"I was not making comparisons, your Highness."
"I know that, my friend. I was simply speaking from the heart. But I doubt if the prince regent is a better man than our Herbeck."
"I prefer Herbeck, never having met the prince regent. But I have some news for your highness."
"News for me?"
"Yes. I am about to ask for my recall," he said, the idea having come into his mind at that precise moment.
"Your recall?"
Had he been looking at her he would have noticed that the color on her fair cheeks had gone a shade lighter.
"Yes."
"Is not this sudden? it is not very complimentary to Ehrenstein."
"The happiest days in my life have been spent here."
"Then why seek to be recalled?"
"I am essentially a man of action, your Highness. I am growing dull and stupid amid these charming pleasures. Action; I have always been mixed up in some trouble or other. Here it is a round of pleasure from day to day. I long for buffets. I am wicked enough to wish for war."
"Cherchez la femme!" she cried. "There is a woman?"
"Oh, yes!" recklessly.
"Then go to her, my friend, go to her." And she waved her crop over his head as in benediction. "Some day, before you go, I shall ask you all about her." Ah, as if she did not know! But half the charm in life is playing with hidden dangers.
He did not speak, but caught up the reins firmly. She touched her mare on the flank, and the four began trotting, a pace which they maintained as far as the military field. Here they paused, for the scene was animated and full of color. Squadrons of cavalry raced across the field; infantry closed in or deployed; artillery rumbled, wheeled, stopped, unlimbered. Bang-bang! The earth shivered and rocked. Guerdons were flying, bugles were blowing, and sabers were flashing.
"It is beautiful," she cried, "this mimic war."
"May your highness never see aught else!" he replied fervently.
"Yes, yes; you have seen it divested of all its pomp. You have seen it in all its cruelty and horror."
"I have known even the terror of it."
"You were afraid?"
"Many times."
She laughed. It is only the coward who denies fear.
He would certainly ask for his recall or transfer. He was eating his heart out here in Dreiberg.
They began the incline. She did most of the talking, brightly and gaily; but his ears were dull, for the undercurrent passed by him. He was, for the first time, impressed with the fact that the young ladies of the court never accompanied her on her morning rides. There were frequent afternoon excursions, when several ladies and gentlemen rode with her highness, but in the mornings, never.
"Will you return to America?" she queried.
"I shall idle in Paris for a while. I have an idea that there will be war one of these days."
"And which side will you take?"
"I should be a traitor if I fought for France; I should be an ingrate if I fought against her. I should be a spectator, a neutral."
"That would expose you to danger without the right to strike a blow in defense."
"If I were hurt it would be but an accident. War correspondents would run a hundred more risks than I. Oh, I should be careful; I know war too well not to be."
"All this is strange talk for a man who is a confessed lover."
"Pardon me!" his eyes rather empty.
"Why, you tell me there is a woman; and all your talk is about war and danger. These are opposites; please explain."
"There is a woman, but she will not hinder me in any way. She will, in fact, know nothing about it."
"You are a strange lover. I never read anything like you in story-books. Forgive me! I am thoughtless. The subject may be painful to you."
The horses began to pull. Under normal circumstances Carmichael would not have dismounted, but his horse had carried him many miles that morning, and he was a merciful rider. In the war days often had his life depended upon the care of his horse.
"You have been riding hard?"
"No, only far."
"I do not believe that there is a finer horseman in all Ehrenstein than yourself."
"Your highness is very good to say that." Why had he not gone on instead of waiting at the fork?
Within a few hundred yards of the gates he mounted again. And then he saw a lonely figure sitting on the parapet. He would have recognized that square form anywhere. And he welcomed the sight of it.
"Your Highness, do you see that man yonder, on the parapet? We fought in the same cavalry. He is covered with scars. Not one man in a thousand would have gone through what he did and lived."
"Is he an American?"
"By adoption. And may I ask a favor of your highness?"
"Two!" merrily.
"May I present him? It will be the joy of his life."
"Certainly. All brave men interest me."
Grumbach rose up, uncovered, thinking that the riders were going to pass him. But to his surprise his friend Carmichael stopped his horse and beckoned to him.
"Herr Grumbach," said Carmichael, "her serene highness desires me to present you."
Hans was stricken dumb. He knew of no greater honor.
"Mr. Carmichael," she said in English, "tells me that you fought with him in the American war?"
"Yes, Highness."
She plied him with a number of questions; how many battles they had fought in, how many times they had been wounded, how they lived in camp, and so forth; and which was the more powerful engine of war, the infantry or the cavalry.
"The cavalry, Highness," said Hans, without hesitation.
She laughed. "If you had been a foot-soldier, you would have said the infantry; of the artillery, you would have sworn by the cannon."
"That is true, Highness. The three arms are necessary, but there is ever the individual pride in the arm one serves in."
"And that is right. You speak good English," she remarked.
"I have lived more than sixteen years in America, Highness."
"Do you like it there?"
"It is a great country, full of great ideas and great men, Highness."
"And you will go back?"
"Soon, Highness."
The mare, knowing that this was the way home, grew restive and began prancing and pawing the road. She reined in quickly. As she did so, something yellow flashed downward and tinkled as it struck the ground. Grumbach hastened forward.
"My locket," said her highness anxiously.
"It is not broken, Highness," said Grumbach; "only the chain has come apart." Then he handed it to her gravely.
"Thank you!" Her highness put both chain and locket into a small purse which she carried in her belt, touched the mare, and sped up the road, Carmichael following.
Grumbach returned to the parapet. He followed them till they passed out of sight beyond the gates.
"Gott!" he murmured.
His face was as livid as the scar on his head.
CHAPTER XV
THE WRONG MAN
Herbeck dropped his quill, and there was a dream in his eyes. His desk was littered with papers, well covered with ink; flowing sentences, and innumerable figures. He was the watch-dog of the duchy. Never a bill from the Reichstag that did not pass under his cold eye before it went to the duke for his signature, his approval, or veto. Not a copper was needlessly wasted, and never was one held back unnecessarily. Herbeck was just both in great and little things. The commoners could neither fool nor browbeat him.
The dream in his eyes grew; it was tender and kindly. The bar of sunlight lengthened across his desk, and finally passed on. Still he sat there, motionless, rapt. And thus the duke found him. But there was no dream in his eyes; they were cold with implacable anger. He held a letter in his hand and tossed it to Herbeck.
"I shall throw ten thousand men across the frontier to-night, let the consequences be what they may."
"Ten thousand men?" The dream was shattered. War again?
"Read that. It is the second anonymous communication I have received within a week. As the first was truthful, there is no reason to believe this one to be false."
Herbeck read, and he was genuinely startled.
"What do you say to that?" triumphantly.
"This," with that rapid decision which made him the really great tactician he was. "Let them go quietly back to Jugendheit."
"No!" blazed the duke.
"Are we rich enough for war?"
"Always questions, questions! What the devil is my army for if not to uphold my dignity? Herbeck, you shall not argue me out of this."
"Rather let me reason. This is some prank, which I am sure does not concern Ehrenstein in the least. They would never dare enter Dreiberg for aught else. There must be a flaw in our secret service."
"Doubtless."
"I have seen this writing before," said Herbeck. "I shall make it my business to inquire who it is that takes this kindly interest in the affairs of state."
The duke struck the bell violently.
"Summon the chief of the police," he said to the secretary.
"Yes, yes, your Highness, let it be a police affair. This letter does not state the why and wherefore of their presence here."
"It holds enough for me."
"Will your highness leave the matter in my hands?"
"Herbeck, in some things you are weak."
"And in others I am strong," smiled the chancellor. "I am weak when there is talk of war; I am strong when peace is in the balance."
"Is it possible, Herbeck, that you do not appreciate the magnitude of the situation?"
"It is precisely because I do that I wish to move slowly. Wait. Let the police find out why they are here. There will be time enough then to declare war. They have never seen her highness. Who knows?"
"Ah! But they have violated the treaty."
"That depends upon whether their presence here is or is not a menace to the state. If they are here on private concerns which in no wise touch Ehrenstein, it would be foolhardy to declare war. Your highness is always letting your personal wounds blur your eyesight. Some day you will find that Jugendheit is innocent."
"God hasten the day and hour!"
"Yes, let us hope that the mystery of it all will be cleared up. You are just and patient in everything but this." Herbeck idled with his quill. The little finger of his right hand was badly scarred, the mutilation of a fencing-bout in his student days.
"What do you advise?" wearily. It seemed to the duke that Herbeck of late never agreed with him.
"My advice is to wait. In a day or so arrest them under the pretext that you believe them to be spies. If they remain mute, then the case is serious, and you will have them on the hip. If, on the other hand, this invasion is harmless and they declare themselves, the matter can be adjusted in this wise: ignore their declaration and confine them a day or two in the city prison, then publish the news broadcast. Having themselves broken the letter if not the spirit of the treaty, they will not dare declare war. Every court in Europe will laugh."
The duke struck his hands together. "You are always right, Herbeck. This plan could not have been devised better or more to my satisfaction." The duke laughed. "You are right. Ah, here is the chief."
Herbeck read the letter in part to the chief, who jotted down the words, repeating aloud in a kind of mutter: "A mountaineer, a vintner, a carter, a butcher, and a baker. You will give me their descriptions, your Excellency?"
Herbeck read the postscript.
"But you don't tell him who—"
"Why should he know?" said Herbeck, glancing shrewdly at the duke. "His ignorance will be all the better for the plot."
"Then this is big game, your Highness?" asked the chief.
"Big game."
"One is as big and powerful as a Carpathian bear. Look out," warned Herbeck.
"And he is?"
"And the vintner?"
"Oh, he is a little fellow, and hasn't grown his bite yet," said Herbeck dryly.
The duke laughed again. It would be as good as a play.
"I thank you, Herbeck. You have neatly arranged a fine comedy. I do not think so clearly as I used to. When the arrest is made, give it as much publicity as possible. Take a squad of soldiers; it will give it a military look. Will you be on the field this afternoon?"
"No, your highness," touching the papers which strewed his desk; "this will keep me busy well into evening."
The duke waved his hand cheerfully and left the cabinet.
"Your excellency, then, really leaves me to work in the dark?" asked the chief uneasily.
"Yes," tearing up the note. "But you will not be in the dark long after you have arrested these persons. Begin with the mountaineer and the vintner; the others do not matter so much." Then Herbeck laughed. The chief raised his head. He had not heard his excellency laugh like that in many moons. "Report to me your progress. Unfortunately my informant does not state just where these fellows are to be found."
"That is my business, your Excellency."
"Good luck to you!" responded Herbeck, with a gesture of dismissal.
When her highness came in from her morning's ride she found the duke waiting in her apartments.
"Why, father," kissing him, "what brings you here?"
"A little idea I have in mind." He drew her down to the arm of the chair. "We all have our little day-dreams."
"Who does not, father?" She slid her arm round his neck. She was full of affection for this kindly parent.
"But there are those of us who must not accept day-dreams as realities; for then there will be heartaches and futile longings."
"You are warning me. About what, father?" There was a little stab in her heart.
"Herr Carmichael is a fine fellow, brave, witty, shrewd. If all Americans are like him, America will soon become a force in the world. I have taken a fancy to him; and you know what they say of your father—no formality with those whom he likes. Humanly, I am right; but in the virtue of everyday events in court life, I am wrong."
She moved uneasily.
He went on: "Herbeck has spoken of it, the older women speak of it; and they all say—"
"Say!" she cried hotly, leaping to her feet. "What do I care what they say? Are you not the grand duke, and am I not your daughter?"
In his turn the duke felt the stab.
"You must ride no more with Herr Carmichael. It is neither wise nor safe."
"Father!"
He was up, with his arms folding round her. "Child, it is only for your sake. Listen to me. I married your mother because I loved her and she loved me. The case is isolated, rare, out of the beaten path in the affairs of rulers. But you, you must be a princess. You must steel your heart against the invasion of love, unless it comes from a state equal or superior to your own. It is harsh and cruel, but it is a law that will neither bend nor break. Do you understand me?"
The girl stared blindly at the wall. "Yes, father."
"It is all my fault," said the duke, deeply agitated, for the girl trembled under his touch.
"I shall not ride with him any more."
"There's a good girl," patting her shoulder.
"I have been a princess such a little while."
He kissed the wheaten-colored hair. "Be a brave heart, and I shall engage to find a king for you."
"I don't want any playthings, father," with the old light touch; and then she looked him full in the eyes. "I promise to do nothing more to create comment if, on the other hand, you will promise to give me two years more of freedom."
The duke readily assented, and shortly returned to his own suite, rather pleased that there had been no scene; not that he had expected any.
Now that she was alone, she slipped into the chair, beat a light tattoo with her riding-whip against her teeth, and looked fixedly at the wall again, as if to gaze beyond it, into the dim future. But she saw nothing save that she was young and that the days in Dresden, for all their penury, were far pleasanter than these.
Meantime the chief of police called his subaltern and placed in his hands the peculiar descriptions. The word vintner caused him to give vent to an ejaculation of surprise.
"He was in here last night. I have had him followed all day. He lives over the American consulate. Among his things was found the uniform of a colonel in the Prussian Uhlans."
"Ha! Arrest him tom-orrow, or the day after at the latest. But the mountaineer is the big game. Do not arrest the vintner till you have him. Where one is the other is likely to be. But on the moment of arrest you must have a squad of soldiers at your back."
"Soldiers?" doubtfully.
"Express orders of his highness."
"It shall be done."
Considerable activity was manifest in the police bureau the rest of that day.
To return to Carmichael. He had never before concerned himself with resignations. Up to this hour he had never resigned anything he had set his heart upon. So it was not an easy matter for him to compose a letter to the secretary of state, resigning the post at Dreiberg. True, he added that he desired to be transferred to a seaport town, France or Italy preferred. The high altitude in Dreiberg had affected his heart. However, in case there was no other available post, they would kindly appoint his successor at once. Carmichael never faltered where his courage was concerned, and it needed a fine quality of moral courage to write this letter and enclose it in the diplomatic pouch which went into the mails that night. It took courage indeed to face the matter squarely and resolutely, when there was the urging desire to linger on and on, indefinitely. That she was not going to marry the king of Jugendheit did not alter his affairs in the least. It was all hopeless, absurd, and impossible. He must go.
Some one was knocking on the door.
"Come in."
"A letter for your excellency," said the concierge.
"Wait till I read it. There may be an answer."
"If Herr Carmichael would learn the secret of number forty Krumerweg, let him attire himself as a vintner and be in the Krumerweg at eight o'clock to-night."
This note was as welcome to the recipient as the flowers in the spring. An adventure? He was ready, now and always. Anything to take his mind off his own dismal affairs. Then he recalled the woman in black; the letter could apply to none but her. More than this, he might light upon the puzzle regarding the vintner. He had met the fellow before. But where?
"What sort of clothes does a vintner wear?" he asked.
"A vintner, your Excellency?"
"Yes. I shall need the costume of a vintner this evening."
"Oh, that will be easy," affirmed the concierge, "if your excellency does not mind wearing clothes that have already been worn."
"My excellency will not care a hang. Procure them as soon as you can."
So it came about that Carmichael, dressed as a vintner, his hat over his eyes, stole into the misty night and took the way to the Krumerweg. He knew exactly where he wished to go: number forty. It was gray-black in the small streets; and but for the occasional light in a window the dark would have had no modification. Sometimes he would lose the point of the compass and blunder against a wall or find himself feeling for the curb, hesitant of foot. The wayside shrine was a rift in the gloom, and he knew that he had only a few more steps to take. After all, who was the lady in black and why should he bother himself about her? She probably came from the back stairs of the palace. And yet, the chancellor himself had been in this place. What should he do? Should he wait across the street? Should he knock at the door and ask to be admitted? No; he must skulk in the dark, on the opposite side. He picked his way over the street and stood for a moment in the denser black.
A step? He trained his ear. But even as he did so his arms were grasped firmly and twisted behind his back, and at the same time a cloth was wrapped round the lower part of his face, leaving only his eyes and nose visible. It was all so sudden and unexpected that he was passive the first few seconds; after that there was some scuffling, strenuous, too. He was fighting against three. Desperately he surged this way and that. Even in the heat of battle he wondered a little why no one struck him; they simply clung to him, and at length he could not move. His hands were tied, not roughly, but surely. In all this commotion, not a whisper, not a voice; only heavy breathing.
Then one of the three whistled. A minute or two after a closed carriage came into the Krumerweg, and Carmichael was literally bundled inside. His feet were now bound. Two of his captors sat on the forward seat, while the third joined the driver. Carmichael could distinguish nothing but outlines and shadows. He choked, for he was furious. To be trussed like this, without any explanation whatever! What the devil was going on? Unanswered.
The carriage began to move slowly. It had to; swift driving in the Krumerweg was hardly possible and at no time safe. Carmichael set himself to note the turns of the street. One turn after another he counted, fixing as well as he could the topography of the town through which they were passing. At last he realized that they were leaving Dreiberg behind and were going down the mountain on the north side, toward Jugendheit. Once the level road was reached, a fast pace was set and maintained for miles. At the Elirenstein barrier no question was asked, and Carmichael's one hope was shattered. At the Jugendheit barrier the carriage stopped. There were voices. Carmichael saw the flicker of a lantern. His captors got out. Presently there appeared at the door an old man dressed as a mountaineer. In his hand was the lantern.
"Pardon me, dear nephew—Fools!" he broke off, swinging round. "He has tricked you all. This is not he!"
Three astonished faces peered over the old man's shoulder. Carmichael eyed them evilly. He now saw that one was a carter, another a butcher, and the third a baker. He had seen them before, in the Black Eagle. But this signified nothing.
"Untie him and take off that rag. It may be Scharfenstein." The old man possessed authority.
Carmichael, freed, stretched himself.
"Well?" he said, with a dangerous quiet.
"Herr Carmichael, the American consul!" The old man nearly dropped the lantern. "Oh, you infernal blockheads!"
"Explanations are in order," suggested Carmichael.
"You are offered a thousand apologies for a stupid mistake. Now, may I ask how you came to be dressed in these clothes on this particular night?"
Carmichael's anger dissolved, and he laughed. All the mystery was gone with the abruptness of a mist under the first glare of the sun. He saw how neatly he had been duped. He still carried the note. This he gave to the leader of this midnight expedition.
"Humph!" said the old man in a growl. "I thought as much." He whispered to his companions. "Herr Carmichael, I shall have the honor of escorting you back to Dreiberg."
"But will it be as easy to go in as it was to come out?"
"Trust you for that. The American consul's word will be sufficient for our needs."
"And if I refuse to give that word?"
"In that case, you will have to use your legs," curtly.
"I prefer to ride."
"Thanks. I shall sit with the driver."
"That also will please me."
"And you ask no further questions?"
"Why should I? I know all I wish to know, which is more than you would care to have me."
The mountaineer swore.
"If we talk any longer I shall be late for breakfast."
"Forward, then!"
On the way, it all came back to Carmichael with the vividness of a forgotten photograph, come upon suddenly: Bonn, the Rhine, swift and turbulent, a tow-headed young fellow who could not swim well, his own plunge, his fingers in the flaxen hair, and the hard fight to the landing; all this was a tale twice told.
Vintner? Not much!
CHAPTER XVI
HER FAN
It was dawn when they began to pull up the road to Dreiberg. The return had been leisurely despite Carmichael's impatience. In the military field the troops were breaking camp for their departure to the various posts throughout the duchy. Only the officers, who were to attend the court ball that evening, and the resident troops would remain. The maneuvers were over; the pomp of miniature war was done. Carmichael peered through the window. What a play yonder scene was to what he had been through! To break camp before dawn, before breakfast, rain and hail and snow smothering one; when the frost-bound iron of the musket caught one's fingers and tore the skin; the shriek of shot overhead, the boom of cannon and the gulp of impact; cold, hungry, footsore, sleepy; here and there a comrade crumpling up strangely and lying still and white; the muddy ruts in the road; the whole world a dead gray like the face of death! What did those yonder know of war?
The carriage stopped.
"I shall not intrude, I trust?" said the old man, opening the door and getting in.
"Not now," replied Carmichael. "What is all this about?"
"A trifle; I might say a damn-fool trifle. But what did you mean when you said you knew all you wanted to know?" The mountaineer showed some anxiety.
"Exactly what I said. The only thing that confuses me is the motive."
The old man thought for a while. "Suppose you had a son who was making a fool of himself?"
"Or a nephew?"
"Well, or a nephew?"
"Making a fool of himself over what?"
"A woman."
"Nothing unusual in that. But what kind of a woman?"
"A good woman, honest, too good by far for any man."
"Suppose she was vastly his inferior in station, that marriage to him was merely a political contract? What would you do?"
"I believe I begin to understand."
"I am grateful for that."
"But the risks you run!"
"I believed them all over last night."
"But you would dare handle him in this way?"
"When the devil drives, my friend!" The other smiled. "I was born in the heart of a war. I have taken so many risks that the sense of danger no longer has a keen edge. But now that you understand, I am sure a soldier like yourself will pardon the blunder of last night."
"Your nephew is an ungrateful wretch."
"What?" coldly.
"He knew all along who I was. I dragged him out of the Rhine upon a certain day, and he plays this trick!"
"You? Carmichael, Carmichael; of course; I should have remembered the name, as he wrote me at the time. Thank you! And you knew him all the while?"
"No; I recalled his face, but the time and place were in the dark till this early morning. Here we are at the gates. What's this? Guards? I never saw them at these gates before."
"You will make yourself known to them?"
"Yes. But if they question me?"
"Wink. Every soldier knows what that means."
"When a fellow turns in early in the morning?" Carmichael laughed hilariously.
"I ask you frankly not to let them question me. When I left the city last night I never expected to return."
"I'll do what I can."
Carmichael bared his head and leaned out of the window. He recognized one of the guards. A policeman in military uniform!
"Good morning!" said Carmichael.
"Herr Carmichael?" surprised. "Your excellency?"
"Yes. I've been having a little junket, I and my friend here." And Carmichael winked.
"Ah!"
"But what—"
"Sh! Very important affair," said the disguised officer. "Go on."
But after the carriage had passed it occurred to him that Carmichael wore a dress like a vintner's and that his friend was a mountaineer! Du lieber Himmel! What kind of a mix-up was this? The chancellor never could have meant Carmichael!
"Thanks!" whispered the old man.
"Did you see the soldier?"
"Yes."
"He is one of the police in disguise. Be on your guard. If you don't mind I'll use this carriage to the hotel."
"You are a thousand times welcome. I will leave you here. And take the advice of an old man who has seen the four sides of humanity: leave falling in love to poets and to fools!"
The mountaineer got out quickly, closed the door, spoke a word to the driver, and slipped into an alleyway.
Carmichael arrived at the Grand Hotel in time to see her serene highness, accompanied by two of her ladies and an escort of four soldiers, start out for her morning ride. The zest of his own strange adventure died. He waited till they had passed, then slunk into the hotel. The concierge gazed at him in amazement. Carmichael winked. The concierge smiled. He understood. Americaner or Ehrensteiner, the young fellows were all the same.
"Police at the gates," mused Carmichael, as he soaked his head and face in cold water. "By George, it looks as if my friend the vintner was in for some excitement! Far be it that I should warn him. He had his little joke; I can wait for mine."
Gretchen! Carmichael stopped, his collar but half-way around his throat. Gretchen, brave, kindly, beautiful Gretchen! Now, by the Lord, that should not be! He would wring the vintner's neck. He snapped the collar viciously. He was not in an amiable mood this fair September morning. And when some one hammered on the door he called sharply.
Grumbach entered.
"You are angry about something," he said.
"So I am, but you are always welcome."
"You have overslept?"
"No; on the contrary."
"Poker?"
"After a fashion," said Carmichael, the grumble gone from his voice. "I was beaten by three of a kind."
"So?"
"But I found a good hand later."
"Kings."
"Four?"
"Oh, no; only one. I haven't drawn yet."
"You are not telling me all."
"No. You are going to the ball to-night?"
"I would not miss it for five thousand crowns," sadly.
"You look as if you were going to a funeral instead of the greatest event of the year in Dreiberg."
"I didn't sleep well either."
"Out?"
"No; one does not have to go out in order not to sleep."
"I'd like to know what's going on in that bullet-head of yours."
"Nothing is going on; everything has stopped."
"Can't you make a confidant of me, Hans?"
"Not yet, Captain."
"When you are ready it may be too late. I leave Dreiberg for good in a few weeks."
"No!" For the first time Grumbach showed interest.
"I have resigned the consulship."
"And for what reason
Carmichael silently drew on his coat.
"Ach! So you have one, too?"
"One what?"
"One secret."
"Yes. But it's the kind we can't talk about."
"I understand. Have you had breakfast?"
"Neither have I. Let us go together. It may be we need each other's company this morning. You and I won't have to bother about talking."
"You make a good comrade, Hans."
There was a large crowd outside the palace that night, which was clear and starry. A troop of cavalry patrolled the fence. Carriage after carriage rolled in through the gates, coming directly from the opera. It was eleven o'clock. All the great in the duchy were on hand that night. Often a cheer rose from the ranks of the outsiders as some popular general or some famous beauty passed. It was an orderly crowd, jostling and good-natured, held only by curiosity. Every window in the palace presented a glowing square of light; and beams crisscrossed the emerald lawns and died in the arms of the lurking shadows. The gardens were illuminated besides. It was fairy-land, paid for by those who were not entitled to enter. Few, however, thought of this inconsistency. A duchy is a duchy; nothing more need be said.
Carmichael was naturally democratic. To ride a block in a carriage was to him a waste of time. And he rather liked to shoulder into a press. With the aid of his cane and a frequent push of the elbow he worked his way to the gates. And close by the sentry-box he saw Gretchen and her vintner. Carmichael could not resist stopping a moment. He raised his hat to Gretchen, to the wonder of those nearest. The vintner would have gladly disappeared, but the human wall behind made this impossible. But he was needlessly alarmed. Carmichael only smiled ironically.
"Do you know where the American consulate is?" he asked low, so that none but Gretchen and the vintner heard.
"Yes," said the vintner, blushing with shame.
"I live above the agency."
"Good! I shall expect to see you in the morning."
But the vintner was determined that he shouldn't. He would be at work in the royal vineyards on the morrow.
"To-morrow?" repeated Gretchen, to whom this by-play was a blank. "Why should he wish to see you?"
"Who knows? Let us be going. They are pressing us too close to the gates."
"Very well," acquiesced Gretchen, somewhat disappointed. She wanted to see all there was to be seen.
"It is half-after ten," he added, as if to put forward some logical excuse for leaving at this moment.
A man followed them all the way to the Krumerweg.
Carmichael threw himself eagerly into the gaiety of the dance. Never had he seen the ball-room so brilliant with color. Among all those there his was the one somber dress. The white cambric stock and the frill in his shirt were the only gay touches. It was not his fault: the rules of the service compelled him thus to dress. But he needed no brass or cloth of gold. There was not a male head among all the others to compare with his.
He was an accomplished waltzer, after the manner of that day, when one went round and round like some mechanical toy wound up. Strauss and Waldteufel tingled his feet; and he whirled ambassadors' wives till they were breathless and ambassadors' daughters till they no longer knew or cared where they were. He was full of subtle deviltry this night, with an undercurrent of malice toward every one and himself in particular. This would be the last affair of the kind for him, and he wanted a full memory of it. Between times he exchanged a jest or two with the chancellor or talked battles with old Ducwitz; twice he caught the grand duke's eye, but there was only a friendly nod from that august personage, no invitation to talk. Thrice, while on the floor, her highness passed him; but there was never a smile, never a glance. He became careless and reckless. He would seek her and talk to her and smile at her even if the duke threw a regiment in between. The Irish blood in him burned to-night, capable of any folly. He no longer danced. He waited and watched; and it was during one of these waits that he saw Grumbach in the gallery.
"Now, what the devil is the Dutchman doing with a pair of opera-glasses!"
It required some time and patience to discover the object of this singular attention on the part of Grumbach. Carmichael was finally convinced that this object was no less a person than her serene highness!
Later her highness stood before one of the long windows in the conservatory, listlessly watching the people in the square. And these poor fools envied her! To envy her, who was a prisoner, a chattel to be exchanged for war's immunity, who was a princess in name but a cipher in fact! All was wrong with the world. She had stolen out of the ball-room; the craving to be alone had been too strong. Little she cared whether they missed her or not. She left the window and sat on one of the divans, idly opening and shutting her fan. Was that some one coming for her? She turned.
It was Carmichael.
What an opportunity for scandal! She laughed inwardly. The barons and their wives, the ambassadors' wives and their daughters, would miss them both. And the spirit of deviltry lay also upon her heart. She smiled at the man and with her fan bade him be seated at her side. The divinity that hedges in a king did not bother either of them just then.
"You have not asked me to dance to-night," she declared.
"I know it."
"Why?"
"I am neither a prince nor an ambassador."
"But you have danced with me."
"Yes; I have been to Heaven now and then."
"And do you eject yourself thus easily?"
"By turning myself out my self-esteem remains unruffled."
"Then you expected to be turned out?"
"Sooner or later."
"Why?"
Again that word! To him it was the most tantalizing word in the language. It crucified him.
"Why?" she repeated, her eyes soft and dreamy.
"As I have said, I am not a prince. I am only a consul, not even a diplomat, simply a business arm of my government. My diplomacy never ascends above the quality of hops and wines imported. I am supposed to take in any wandering sailor, feed him, and ship him home. I am also the official guide of all American tourists."
"That is no reason."
"Your father—" He should have said the grand duke.
"Ah, yes; my father, the chancellor, the ambassadors, and their wives and daughters! I begin to believe that you have grown afraid of them."
"I confess that I have. I had an adventure last night. Would you like to hear about it?"
How beautiful she was in that simple gown of white, unadorned by any jewels save the little crown of sparkling white stones in her hair!
"Tell me."
He was a good story-teller. It was a crisp narrative he made.
"A veiled lady," she mused. "What would you say if I told you that your mystery is no mystery at all? I am the veiled lady. And the person I went to see was my old nurse, my foster-mother, with whom I spent the happiest, freest days of my life, in the garret at Dresden. Pouf! All mysteries may be dispelled if we go to the right person. So you are to be recalled?"
"I have asked for my recall, your Highness."
"And so Dreiberg no longer appeals to you? You once told inc that you loved it."
"I am cursed with wanderlust, your Highness." He regretted that he had not remained in the ball-room. He was in great danger.
"You promised to tell me what she is like." Suddenly all his fear went away, all his trepidation; the spirit of recklessness which had vised him a little while ago again empowered him. He was afraid of nothing. His face flushed and there were bright points of fire in his eyes. She saw what she had roused, and grew afraid herself. She pretended to become interested in the Watteau cupids on her fan.
"How shall I describe her?" he said. "I have seen only paintings and marbles, and these are inanimate. I have never seen angels, so I can not draw a comparison there. Have you ever seen ripe wheat in a rain-storm? That is the color of her hair. There is jade and lapis-lazuli in her eyes. And Ole Bull could not imitate the music of her voice." He leaned toward her. "And I love her better than life, better than hope; and between us there is the distance of a thousand worlds. So I must give up the dream and go away, as an honorable man should."
Neither of them heard the chancellor's approach.
"And because I love her."
The fan in her hand slipped unheeded to the floor.
"Your Highness," broke in the cold even tones of Herbeck, "your father is making inquiries about you."
Carmichael rose instantly, white as the frill in his shirt.
Hildegarde, however, was a princess. She gained her feet leisurely, with half a smile on her lips.
"Count, Herr Carmichael tells me that he is soon to leave Dreiberg."
"Ah!" There was satisfaction in Herbeck's ejaculation, satisfaction of a frank order. But there was a glint of admiration in his eyes as he recognized the challenge in Carmichael's. He saw that he must step carefully in regard to this hot-headed young Irishman. "We shall miss Herr Carmichael."
Her highness moved serenely toward the door. Carmichael waited till she was gone from sight, then he stooped and picked up the fan. Herbeck at once held out his hand.
"Give it to me, Herr Captain," he said, with a melancholy gentleness. "I will return it to her highness."
Carmichael deliberately thrust the fan into a pocket and shook his head.
"Your Excellency, I do not know how long you stood behind us, but you were there long enough to learn that I have surrendered my dream. Nothing but force will cause me to surrender this fan."
"Keep it, then, my son," replied the chancellor, with good understanding.
CHAPTER XVII
AFTER THE VINTAGE
The ducal vineyards covered some forty acres of rich hillside. All day long the sun beat squarely upon the clustering fruit. A low rambling building of stone covered the presses and bottling departments, and was within comparatively easy distance of the city. During the vintage several hundred men and women found employment. The grand duke derived a comfortable private revenue from these wines, the Tokay being scarcely inferior to that made in Hungary. There was a large brewery besides, which supplied all the near-by cities and towns. The German noble, be he king, duke, or baron, has always been more or less a merchant; and it did not embarrass the grand duke of Ehrenstein in the least to see his coat of arms burnt into oaken wine-casks.
A former steward had full charge of the business, personally hiring and paying the help and supervising the various branches. He was a gruff old fellow, just and honest; and once you entered his employ he was as much a martinet as any captain at sea. The low cunning of the peasant never eluded his watchful eye. He knew to the last pound of grapes how much wine there should be, how much beer to the last measure of hops.
The entrance to the vineyards was made through a small lodge where the ducal vintner lived, and kept his books and moneys till such time as he should be required to place them before the proper official.
Upon this brave morning, the one following the ball at the palace, the vintner was reclining against the outside wall of the gates, smoking his china-pipe and generally at peace with the world. The bloom was early upon the grape, work was begun, and the vintage promised to be exceptionally fine. Through a drifting cloud of smoke he discerned a solitary figure approaching from the direction of Dreiberg, a youthful figure, buoyant of step, and confident. Herr Hoffman was rather interested. Ordinarily the peasant who came to this gate had his hat in his hand and his feet were laggard. Not so this youth. He paused at the gate and inspected the old man highly.
"Herr Hoffman?"
"Yes."
"I want work."
"So? What can you do?" He was a clean youngster, this, but there was something in his eyes that vaguely disturbed the head vintner. It was like mockery more than anything else. The youth recounted his abilities, and Hoffman was gracious enough to admit that he seemed to know what he was talking about.
"I have a letter to you also."
"Ach! We shall be properly introduced now," said Hoffman, growling. "Let me see it."
He saw it, but with starting eyes. There was, then, something new under the sun? A picker of grapes, recommended by a princess! He turned the letter inside out, but found no illumination.
"Du lieber Gott! You are Leopold Dietrich?"
"Yes, Herr."
"How did you come by this letter?"
"Her serene highness is patron to Gretchen, the goose-girl, at whose request the recommendation was given me."
This altered matters. "Follow me," said Hoffman.
The two entered the office.
"Can you write?"
"A little, Herr."
"Then write your name on this piece of paper and that. Each night you will present yours with the number of pounds, which will be credited to you. You must bring it back each morning. If you lose it you will be paid nothing for your labor."
Dietrich wrote his name twice. It was rather hard work, for he screwed up his mouth and cramped his fingers. Still, Hoffman was not wholly satisfied with his eyes.
"Gottlieb," he said to one of the men, "take him to terrace ninety-eight. That hasn't been touched yet. We'll see what sort of workman he is." He spoke to Dietrich again. "What is Gretchen to you?" For Hoffman knew Gretchen; many a time she had filled her basket and drawn her crowns.
"She is my sweetheart, Herr." And there was no mockery in the youth's eyes as he said this.
"Take him along, Gottlieb. You will have no further use for this letter from her highness, so I'll keep it and frame it and hang it in the office." Which showed that Hoffman himself had had lessons in the gentle art of mockery.
Terrace ninety-eight was given over to small grapes; thus, many bunches had to be picked to fill the basket. But Dietrich went to work with a will. His fingers were deft and his knife was sharp; and by midsun he had turned his sixth basket, which was fair work, considering.
As Hoffman did not feed his employees, Dietrich was obliged to beg from his co-workers. Very willingly they shared with him their coarse bread and onions. He ate the bread and stuffed the onions in his pocket. There was no idling. As soon as the frugal meal was over, the peasants trooped away to their respective terraces. Once more the youth was alone. He set down his basket and laughed. Was there ever such a fine world? Had there ever been a more likable adventure? The very danger of it was the spice which gave it flavor. He stretched out his arms as if to embrace this world which appeared so rosal, so joyous to his imagination.
"Thanks, thanks! You have given me youth, and I accept it," he said aloud, perhaps addressing that mutable goddess who presides over all follies. "Regret it in my old age? Not I! I shall have lived for one short month. Youth was given to us to enjoy, and I propose to press the grape to the final drop. And when I grow old this adventure shall be the tonic to wipe out many wrinkles of care. A mad fling, a brimming cup, one short merry month—and then, the reckoning! How I hate the thought!"
He sobered; the laughter went out of his eyes and face. Changeful twenty, where so many paths reach out into the great world, paths straight and narrow, of devious turnings which end at precipices, of blind alleys which lead nowhere and close in behind!
"I love her, I love her!" His face grew bright again, and the wooing blood ran tingling in his veins. "Am I a thief, a scoundrelly thief, because I have that right common to all men, to love one woman? Some day I shall suffer for this; some day my heart shall ache; so be it!"
The sun began the downward circle; the shadows crept eastward and imperceptibly grew longer; a gray tone settled under the stones at his feet. Sometimes he sang, sometimes he stood dreaming. His fingers were growing sore and sticky and there was a twinge in his back as he shouldered his eighth basket and scrambled down to the man who weighed the pick. He was beginning his ninth when he saw Gretchen coming along the purple aisle. She waved a hand in welcome, and he sheathed his knife. No more work this day for him. He waited.
"What a beautiful day!" said Gretchen, with a happy laugh.
"Aye, what a day for love!"
"And work!"
"Kiss me!"
"When you fill that basket."
"Not before?"
"Not even a little one," mischief in her glance. Out came the knife and the vintner plied himself furiously. Gretchen had a knife of her own, and she joined him. They laughed gaily. Snip, snip; bunch by bunch the contents of the basket grew.
"There!" he said at last. "That's what I call work; but it is worth it. Now!"
Gretchen saw that it would be futile to hold him off longer; what she would not give he would of a surety take. So she put her hands behind her back, closed her eyes, and raised her chin. He kissed not only the lovely mouth, but the eyes and cheeks and hair.
"Gretchen, you are as good and beautiful as an angel."
"What are angels like?"
"An angel is the most beautiful woman a poet can describe or imagine."
"Then there are no men angels?"
"Only Gabriel; at least I never heard of any other."
"Then I do not want to be an angel. I had rather be what I am. Besides, angels do not have tempers; they do not long for things they should not have; they have no sweethearts." She caught him roughly by the arms. "Ah, if anything should happen to you, I should die! It seems as though I had a hundred hearts and that they had all melted into one for love of you. Do men love as women love? Is it everything and all things, or only an incident? I would give up my soul to you if you asked for it."
"I ask only for your love, Gretchen; only that." And he pressed her hands. "All men are rogues, more or less. There are so many currents and eddies entering into a man's life. It is made up of a thousand variant interests. No, man's love is never like a woman's. But remember this, Gretchen, I loved you the best I knew how, as a man loves but once, honorably as it was possible, purely and dearly."
The shade of trouble crossed her face. "Why are you always talking like that? Do I not know that you love me? Have I not my dowry, and are we not to be married after the vintage?"
"But your singing?"
"Singing? Why, my voice belongs to you; for your sake I wish to be great, for no other reason."
He ripped a bunch of grapes from the vine, a thing no careful vintner should do, and held it toward her.
"Have you ever heard of the kissing cherries?" he asked.
She shook her head. He explained.
"This bunch will do very well."
He took one grape at the bottom in his teeth. Gingerly Gretchen did the same. Their lips met in a smothered laughter. Then they tried it again.
And this Watteau picture met the gaze of two persons on the terrace below. The empurpling face of one threatened an explosion, but the smiling face of the other restrained this vocal thunder. The old head vintner kicked a stone savagely, and at this rattling noise Gretchen and her lover turned. They beheld the steward, and peering over his shoulder the amused countenance of the Princess Hildegarde.
"You—" began the steward, no longer able to contain himself.
"Patience, Hoffman!" warned her highness. Then she laughed blithely. It was such a charming picture, and never had she seen a handsomer pair of bucolic lovers. A sudden pang drove the merriment from her face. Ah, but she envied Gretchen! For the peasant there was freedom, there was the chosen mate; but for the princess—
"Your hat, scoundrel!" cried Hoffman.
The vintner snatched off his hat apologetically and swung it round on the tips of his fingers.
"Is this the way you work?"
"I have picked nine baskets."
"You should have picked twelve."
It interested her highness to note that this handsome young fellow was not afraid of the head vintner. So this was Gretchen's lover? He was really handsome; there was nothing coarse about his features or figure. And presently she realized that he was returning her scrutiny with interest. He had never seen her highness at close range before, and he now saw that Gretchen was more beautiful only because he saw her through the eyes of a lover.
The pause was broken by Gretchen.
"Pardon, Highness!"
"For what, Gretchen?"
"For not having seen your approach."
"That was my fault, not yours. When is the wedding?"
"After the vintage, Highness."
Her highness then spoke to the bridegroom-elect. "You will be good to her?"
"Who could help it, your Highness?"
The pronoun struck her oddly, for peasants as a usual thing never used it in addressing the nobility.
"Well, on the day of the wedding I will stand sponsor to you both. And good luck go with you. Come, Hoffman; my horse will be restive and my men impatient."
She passed down the aisle, and the head vintner followed, wagging his head. He was not at all satisfied with that tableau. He employed men to work; he wanted no love-affairs inside his vineyards. As for her highness, she had come for the sole purpose of seeing Gretchen's lover; and it occurred to her that the really desirable men were generally unencumbered by titles.
"He will discharge me," said the young vintner gloomily.
"He will not dare," returned Gretchen. "We have done nothing wrong. Her highness will stand by us. It must be five o'clock," looking at the sun.
"In that case, no more work for the day."
He swung the basket to his shoulder, and the sun, flashing upon its contents, turned the bloomy globes into dull rubies. He presented his card at the office and was duly credited with three crowns, which, according to Gretchen, was a fine day's work. Hoffman said nothing about dismissal.
"Come day after to-morrow; to-morrow is a feast-day. You are always having feast-days when work begins. All summer long you loaf about, but the minute you start to work you must find excuses to lay off. Clear out, both of you!"
"Work at last," said Dietrich, as he and Gretchen started for the city. "If I can get a position in the brewery for the winter I shall be rich."
"Oh, the beautiful world!"
"Do you recall the first day I met you?" he asked.
"Yes. A little more and that dog would have killed the big gander. What little things bring about big ones! When I walked into the city that day, had any one told me that I should fall in love, I should have laughed."
"And I!"
Arm in arm they went on. Sometimes Gretchen sang; often he put her hand to his lips. By and by they came abreast of an old Gipsy. He wore a coat of Joseph's, and his face was as lined as a frost-bitten apple. But his eyes were keen and undimmed, and he walked confidently and erect, like a man who has always lived in the open.
"Will you tell me how to find the Adlergasse?" he asked in broken German. His accent was that of a Magyar. He had a smattering of a dozen tongues at his command, for in his time he had crossed and recrossed the Danube, the Rhine, and the Rhone.
They carelessly gave him specific directions and passed on. He followed grimly, like fate, whose agent he was, though long delayed. When he reached the Adlergasse he looked for a sign. He came to a stop in front of the dingy shop of the clock-mender. He went inside, and the ancient clock-mender looked up from his work, for he was always working.
He rose wearily and asked what he could do for his customer. His eyes were bothering him, so the fact that the man was a Gipsy did not at first impress him.
The Gipsy smiled mysteriously and laid a hand on his heart.
"Who are you?" sharply demanded the clock-mender.
"Who I am does not matter. I am he whom you seek."
"God in Heaven!" The bony hands of the clock-mender shot out and clutched the other's coat in a grip which shook, so intense was it. The Gipsy released himself slowly. "But first show me your pretty crowns and the paper which will give me immunity from the police. I know something about you. You never break your word. That is why I came. Your crowns, as you offered, and immunity; then I speak."
"Man, I can give you the crowns, but God knows I have no longer the power to give you immunity."
"So?"
The Gipsy shouldered his bundle.
"For God's sake, wait!" begged the clock-mender.
But the Gipsy walked out, unheeding.