlooking the river, and Allard involuntarily paused in surprise and with no slight embarrassment.

"No longer, sire," he admitted, truth coming as the one course.

"My cousin,—you served him as his secretary?"

"Yes, sire."

Adrian sat down on a broad marble seat under the trees, lifting his head with the movement usually to be translated as a signal of danger.

"You serve me at present, not the Regent. As one of my household, you will accept from me in future."

"Pardon me, sire—"

"I will have it so, monsieur. You must be all mine, all. I shall speak to Feodor. Why do you object? You do, then, consider yourself his, not mine?"

"Sire, you misinterpret; I am assuredly of your service."

"Then you accept?"

Allard met the flashing gaze helplessly; it was the other Adrian, distrustful, jealous, haughty, whom he faced and to whom he yielded.

"It is as you wish, sire, of course. I thank you."

"You do not," he retorted shrewdly, although his brow relaxed. "Why did you resist?"

Again Allard took refuge in the simple truth, a little sadly.

"We Americans, sire, are not accustomed to serve, I am afraid. We would stand alone. If I could accept the Grand Duke Feodor's protection without such reluctance, it was because of old reasons and old love."

"For him?"

"Yes, sire."

"Do you know Dalmorov secretly urges to me your love for Feodor as a cause for dismissing you?"

"I had not known it, although I might have guessed. But you could not believe me, sire, if I told you I did not love him."

"No; you are very easy to read. And I know more: I know that Feodor is glad to have you near me, although he is fond of keeping you with himself. Why?"

Allard regarded his keen young inquisitor candidly.

"Because—I use his own phrase, sire—because I am the only one that he feels he can wholly trust."

Adrian's eyes opened, then he laughed outright and the sinister personality faded altogether from his expression.

"You tell me that yourself, Monsieur Allard? Oh, if Dalmorov could hear you! Never mind; perhaps Feodor is deceiving you, perhaps you are both sincere, but certainly you yourself are all truthful. His turn also comes to-day, my cousin's."

"I do not understand—"

"It is not necessary. I am going to receive him here, this morning. After he arrives, pray stay at the other end of the terrace and let no one pass to disturb us."

This daily visit of the Regent had become a matter of course. Sometimes it found Adrian surrounded by many people, sometimes alone, more often with Allard, as now. And never was he so sweetly gracious to Stanief as in Dalmorov's presence; although, as Stanief knew perfectly well, at other times he listened without rebuke to the baron's constant insinuations and warnings. If the young Emperor had confidence in no one, most assuredly no one could risk a judgment of his real thoughts. Only one sentiment he took no care to conceal: for whatever reason, he liked the regular visit and would suffer nothing to prevent it.

However puzzled by the last suggestion, Allard could only comply with the request and retire as Stanief came down the steps a moment later. And Stanief, seeing Adrian waiting alone, left his aide at the head of the terrace and alone came to him. So, Vasili at one end of the grassy ledge, Allard at the other, the cousins were for once unobserved.

Adrian's expression was unusually animated as Stanief bent over his hand.

"Do you know why I wished to see you out here in quietness, cousin?" he demanded.

"I am afraid not, sire," Stanief confessed, smiling.

"Then sit down here," he touched the bench on which he himself was seated, "and I will tell you."

Stanief obeyed, and Adrian surveyed his stately kinsman with earnest, though doubting intentness.

"That night on the Nadeja," he at last said, "when you told me that I governed, 'but'—were you in earnest? It amused me to tell Dalmorov—not all you said or when you said it, of course—yet some of that. I told him you had promised to do as I wished, and he insisted that you played with me. Were you in earnest, I wonder?"

"Absolutely in earnest," Stanief answered, too well trained in self-mastery to betray his irritation at being discussed with his rival in the game of the future.

"'But'—" Adrian repeated, and sat silent for an instant. "Were you ever in love with a woman, cousin?"

The question was so unexpected that Stanief started and replied almost at random:

"No, sire."

"Dalmorov says that you were, long ago."

"Dalmorov," the other began, then checked himself, his tone chilling. "The incident to which Baron Dalmorov doubtless refers, sire, hardly answers your question. Ten years ago, when I was less than twenty-two, I was briefly attracted toward a lady of the court. The affair died in its birth, on my discovering that mademoiselle was acting as the paid spy of the Emperor, your father. Since then I have thought of more important matters."

Adrian leaned back, his slim fingers twisted together.

"That was the Countess Sophia Mirkoff," he supplemented calmly, "whose husband you pardoned from the Two Saints last month; Dalmorov informed me. Was that because you still care?"

"No; because I would not have her imagine I remember enough for prejudice," Stanief answered, with glacial indifference.

The approving fire shot across the boy's lowered eyes, his pride sprang to comprehension of the other's.

"I am glad it is so," he said sedately. "I have been arranging your marriage, cousin."

If the terrace had crumbled beneath them, Stanief could have been no more astounded than at this.

"I beg your pardon!" he gasped.

"Why not? It is my privilege," Adrian returned, not moving.

Stanief opened his lips, and closed them again. The green and gold garden, the blue river and white city spread below, swam in a dazzle of color. He had never been more deeply annoyed, or more furiously angry with Dalmorov. But habitual self-control again aided him.

"I have no desire to marry, or time to give to such a distraction at present, sire," he answered.

"You would have to marry sooner or later, cousin."

"Then permit it to be later. After your coronation, if you still insist."

Adrian's small mouth set in a firm line rivaling the Regent's own.

"I wish it now. I have arranged that you shall marry the Princess Iría of Spain."

"Sire, forgive me if I presume to remind your Imperial Majesty that I have the right of questioning an order so personal."

The steel-hard anger of Stanief's voice struck fire from the flint of Adrian's determination.

"So I rule you!" he flashed tempestuously. "So you meant your pretty phrases! Dalmorov was right, right. You played with me, and I will never pardon you, Feodor Stanief."

Stanief drew back, realizing all the trap prepared for him.

"You are severe, sire," he retorted with dignity. "Perhaps reflection upon how unexpected this is, upon how serious to me is the amusement which to you signifies nothing, may win your indulgence. My life is full to overflowing; there is no place in it for a wife."

"You refuse?"

Stanief bit his lip.

"No, sire; I protest."

Adrian stood up, and the other perforce rose with him.

"You yourself said it," the boy stated, his chest heaving with passion. "Now, the test. I have the right; you know it. Do you govern me, or I you?"

"Sire—"

"You or I?"

Stanief looked very steadily into the blazing young eyes, himself colorless with the restraint forced upon his own emotions.

"I believed there were two promises given on the Nadeja, sire," he answered, never so quietly. "It seems that only one is to be remembered and that Baron Dalmorov wins. But I make no complaint; I suppose your last question was hardly serious."

"You consent?"

"I obey," he corrected pointedly.

At once victorious, and dominated by his kinsman's bearing, Adrian flung himself on the seat and motioned the other to the place beside him. But Stanief remained standing, choosing not to see the invitation, and there was a pause.

"I do remember my promise," Adrian declared, proudly reverting to the reproach of a few moments before. "If I have made you do this, cousin, it was not to please Dalmorov."

Stanief bowed, answering nothing.

"The lady—you will have heard of her. I met her last year on the Riviera. In her country they call her the Gentle Princess, because—she is. And she is very lovely."

Still the dark face was unstirred. His object gained, Adrian fretted and chafed before the change he himself had wrought.

"You are like Monsieur Allard; you do not want to yield your will," he said, half petulantly, half haughtily. "He is mine, you gave him to me; yet he did not like it because I said that no longer shall his fortune come from any one but me. Why?"

"He is an American, sire."

"Why does that make a difference between you and me?"

"I love him, sire."

The cold explanation coincided perfectly with Allard's; illogically Adrian felt a pang of isolation before this friendship, although he would not have believed either if they had professed the same affection for him.

"The churches are ringing the hour," he remarked, the sullen child struggling with the Emperor. "If you wish to go, as usual, you have my leave."

"Thank you, sire; my hours are indeed crowded."

"You are willing to ask the Princess Iría in marriage?"

"As you dispose, sire."

Satisfied and dissatisfied, Adrian held out his hand.

"You are not content, cousin," he accused. "You think me unkind."

Stanief paused to meet the wilful gaze.

"Perhaps I think of a day the years are bringing, sire," he replied gravely, and bent his head still lower to the jeweled fingers which grasped so much.

Adrian flushed scarlet.

"No," he denied fiercely. "Feodor, you can not believe I will fail you if you do not me? You can not think that then, after that—"

Stanief did not help him at all. Taking refuge in wordlessness, Adrian left the sentence unfinished and let his cousin go, with an assumption of dignity that hardly concealed the sting of the rebuke he had received. But he did not offer to relinquish the purpose so distasteful to Stanief.

For half an hour the terrace remained hushed and silent under the noon sunshine, the tree-shadows wavering back and forth across the small, motionless figure.

"Monsieur Allard!" at last the summons rang.

Allard returned serenely, of course ignorant of the recent stormy discussion.

"In a few months," Adrian stated, without looking at him, "the Princess Iría de Bourbon will come here to be married to the Regent. I wish you to be one of the escort that will meet her and bring her to the capital."

"But, sire—"

"You are surprised?"

"I did not know the Grand Duke contemplated marriage, sire," Allard explained, stunned.

"He did not; it is I who contemplated it. You will go?"

"Surely there will be many more fitted for such an honor. Of course it will be as you arrange, sire; but I would rather stay here."

Adrian moved, sighing; his lip took a softer curve and for the first time he almost looked his few years. "If you like her, monsieur, Feodor will like her. I want you to see her, to tell him good of her. She is different from any one else—when we were both in Italy we saw each other every day, and I know. She is so gentle; I want her here."

Allard gazed at him in utter wonder.

"Feodor believes I force the marriage to annoy him and please Dalmorov. It is not so; it is because I want Iría here. You understand that?"

"I am trying, sire."

Adrian stood up decisively.

"Let us go in. When the time comes, you shall go with her escort."