Mr. William W. Blithers arrived in Edelweiss, the Capital of Graustark, on the same day that the Prince returned from his tour of the world. As a matter of fact, he travelled by special train and beat the Prince home by the matter of three hours. The procession of troops, headed by the Royal Castle Guard, it was announced would pass the historic Hotel Regengetz at five in the afternoon, so Mr. Blithers had front seats on the extension porch facing the Platz.
He did not know it, but if he had waited for the regular train in Vienna, he would have had the honour of travelling in the same railway carriage with the royal young man. ("Would" is used advisedly in the place of "might," for he would have travelled in it, you may be sure.)
Moreover, he erred in another particular, for arriving at the same instant and virtually arm-in-arm with the country's sovereign, he could hardly have been kept out of the procession itself. When you stop to think that next to the Prince he was the most important personage in the realm on this day of celebration, it ought not to be considered at all unreasonable for him to have expected some notable attention, such as being placed in the first carriage immediately behind the country's sovereign, or possibly on the seat facing him. Missing an opportunity like this, wasn't at all Mr. Blithers' idea of success. He was very sorry about the special train. If it hadn't been for that train he might now be preparing to ride castlewards behind a royal band instead of sitting with his wife in the front row of seats on a hotel porch, just like a regular guest, waiting for the parade to come along. It certainly was a wasted opportunity.
He had lost no time in his dash across the continent. In the first place, his agents in Paris made it quite clear to him that there was likely to be "ructions" in Graustark over the loan and the prospect of a plebeian princess being seated on the throne whether the people liked it or not; and in the second place, Maud Applegate had left a note on his desk in the Paris offices, coolly informing him that she was likely to turn up in Edelweiss almost as soon as he. She added an annoying postscript. She said she was curious to see what sort of a place it was that he had been wasting his money on!
To say that he was put out by Maud's aggravating behaviour would be stating the case with excessive gentleness. He was furious. He sent for the head of the detective agency and gave him a blowing up that he was never to forget. It appears that the detectives had followed a false lead and had been fooled by the wary Maud in a most humiliating manner. They hadn't the remotest notion where she was, and evinced great surprise when informed in a voice loud enough to be heard a half-block away that she was on her way to Graustark. They said it couldn't be possible, and he said they didn't know what they were talking about. He was done with them. They could step out and ask the cashier to give them a check for their services, and so on and so forth. He did not forget to notify them that they were a gang of loafers.
Then he dragged Mrs. Blithers off to the Gare de l'Este and took the Express to Vienna. He would see to the loan first and to Maud afterward.
He had no means of knowing that a certain Miss Guile was doing more to shape the destiny of the principality of Graustark than all the millions he had poured into its treasury. Nor had he the faintest suspicion that she was even then on Graustark soil and waiting as eagerly as he for the procession to pass a given point.
Going back a day or two, it becomes necessary to report that while in Vienna the perverse Bedelia played a shabby trick on the infatuated Robin. She stole away from the Bristol in the middle of the night and was half-way to the Graustark frontier before he was aware of her flight. She left a note for him, the contents of which sufficed to ease his mind in the presence of what otherwise might have been looked upon as a calamity. Instead of relapsing into despondency over her defection, he became astonishingly exuberant. It was relief and not despair that followed the receipt of the brief letter. She had played directly into his hand, after all. In other words, she had removed a difficulty that had been troubling him for days: the impossibility of entering his own domain without betraying his identity to her. Naturally his entrance to the Capital would be attended by the most incriminating manifestation on the part of the populace. The character of R. Schmidt would be effaced in an instant, and, according to his own notion, quite a bit too soon to suit his plans. He preferred to remain Schmidt until she placed her hand in his and signified a readiness to become plain Mrs. R. Schmidt of Vienna. That would be his hour of triumph.
In her note she said: "Forgive me for running away like this. It is for the best. I must have a few days to myself, dear friend,—days for sober reflection uninfluenced by the presence of a natural enemy to composure. And so I am leaving you in this cowardly, graceless fashion. Do not think ill of me. I give you my solemn promise that in a few days I shall let you know where I may be found if you choose to come to me. Even then I may not be fully convinced in my own mind that our adventure has reached its climax. You have said that you would accompany me to Graustark. I am leaving to-night for that country, where I shall remain in seclusion for a few days before acquainting you with my future plans. It is not my intention to stop in Edelweiss at present. The newspapers proclaim a state of unrest there over the coming visit of Mr. Blithers and the return of the Prince, both of whom are very much in the public eye just now. I prefer the quiet of the country to the excitement of the city, so I shall seek some remote village and give myself up to—shall I say prayerful meditation? Believe me, dear Rex, to be your most devoted, though whimsical, Bedelia."
He was content with this. Deep down in his heart he thanked her for running away at such an opportune time! The situation was immeasurably simplified. He had laid awake nights wondering how he could steal into his own domain with her as a companion and still put off the revelation that he was not yet ready to make. Now the way was comparatively easy. Once the demonstration was safely over, he could carry on his adventure with something of the same security that made the prowlings of the Bagdad Caliphs such happy enterprises, for he could with impunity traverse the night in the mantle of R. Schmidt.
Immediately upon receiving her letter, he sent for Quinnox and Gourou, who were stopping at a hotel nearby.
"I am ready to proceed to Edelweiss, my friends," said he. "Miss Guile has departed. Will you book accommodations on the earliest train leaving for home?"
"I have already seen to that, highness," said Gourou calmly. "We leave at six this evening. Count Quinnox has wired the Prime Minister that you will arrive in Edelweiss at three to-morrow afternoon, God willing."
"You knew that she had gone?"
"I happened to be in the Nordbahnhof when she boarded the train at midnight," replied the Baron, unmoved.
"Do you never sleep?" demanded Robin hotly.
"Not while I am on duty," said Gourou.
The Prince was thoughtful, his brow clouding with a troubled frown. "I suppose I shall now have to face my people with the confession that will confirm their worst fears. I may as well say to you, my friends, that I mean to make her my wife even though it costs me my kingdom. Am I asking too much of you, gentlemen, when I solicit your support in my fight against the prejudice that is certain to—"
Quinnox stopped him with a profound gesture of resignation and a single word: "Kismet!" and Gourou, with his most ironic smile, added: "You may count on us to support the crown, highness, even though we lose our heads."
"Thank you," said Robin, flushing. "Just because I appear to have lost my head is no reason for your doing the same, Baron Gourou."
The Baron's smile was unfaltering. "True," he said. "But we may be able to avoid all that by inducing the people of Graustark to lose their hearts."
"Do you think they will accept her as—as their princess?" cried Robin, hopefully.
"I submit that it will first be necessary for you to induce Miss Guile to accept you as her prince," said Gourou mildly. "That doesn't appear to be settled at present."
He took alarm. "What do you mean? Your remark has a sinister sound. Has anything transpired to—"
"She has disappeared, highness, quite effectually. That is all that I can say," said Gourou, and Robin was conscious of a sudden chill and the rush of cold moisture to his brow. "But let us prepare to confront an even more substantial condition. A prospective father-in-law is descending upon our land. He is groping in the dark and he is angry. He has lost a daughter somewhere in the wilds of Europe, and he realises that he cannot hope to become the grandfather of princes unless he can produce a mother for them. At present he seems to be desperate. He doesn't know where to find her, as Little Bo-peep might have said. We may expect to catch him in a very ugly and obstreperous mood. Have I told you that he was in this city last night? He arrived at the Bristol a few hours prior to the significant departure of Miss Guile. Moreover, he has chartered a special train and is leaving to-day for Edelweiss. Count Quinnox has taken the precaution to advise the Prime Minister of his approach and has impressed upon him the importance of decrying any sort of popular demonstration against him on his arrival. Romano reports that the people are in an angry mood. I would suggest that you prepare, in a way, to placate them, now that Miss Guile has more or less dropped out of sight. It behooves you to—"
"See here," broke in Robin harshly, "have you had the effrontery to make a personal appeal to Miss Guile in your confounded efforts to prevent the—"
"Just a moment, Robin," exclaimed Count Quinnox, his face hardening. "I am sorry to hear words of anger on your lips, and directed toward your most loyal friends. You ask us to support you and in the next breath imply that we are unworthy. It is beneath the dignity of either Baron Gourou or myself to reply to your ungenerous charge."
"I beg your pardon," said Robin, but without lowering his head. He was not convinced. The barb of suspicion had entered his brain. Were they, after all, responsible for Bedelia's flight? Had they revealed his identity to the girl and afterward created such alarm in her breast that she preferred to slink away in the night rather than to court the humiliation that might follow if she presumed to wed Graustark's prince in opposition to his country's wish? "You must admit that the circumstance of her secret flight last night is calculated to—But, no matter. We will drop the subject. I warn you, however, that my mind is fixed. I shall not rest until I have found her."
"I fancy that the state of unrest will be general," said Gourou, with perfect good-nature. "It will go very hard with Graustark if we fail to find her. And now, to return to our original sin: What are we to do about the ambitious Mr. Blithers? He is on my conscience and I tremble."
It must not be supposed for an instant that the City of Edelweiss and the court of Graustark was unimpressed by the swift approach and abrupt arrival of Mr. Blithers. His coming had been heralded for days in advance. The city was rudely expectant, the court uneasy. The man who had announced his determination to manage the public and private affairs of the principality was coming to town. He was coming in state, there could be no doubt about that. More than that, he was coming to propitiate the people whether they chose to be mollified or not. He was bringing with him a vast store of business acumen, an unexampled confidence and the self-assurance of one who has never encountered failure. Shylock's mantle rested on his hated shoulders, and Judas Iscariot was spoken of with less abhorrence than William W. Blithers by the Christian country of Graustark. He was coming to get better acquainted with his daughter's future subjects.
Earlier in the week certain polite and competent gentlemen from Berlin had appeared at the Castle gates, carrying authority from the dauntless millionaire. They calmly announced that they had come to see what repairs were needed in and about the Castle and to put the place in shape. A most regrettable incident followed. They were chased out of town by an angry mob and serious complications with the German Empire were likely to be the result of the outrage.
Moreover, the citizens of Graustark were openly reluctant to deposit their state bonds as security for the unpopular loan, and there was a lively sentiment in favour of renouncing the agreement entered into by the cabinet.
The Prime Minister, in the absence of the Prince, called mass meetings in all the towns and villages and emissaries of the crown addressed the sullen crowds. They sought to clarify the atmosphere. So eloquent were their pleadings and so sincere their promises that no evil would befall the state, that the more enlightened of the people began to deposit their bonds in the crown treasury. Others, impressed by the confidence of their more prosperous neighbours, showed signs of weakening. The situation was made clear to them. There could be no possible chance of loss from a financial point of view. Their bonds were safe, for the loan itself was a perfectly legitimate transaction, a conclusion which could not be gainsaid by the most pessimistic of the objectors. Mr. Blithers would be paid in full when the time came for settlement, the bonds would be restored to their owners, and all would be well with Graustark.
As for the huge transactions Mr. Blithers had made in London, Paris and Berlin, there could be but one conclusion: he had the right to invest his money as he pleased. That was his look-out. The bonds of Graustark were open to purchase in any market. Any investor in the world was entitled to buy all that he could obtain if he felt inclined to put his money to that use. The earnest agents of the government succeeded in convincing the people that Mr. Blithers had made a good investment because he was a good business man. What did it matter to Graustark who owned the outstanding bonds? It might as well be Blithers as Bernstein or any one else.
As for Miss Blithers becoming the Princess of Graustark, that was simple poppy-cock, declared the speakers. The crown could take oath that Prince Robin would not allow that to happen. Had he not declared in so many words that he would never wed the daughter of William Blithers, and, for that matter, hadn't the young woman also announced that she would have none of him? There was one thing that Mr. Blithers couldn't do, and that was to marry his daughter to the Prince of Graustark.
And so, by the time that Mr. Blithers arrived in Edelweiss, the people were in a less antagonistic frame of mind,—though sullenly suspicious,—and were even prepared to grin in their sleeves, for, after all, it was quite clear that the joke was not on them but on Mr. Blithers.
When the special train pulled into the station Mr. Blithers turned to his wife and said:
"Cheer up, Lou. This isn't a funeral."
"But there is quite a mob out there," she said, peering through the car window. "How can we be sure that they are friendly?"
"Don't you worry," said Mr. Blithers confidently. "They are not likely to throw rocks at the goose that lays the golden egg." If he had paused to think, he would not have uttered such a careless indictment. The time would come when she was to remind him of his thoughtless admission, omitting, however, any reference to the golden egg.
The crowd was big, immobile, surly. It lined the sidewalks in the vicinity of the station and stared with curious, half-closed eyes at the portly capitalist and his party, which, by the way, was rendered somewhat imposing in size by augmentation in the shape of lawyers from Paris and London, clerks and stenographers from the Paris office, and four plain clothes men who were to see to it that Midas wasn't blown to smithereens by envious anarchists; to say nothing of a lady's maid, a valet, a private secretary and a doctor. (Mr. Blithers always went prepared for the worst.)
He was somewhat amazed and disgruntled by the absence of silk-hat ambassadors from the Castle, with words of welcome for him on his arrival. There was a plentiful supply of policemen but no cabinet ministers. He was on the point of censuring his secretary for not making it clear to the government that he was due to arrive at such and such an hour and minute, when a dapper young man in uniform—he couldn't tell whether he was a patrolman or a captain—came up and saluted.
"I am William W. Blithers," said he sharply.
"I am an official guide and interpreter, sir," announced the young man suavely. "May I have the honour—"
"Not necessary—not necessary at all," exploded Mr. Blithers. "I can get about without a guide."
"You will require an interpreter, sir," began the other, only to be waved aside.
"Any one desiring to speak to me will have to do it in English," said Mr. Blithers, and marched out to the carriages.
He was in some doubt at first, but as his carriage passed swiftly between the staring ranks on the sidewalks, he began to doff his hat and bow to the right and the left. His smiles were returned by the multitude, and so his progress was more or less of a triumph after all.
At the Regengetz he found additional cause for irritation. The lords and nobles who should have met him at the railway station were as conspicuously absent in the rotunda of the hotel. No one was there to receive him except the ingratiating manager of the establishment, who hoped that he had had a pleasant trip and who assured him that it would not be more than a couple of hours before his rooms would be vacated by the people who now had them but were going away as soon as the procession had passed.
"Get 'em out at once," stormed Mr. Blithers. "Do you think I want to hang around this infernal lobby until—"
"Pardon me," said the manager blandly, "but your rooms will not be ready for you before four or five o'clock. They are occupied. We can put you temporarily in rooms at the rear if your lady desires to rest and refresh herself after the journey."
"Well, I'll be—" began Mr. Blithers, purple in the face, and then leaned suddenly against the counter, incapable of finishing the sentence.
The manager rubbed his hands and smiled. "This is one of our gala days, Mr. Blithers. You could not have arrived at a time more opportune. I have taken the precaution to reserve chairs for you on the verandah. The procession will pass directly in front of the hotel on its way to Castle avenue."
"What procession?" demanded Mr. Blithers. He was beginning to recall the presence of uniformed bands and mounted troops in the side streets near the station.
"The Prince is returning to-day from his trip around the world," said the manager.
"He ought to have been back long ago," said Mr. Blithers wrathfully, and mopped his brow with a hand rendered unsteady by a mental convulsion. He was thinking of his hat-lifting experience.
True to schedule, the procession passed the hotel at five. Bands were playing, people were shouting, banners were waving, and legions of mounted and foot soldiers in brilliant array clogged the thoroughfare. The royal equipage rolled slowly by, followed by less gorgeous carriages in which were seated the men who failed to make the advent of Mr. Blithers a conspicuous success.
Prince Robin sat in the royal coach, faced by two unbending officers of the Royal Guard. He was alone on the rear seat, and his brown, handsome face was aglow with smiles. Instead of a hat of silk, he lifted a gay and far from immaculate conception in straw; instead of a glittering uniform, he wore a suit of blue serge and a peculiarly American tie of crimson hue. He looked more like a popular athlete returning from conquests abroad than a prince of ancient lineage. But the crowd cheered itself hoarse over this bright-faced youngster who rode by in a coach of gold and brandished a singularly unregal chapeau.
His alert eyes were searching the crowd along the street, in the balconies and windows with an eager intensity. He was looking for the sweet familiar face of the loveliest girl on earth, and knew that he looked in vain, for even though she were one among the many her features would be obscured by an impenetrable veil. If she were there, he wondered what her thoughts might be on beholding the humble R. Schmidt in the role of a royal prince receiving the laudations of the loving multitude!
Passing the Regengetz, his eyes swept the rows of cheering people banked upon its wide terrace and verandahs. He saw Mr. and Mrs. Blithers well down in front, and for a second his heart seemed to stand still. Would she be with them? It was with a distinct sensation of relief that he realised that she was not with the smiling Americans.
Mr. Blithers waved his hat and, instead of shouting the incomprehensible greeting of the native spectators, called out in vociferous tones:
"Welcome home! Welcome! Hurrah!"
As the coach swerved into the circle and entered the great, tree-lined avenue, followed by the clattering chorus of four thousand horse-shoes, Mrs. Blithers after a final glimpse of the disappearing coach, sighed profoundly, shook out her handkerchief from the crumpled ball she had made of it with her nervously clenched fingers, touched her lips with it and said:
"Oh, what a remarkably handsome, manly boy he is, Will."
Mr. Blithers nodded his head proudly. "He certainly is. I'll bet my head that Maud is crazy about him already. She can't help it, Lou. That trip on the Jupiter was a God-send."
"I wish we could hear something from her," said Mrs. Blithers, anxiously.
"Don't you worry," said he. "She'll turn up safe and sound and enthusiastic before she's a week older. We'll have plain sailing from now on, Lou."
Mr. Blithers indeed experienced plain sailing for the ensuing twenty hours. It was not until just before he set forth at two the next afternoon to attend, by special appointment, a meeting of the cabinet in the council chamber at the Castle that he encountered the first symptom of squalls ahead.
He had sent his secretary to the Castle with a brief note suggesting an early conference. It naturally would be of an informal character, as there was no present business before them. The contracts had already been signed by the government and by his authorised agents. So far as the loan was concerned there was nothing more to be said. Everything was settled. True, it was still necessary to conform to a certain custom by having the Prince affix his signature to the contract over the Great Seal of State, but as he previously had signed an agreement in New York this brief act was of a more or less perfunctory nature.
The deposit of bonds by the state and its people would follow in course of time, as prescribed by contract, and Mr. Blithers was required to place in the Bank of Graustark, on such and such a date, the sum of three million pounds sterling. Everybody was satisfied with the terms of the contract. Mr. Blithers was to get what really amounted to nearly nine percent on a gilt-edged investment, and Graustark was to preserve its integrity and retain its possessions.
There was a distant cloud on the financial horizon, however, a vague shadow at present,—but prophetic of storm. It was perfectly clear to the nobles that when these bonds matured, Mr. Blithers would be in a position to exact payment, and as they matured in twelve years from date he was likely to be pretty much alive and kicking when the hour of reckoning arrived.
Mr. Blithers was in the mood to be amiable. He anticipated considerable pleasure in visiting the ancient halls of his prospective grandchildren. During the forenoon he had taken a motor ride about the city with Mrs. Blithers, accompanied by a guide who created history for them with commendable glibness and some veracity, and pointed out the homes of great personages as well as the churches, monuments and museums. He also told them in a confidential undertone that the Prince was expected to marry a beautiful American girl and that the people were enchanted with the prospect! That sly bit of information realised ten dollars for him at the end of the trip, aside from his customary fee.
The first shock to the placidity of Mr. Blithers came with the brief note in reply to his request for an informal conference. The Lord Chamberlain curtly informed him that the Cabinet would be in session at two and would be pleased to grant him an audience of half an hour, depending on his promptness in appearing.
Mr. Blithers was not accustomed to being granted audiences. He had got into the habit of having them thrust upon him. It irritated him tremendously to have any one measure time for him. Why, even the President of the United States, the Senate, or the District Attorney in New York couldn't do that for him. And here was a whipper-snapper Lord Chamberlain telling him that the Cabinet would grant him half-an-hour! He managed to console himself, however, with the thought that matters would not always be as they were at present. There would be a decided change of tune later on.
It would be folly to undertake the depiction of Mr. Blithers' first impressions of the Castle and its glories, both inside out. To begin with, he lost no small amount of his assurance when he discovered that the great gates in the wall surrounding the park were guarded by resplendent dragoons who politely demanded his "pass." After the officer in charge had inspected the Lord Chamberlain's card as if he had never seen one before, he ceremoniously indicated to a warden that the gates were to be opened. There was a great clanking of chains, the drawing of iron bolts, the whirl of a windlass, and the ponderous gates swung slowly ajar.
Mr. Blithers caught his breath—and from that instant until he found himself crossing the great hall in the wake of an attendant delegated to conduct him to the council chamber his sensations are not to be described. It is only necessary to say that he was in a reverential condition, and that is saying a great deal for Mr. Blithers. A certain bombastic confidence in himself gave way to mellow timidity. He was in a new world. He was cognisant of a distinct sensation of awe. His ruthless Wall Street tread became a mincing, uncertain shuffle; he could not conquer the absurd notion that he ought to tip-toe his way about these ancient halls with their thick, velvety rugs and whispering shadows.
Everywhere about him was pomp, visible and invisible. It was in the great stairway, the vaulted ceilings, the haughty pillars, over all of which was the sheen of an age that surpassed his comprehension. Rigid servitors watched his progress through the vast spaces—men with grim, unsmiling faces. He knew, without seeing, that this huge pile was alive with noble lords and ladies: The court! Gallantry and beauty to mock him with their serene indifference!
Somewhere in this great house beautiful women were idling, or feasting, or dreaming. He was conscious of their presence all about him, and shrank slightly as he wondered if they were scrutinising his ungainly person. He was suddenly ashamed of his tight-fitting cut-a-way coat and striped trousers. Really he ought to get a new suit! These garments were much too small for him.
Were ironic eyes taking in the fresh creases in those New York trousers? Were they regarding his shimmering patent leather shoes with an intelligence that told them that he was in pain? Were they wondering how much he weighed and why he didn't unbutton his coat when he must have known that it would look better if it didn't pinch him so tightly across the chest? Above all things, were they smiling at the corpulent part of him that preceded the rest of his body, clad in an immaculate waistcoat? He never had felt so conspicuous in his life, nor so certain that he was out of place.
Coming in due time—and with a grateful heart—to a small ante-chamber, he was told to sit down and wait. He sat down very promptly. In any other house he would have sauntered around, looking at the emblems, crests and shields that hung upon the walls. But now he sat and wondered. He wondered whether this could be William W. Blithers. Was this one of the richest men in the world—this fellow sitting here with his hands folded tightly across his waistcoat? He was forced to admit that it was and at the same time it wasn't.
The attendant returned and he was ushered into a second chamber, at the opposite end of which was a large, imposing door—closed. Beside this door stood a slim, erect figure in the red, blue and gold uniform of an officer of the Castle guard. As Mr. Blithers approached this rigid figure, he recognised a friend and a warm glow pervaded his heart. There could be no mistaking the smart moustache and supercilious eye-brows. It was Lieutenant Dank.
"How do you do?" said Mr. Blithers. "Glad to see you again." His voice sounded unnatural. He extended his hand.
Dank gave him a ceremonious salute, bowed slightly but without a smile, and then threw open the door.
"Mr. Blithers, my lords," he announced, and stood aside to let the stranger in a strange land pass within.
A number of men were seated about a long table in the centre of this imposing chamber. No one arose as Mr. Blithers entered the room and stopped just inside the door. He heard it close gently behind him. He was at a loss for the first time in his life. He didn't know whether he was to stop just inside the door fingering his hat like a messenger boy, or go forward and join the group. His gaze fell upon a huge oaken chair at the far end of the table. It was the only unoccupied seat that came within the scope of his rather limited vision. He could not see anything beyond the table and the impassive group that surrounded it. Was it possible that the big chair was intended for him? If so, how small and insignificant he would look upon it. He had a ghastly notion that his feet would not touch the floor, and he went so far as to venture the hope that there would be a substantial round somewhere about midway from the bottom.
He had appeared before the inquisitorial committees in the United States Senate, and had not been oppressed by the ponderous gravity of the investigation. He had faced the Senators without a tremor of awe. He had even regarded them with a confidence, equal if not superior to their own. But now he faced a calm, impassive group of men who seemed to strip him down to the flesh with a cool, piercing interest, and who were in no sense impressed by what they saw.
Despite his nervousness he responded to the life long habit of calculation. He counted the units in the group in a single, rapid glance, and found that there were eleven. Eleven lords of the realm! Eleven stern, dignified, unsmiling strangers to the arrogance of William W. Blithers! Something told him at once that he could not spend an informal half-hour with them. Grim, striking, serious visages, all of them! The last hope for his well-fed American humour flickered and died. He knew that it would never do to regale them in an informal off-hand way—as he had planned—with examples of native wit.
Reverting to the precise moment of his entrance to the Castle, we find Mr. Blithers saying to himself that there wasn't the slightest use in even hoping that he might be invited to transfer his lodgings from the Regengetz to the Royal bed-chambers. The chance of being invited to dine there seemed to dwindle as well. While he sat and waited in the first antechamber he even experienced strange misgivings in respect to parental privileges later on.
After what appeared to him to be an interminable length of time, but in reality no more than a few seconds, a tall man arose from his seat and advanced with outstretched hand. Mr. Blithers recognised Count Quinnox, the Minister of War. He shook that friendly hand with a fervour that must have surprised the Count. Never in all his life had he been so glad to see any one.
"How are you, my lord," said the king of finance, fairly meek with gratefulness.
"Excellently well, Mr. Blithers," returned the Count. "And you?"
"Never better, never better," said Mr. Blithers, again pumping the Count's hand up and down—with even greater heartiness than before. "Glad to see you. Isn't it a pleasant day? I was telling Mrs. Blithers this morning that I'd never seen a pleasanter day. We—"
"Let me introduce you to my colleagues, Mr. Blithers," interrupted the Count.
"Happy, I'm sure," mumbled Mr. Blithers. To save his life, he couldn't tell what had got into him. He had never acted like this before.
The Count was mentioning the names of dukes, counts and barons, and Mr. Blithers was bowing profoundly to each in turn. No one offered to shake hands with him, although each rose politely, even graciously. They even smiled. He remembered that very well afterwards. They smiled kindly, almost benignly. He suddenly realised what had got into him. It was respect.
"A chair, Franz," said the white haired, gaunt man who was called Baron Romano. "Will you sit here, Mr. Blithers? Pray forgive our delay in admitting you. We were engaged in a rather serious discussion over—"
"Oh, that's all right," said Mr. Blithers, magnanimously. "Am I interfering with any important business, gent—my lords? If so, just—"
"Not at all, Mr. Blithers. Pray be seated."
"Sure I'm not taking any one's seat?"
"A secretary's, sir. He can readily find another."
Mr. Blithers sat down. He was rather pleased to find that the big chair was not meant for him. A swift intuition told him that it was reserved for the country's ruler.
"The Prince signed the contracts just before you arrived, Mr. Blithers," said Baron Romano. "The seal has been affixed to each of the documents, and your copy is ready for delivery at any time."
Mr. Blithers recovered himself slightly. "You may send it to the hotel, Baron, at any time to-morrow. My lawyers will have a look at it." Then he made haste to explain: "Not that it is really necessary, but just as a matter of form. Besides, it gives the lawyers something to do." He sent an investigating glance around the room.
"The Prince has retired," said the Baron, divining the thought. "He does not remain for the discussions." Glancing at the huge old clock above the door, the Prime Minister assumed a most business-like air. "It will doubtless gratify you to know that three-fourths of the bonds have been deposited, Mr. Blithers, and the remainder will be gathered in during the week. Holders living in remote corners of our country have not as yet been able to reach us with their securities. A week will give them sufficient time, will it not, Count Lazzar?"
"I may safely say that all the bonds will be in our hands by next Tuesday at the latest," said the Minister of the Treasury. He was a thin, ascetic man; his keen eyes were fixed rather steadily upon Mr. Blithers. After a moment's pause, he went on: "We are naturally interested in your extensive purchases of our outstanding bonds, Mr. Blithers. I refer to the big blocks you have acquired in London, Paris and Berlin."
"Want to know what I bought them for?" inquired Mr. Blithers amiably.
"We have wondered not a little at your readiness to invest such a fortune in our securities."
"Well, there you have it. Investment, that's all. Your credit is sound, and your resources unquestioned, your bonds gilt-edge. I am glad of the opportunity to take a few dollars out of Wall Street uncertainties and put 'em into something absolutely certain. Groo—Gras—er—Groostock bonds are pretty safe things to have lying in a safety vault in these times of financial unrest. They create a pretty solid fortune for my family,—that is to say, for my daughter and her children. A sensible business man,—and I claim to be one,—looks ahead, my lords. Railroads are all right as long as you are alive and can run them yourself. It's after you are dead that they fail to do what is expected of them. New fingers get into the pie, and you never can tell what they'll pull out in their greediness. I cannot imagine anything safer in the shape of an investment than the bonds of a nation that has a debt of less than fifty million dollars. As a citizen of a republic whose national debt is nearly a billion, I confess that I can't see how you've managed so well."
"We are so infinitesimal, Mr. Blithers, that I daresay we could be lost in the smallest of your states," said Baron Romano, with a smile.
"Rhode Island is pretty small," Mr. Blithers informed him, without a smile.
"It is most gratifying to Graustark to know that you value our securities so highly as a legacy," said Count Lazzar, suavely. "May I venture the hope, however, that your life may be prolonged beyond the term of their existence? They expire in a very few years—a dozen, in fact."
"Oh, I think I can hang on that long," said Mr. Blithers, a little more at ease. He was saying to himself that these fellows were not so bad, after all. "Still one never knows. I may be dead in a year. My daughter—but, of course, you will pardon me if I don't go into my private affairs. I fear I have already said too much."
"On the contrary, sir, we are all only too willing to be edified. The workings of an intelligence such as jours cannot fail to be of interest to us who are so lacking in the power to cope with great undertakings. I confess to a selfish motive in asking you about your methods of—er—investment," said the Minister of Finance. Mr. Blithers failed to see that he was shrewdly being led up to a matter that was of more importance to Graustark just then than anything along financial lines.
"I am only too willing, my lords, to give you the benefit of my experience. Any questions that you may care to ask, I'll be glad to answer to the best of my ability. It is only natural that I should take a great personal interest in Graustock from now on. I want to see the country on the boom. I want to see it taking advantage of all the opportunities that—er—come its way. There may be a few pointers that William W. Blithers can give you in respect to your railways and mines—and your general policy, perhaps. I hope you won't hesitate about asking."
The Prime Minister tapped reflectively upon the table-top with his fingers for a moment or two.
"Thank you," he said. "We are at this very moment in something of a quandary in respect to the renewal of a treaty with one of our neighbours. For the past twenty years we have been in alliance with our next door neighbours, Axphain on the north and Dawsbergen on the south and east. The triple alliance will end this year unless renewed. Up to the present our relations have been most amiable. Axphain stands ready to extend our mutual protective agreement for another term of years, but Dawsbergen is lukewarm and inclined to withdraw. When you become better acquainted with the politics of our country you will understand how regrettable such an action on the part of a hitherto friendly government will be."
"What's the grievance?" inquired Mr. Blithers, bluntly. He was edging into familiar waters now. "What's the matter with Dawsbergen? Money controversy?"
"Not at all," said Lazzar hastily.
"Why not let 'em withdraw?" said Mr. Blithers. "We can get along without them."
There was a general uplifting of heads at the use of the pronoun, and a more fixed concentration of gaze.
"I daresay you are already acquainted with the desire on the part of Dawsbergen to form an alliance in which Axphain can have no part," said Baron Romano. "In other words, it has been the desire of both Dawsbergen and Graustark to perfect a matrimonial alliance that may cement the fortunes of the two countries—"
"Count Quinnox mentioned something of the sort," interrupted Mr. Blithers. "But suppose this matrimonial alliance doesn't come off, who would be the sufferer, you or Dawsbergen? Who will it benefit the most?"
There was a moment's silence. Doubtless it had never occurred to the Ministry to speculate on the point.
"Dawsbergen is a rich, powerful country," said Romano. "We will be the gainers by such an alliance. Mr. Blithers."
"I don't go much on alliances," said the capitalist. "I believe in keeping out of them if possible."
"I see," said the Baron reflectively. There was another silence. Then: "It has come to our notice in a most direct manner that the Prince of Dawsbergen feels that his friendly consideration of a proposal made by our government some years ago is being disregarded in a manner that can hardly be anything but humiliating to him, not only as a sovereign but as a father."
"He's the one who has the marriageable daughter, eh? I had really forgotten the name."
The Baron leaned forward, still tapping the table-top with his long, slim fingers.
"The report that Prince Robin is to marry your daughter, Mr. Blithers, has reached his ears. It is only natural that he should feel resentful. For fifteen years there has been an understanding that the Crown Princess of Dawsbergen and the Prince of Graustark were one day to be wedded to each other. You will admit that the present reports are somewhat distressing to him and unquestionably so to the Crown Princess."
Mr. Blithers settled back in his chair. "It seems to me that he is making a mountain out of a molehill."
Baron Romano shrank perceptibly. "It devolves upon me, sir, as spokesman for the Ministry, the court and the people of Graustark, to inform you that marriage between our Prince and any other than the Crown Princess of Dawsbergen is not to be considered as possible."
Mr. Blithers stared. "Hasn't the Prince any voice in the matter?" he demanded.
"Yes. He has already denied, somewhat publicly, that he is not contemplating marriage with your daughter. He has had a voice in that matter at least."
A fine moisture started out on the purplish brow of Mr. Blithers. Twenty-two eyes were upon him. He realised that he was not attending an informal conference. He had been brought here for a deliberate purpose.
"I may be permitted the privilege of reminding you, my lords, that his denial was no more emphatic than that expressed by my daughter," he said, with real dignity.
"We have accepted her statement as final, but it is our earnest desire that the minds of the people be set at rest," said the Baron gravely. "I sincerely trust that you will appreciate our position, Mr. Blithers. It is not our desire or intention to offend in this matter, but we believe it to be only fair and just that we should understand each other at the outset. The impression is afoot that—"
"My lords," said Mr. Blithers, rising, his face suddenly pale, "I beg leave to assure you that my daughter's happiness is of far more importance to me than all the damned principalities in the world. Just a moment, please. I apologise for the oath—but I mean it, just the same. I do not resent your attitude, nor do I resent your haste in conveying to me your views on the subject. It may be diplomacy to go straight to a question and get it over with, but it isn't always diplomatic to go off half-cocked. I will say, with perfect candour, that I should like to see my daughter the Princess of Graustark, but—by God! I want you to understand that her own wishes in the matter are to govern mine in the end. I have had this marriage in mind, there's no use denying it. I have schemed to bring these two young people together with a single object in view. I knew that if they saw enough of each other they would fall in love, and they would want the happiness that love brings to all people. Just a moment, Baron! I want to say to you now, all of you, that if my girl should love your prince and he should love her in return, there isn't a power below heaven that can keep them apart. If she doesn't love him, and he should be unlucky enough to love her, I'd see him hanged before he could have her. I'll admit that I have counted on seeing all of this come to pass, and that I have bungled the thing pretty badly because I'm a loving, selfish father,—but, my lords, since you have brought me here to tell me that it is impossible for my girl to marry your prince, I will say to you, here and now, that if they ever love each other and want to get married, I'll see to it that it isn't impossible. You issue an ultimatum to me, in plain words, so I'll submit one to you, in equally plain words. I intend to leave this matter entirely to my daughter and Prince Robin. They are to do the deciding, so far as I am concerned. And if they decide that they love each other and want to get married, they will get married. Do I make myself perfectly plain, my lords?"
The dignified Ministry of Graustark sat agape. With his concluding words, Mr. Blithers deposited his clenched fist upon the table with a heavy thud, and, as if fascinated, every eye shifted from his face to the white knuckles of that resolute hand.
Baron Romano also arose. "You place us in the extremely distressing position of being obliged to oppose the hand of a benefactor, Mr. Blithers. You have come to our assistance in a time of need. You have—"
"If it is the loan you are talking about, Baron, that is quite beside the question," interrupted Mr. Blithers. "I do not speculate. I may have had a personal motive in lending you this money, but I don't believe you will find that it enters into the contract we have signed. I don't lend money for charity's sake. I sometimes give it to charity, but when it comes to business, I am not charitable. I have made a satisfactory loan and I am not complaining. You may leave out the word benefactor, Baron. It doesn't belong in the game."
"As you please, sir," said Romano coldly. "We were only intent upon conveying to you our desire to maintain friendly relations with you, Mr. Blithers, despite the unpleasant conditions that have arisen. I may at least question your right to assume that we are powerless to prevent a marriage that is manifestly unpopular with the subjects of Prince Robin."
"I had it on excellent authority to-day that the people are not opposed to the union of my daughter and the prince," said Mr. Blithers.
"I am compelled to say that you have been misinformed," said the Baron, flatly.
"I think I have not been misinformed, however, concerning the personal views of Prince Robin. If I am not mistaken, he openly declares that he will marry to suit himself and not the people of Graustark. Isn't it barely possible, my lords, that he may have something to say about who he is to marry?"
"I confess that his attitude is all that you describe," said the Baron. "He has announced his views quite plainly. We admit that he may have something to say about it."
"Then I submit that it isn't altogether an improbability that he may decide to marry according to the dictates of his heart and not for the sake of appearances," said Mr. Blithers scathingly. "I have an idea that he will marry the girl he loves, no matter who she may be."
Count Quinnox and Baron Gourou exchanged glances. These two men were guilty of having kept from their colleagues all information concerning a certain Miss Guile. They, as well as Dank, were bound by a promise exacted by their sovereign prince. They alone knew that Mr. Blithers was supported by an incontrovertible truth. For the present, their lips were sealed, and yet they faced that anxious group with a complete understanding of the situation. They knew that Mr. Blithers was right. Prince Robin would marry the girl that he loved, and no other. They knew that their prince expected to marry the daughter of the man who now faced these proud noblemen and virtually defied them!
"Am I not right, Count Quinnox?" demanded Mr. Blithers, turning suddenly upon the Minister of War. "You are in a position to know something about him. Am I not right?"
Every eye was on the Count. "Prince Robin will marry for love, my lords," he said quietly, "I am forced to agree with Mr. Blithers."
Baron Romano sank into his chair. There was silence in the room for many seconds.
"May I enquire, Count Quinnox, if you know anything of the present state of Prince Robin's—er—heart?" inquired the Prime Minister finally.
A tinge of red appeared in each of Count Quinnox's swarthy cheeks.
"I can only surmise," said he briefly.
"Has—has he met some one in whom he feels a—er—an interest?"
"Yes."
"May we have the benefit of your conclusions?" said Baron Romano, icily.
"I am not at liberty to supply information at present," said the Count, visibly distressed.
Mr. Blithers leaned forward, his hands upon the table. "Some one he met after leaving New York?" he inquired eagerly.
"Time will reveal everything, Mr. Blithers," said the Count, and closed his jaws resolutely. His colleagues looked at him in consternation. The worst, then, had happened!
A gleam of triumph shot into the eyes of Mr. Blithers. His heart swelled. He felt himself stepping out upon safe, solid ground after a period of floundering. The very best, then, had happened!
"My lords, I find that my half-hour is almost up," he said, pulling out his gold watch and comparing its time with that of the clock on the wall. "Permit me to take my departure. I am content to let matters shape themselves as they may. Shakespeare says 'there is a destiny that shapes our ends, rough hew them'—er—and so forth. Allow me, however, before leaving, to assure you of my most kindly interest in the welfare of your State. You may be pleased to know that it is not from me that Graustark—did I get it right that time?—will redeem her bonds when they mature, but from my only daughter. She is nearly twenty-one years of age. On her twenty-fifth birthday I shall present to her—as a gift—all of my holdings in Graustark. She may do as she sees fit with them. Permit me to wish you all good day, my lords. You may send the contract to my hotel, Baron. I expect to remain in the city for some time."
As he traversed the vast halls on his way to the outer world, he was again overcome by the uneasy conviction that ironic eyes were looking out upon him from luxurious retreats. Again he felt that his coat fitted him too tightly and that his waistcoat was painfully in evidence. He hurried a bit. If he could have had his way about it, he would have run. Once outside the castle doors, he lighted a big cigar, and threw the burnt-out match upon the polished flagstones of the terrace. He regretted the act on the instant. He wished he had not thrown it there. If the solemn grooms had not been watching, he would have picked it up and stuck it into his pocket for disposal on the less hallowed stones of a city thoroughfare.
Outside the gates he felt more at ease, more at home, in fact. He smoked in great contentment. In the broad, shady avenue he took out his watch and pried open the case. A great pride filled his eyes as he looked upon the dainty miniature portrait of his daughter Maud. She was lovely—she was even lovelier than he had ever thought before.
At the Regengetz a telegram awaited him. It was from Maud.
"I shall be in Edelweiss this week without fail. I have something very important to tell you." So it read.