A carriage and pair was approaching. Facing the horses sat a small thin man whose hair and moustache were of that ashy shade peculiar to fair hair when it is turning grey. His eyes were keen, but devoid of expression, his face perfectly impassive. As he passed the café, the proprietor stepped forward, and bowed almost to the ground. The very slightest acknowledgment was given in return, barely more than the raising of a finger, and the Premier went on his way, pursued by many glances, some careless, some unfriendly, not one enthusiastic or cordial.
“The honourable gentleman sees?” asked the landlord triumphantly, red in the face from the exertion of his salute. “His Excellency would make the same response if any one cried, ‘Down with the Englishman!’ but the man would be in prison before another hour was over. Now you see why I said the people do not like him. They know that he despises them.”
“This is a sensation we never hoped to experience, Mansfield,” said Usk to his friend, when they had paid their bill, and were hurrying back to the station. “What is your opinion of my redoubtable relative?”
“I think he has got a very comfortable berth—for a man without friends or vices—so long as he keeps it, but a very hot one if he should ever be threatened with losing it.”
“Just what I think. It’s rather difficult to believe that he’s younger than my father, isn’t it? He might be any age, from his face.”
“Will the English gentlemen he pleased to come this way?” said a voice, as they entered the station, and they found themselves confronted by a tall dark man who had occupied the seat opposite the Premier in the carriage. “His Excellency Count Mortimer requests the honour of their company for part of the journey. I am his Excellency’s secretary. My name is Paschics.”
“Could he have seen us?” whispered Usk in surprise to Mansfield, as they followed the secretary. “It was only a moment, and he didn’t appear to notice us at all, but nobody else could know who we are.”
Emerging on the platform, they found Count Mortimer in the midst of the officials who had come to witness his departure. He shook hands with one or two, spoke a few words to some, and nodded to others, then entered his carriage, whither Paschics conducted the two young men. To their bewilderment, the Premier received them as strangers.
“I think I cannot be mistaken in supposing that you are English, gentlemen? It is a pleasure to an old exile to meet two fellow-countrymen in foreign parts. If you have no objection, may I count on the pleasure of your company as far as Vienna? The railway people will fetch your things, if you will tell them which your carriage was.”
Much mystified, Mansfield gave the required directions, and retreated into the background with Usk while Cyril stood at the window and conversed a little with his colleagues on the platform. When the train had started, however, he turned towards them, and broke into a laugh at the sight of their blank faces.
“Well, Usk, are you thinking that I am an unnatural relative? Why, my dear boy, I knew you at once from your likeness to your mother; but there is a look of Caerleon about you too. Introduce your friend, pray.”
“Old Mansfield, my guide and philosopher, otherwise bear-leader,” responded Usk promptly. “He is supposed to be preparing me for Trinity, and looking after my morals and manners by the way.”
“I fear, Mr Mansfield, that you have rather an arduous task?”
“I must admit, your Excellency, that Usk is a lazy beggar, but his people are set on his passing well, and I am doing my best to get him through.”
“You old fraud!” cried Usk. “Don’t believe him, Uncle Cyril. He has deluded my guileless parents into thinking him a kind of Admirable Crichton, whereas in reality he couldn’t get me into Trinity to save his life. The fact is, he wanted a trip abroad, so he pretended a willingness to take a ‘pup.’ I wanted the same thing, so I made out that I needed a coach, and our extremes met. We have been loafing about Asia Minor and Constantinople for nearly two months, and never done a stroke of work except when our consciences were stirred by trustful letters from home.”
“Really, your Excellency, it is not quite so bad as that——” protested Mansfield, but his pupil interrupted him.
“No, it isn’t. I was forgetting the plains of Troy. When we camped there, Uncle Cyril, I said that we ought simply to let the atmosphere soak in and have its full effect, while we gassed about the decadence of the Turkish Empire, or anything else that was as far removed as possible from the associations of the spot; but this fellow would insist—and it was perfectly spontaneous, too—on our going all over the place with the ‘Iliad’ and trying to realise the whole thing.”
“Rather a new idea,” remarked Cyril, “to utilise the site of Troy as part-preparation for an exam. But all this doesn’t explain my catching you talking politics to a shopkeeper in the street at Bellaviste.”
“Oh, the Governor told us on no account to invade Thracia, lest we should be suspected of revolutionary designs, but we couldn’t resist having a little turn when the train made such a long stay. And how do you know that we were talking politics, uncle?”
“I know the symptoms. You were discussing me. Well, I won’t ask you what you learned on that interesting subject. You see, of course, why I pretended not to know who you were when I sent for you.”
“Lest the Thracians should spot something suspicious in our being in the country?”
“Exactly; and particularly just now. Any one who was inclined to be nasty would find ample material for making trouble in your turning up just before the King comes of age, and when the Queen and he are away, so I thought it best to get you out of the place without provoking a scandal. You know, of course, that I am on my way to Molzau, to the wedding of Princess Theudelinde to Prince Karl Friedrich of Hercynia. It sounds inhospitable to say so, but I hope fervently that your destination is not the same as mine?”
“Oh, no. We wanted to go to Molzau and pretend to be special correspondents—old Mansfield has done something in that way once or twice, knows a man who’s third cousin to an editor, or something of the sort, you know”—Mansfield blushed and looked unhappy;—“we meant to fool around with kodaks and notebooks and make ourselves general nuisances in the orthodox style, but the Governor said that we were sure to be found out, and that it would be bad form.”
“It would—shockingly bad form, to say the least. You are going straight home then? By the bye, if you are disappointed at missing the sights at Molzau, I will send you photographs. Of course I shall have a set.”
“Thanks awfully, uncle. It was really Queen Ernestine that we wanted to see. She’s a tremendously pretty woman, isn’t she? Phil says that she remembers her, but I don’t believe it. Mother fell deeply in love with her too—that time we came to Thracia when we were little kids—and she has infected Mansfield and me with a desire to see her.”
“She is a handsome woman,” said Cyril temperately. “I am afraid it is impossible for you to get a glimpse of her on this journey, Usk, but it is not improbable that you may see her in England some day.”
“On a visit to the Queen, I suppose? Do you know, Uncle Cyril, our infant minds—Phil’s and mine, I mean—were tremendously stirred by your adventures when you escaped with her from Tatarjé. We were always playing at Uncle Cyril and the pretty lady. The game ended up with a wedding, I remember, but the Governor suddenly put a stop to that. He said that our talking of such a thing might do harm, and the game lost its interest afterwards.”
“Good old Caerleon!” was Cyril’s mental observation. “No doubt that was when he got the letter I sent him through Stratford, telling him the state of affairs, and begging him to do what he could for Ernestine in case I got wiped out. And so ‘the subsequent proceedings interested you no more’?” he asked aloud.
“Not much. You see, there were so few vicissitudes after that.”
“Your Excellency was happy in having no history apparently,” said Mansfield.
Cyril smiled, not quite as if he agreed with the remark. “Well, our politics have intervals of dulness, certainly,” he said. “But of late, as you may have noticed in the papers, we have been developing a regular Opposition. It’s a nuisance in some ways, but I am not altogether sorry, for it keeps our men up to the mark to know that there is some one watching to catch them tripping and quite ready to pull them up. The Opposition have got hold of a leader, too, a man named Milénovics, who was in the Cabinet until last year. He used to be a strong supporter of Drakovics, but transferred his affections with the rest when I became Premier, and I thought he was safe. I fancy it must have struck him suddenly that so long as I remained on the stage there was no room for my supporters in the principal part, but that if I were out of office, there might be an opening for youthful talent. However that may be, he ratted, and to-day the fragments of the Drakovics party are rallying round him. That, I think, is the only recent incident of interest in our tranquil political life in Thracia.”
But although Cyril dismissed the subject of Thracian politics so lightly, he had much to tell that was interesting in answer to the eager questions of both the young men, to whom it was a novel experience to be able to discuss European problems with one who was still actively engaged in their solution. The journey to Vienna appeared astonishingly short in his company, and such was the effect of his reminiscences, that when Usk and Mansfield had bidden him farewell and taken their homeward train, the former declared suddenly that, but for the dislike his parents would feel for such a course, he would seek a post under his uncle instead of going to Cambridge, only to discover that his friend was possessed by a like aspiration. As for Cyril, the thought of “the boys,” as he called them, disappeared quickly from his mind, for he had much to think of as he continued his journey to Molzau. The Emperors of Hercynia and Pannonia were both to be present at the royal wedding, and it had not needed a hint from Baron de la Mothe von Elterthal, the Hercynian Chancellor, who was an old ally of Cyril’s, to warn him that an opportunity was likely to be found for discussing matters more serious than the marriage, and that a crisis might well be approaching in his life and Ernestine’s.
European politics were not at the moment in a very settled state, and this condition of disturbance had left its mark even on the wedding festivities. The Princess of Dardania, whose father, the late King of Mœsia, had been a Prince of Schwarzwald-Molzau, was duly invited to the marriage with her husband; but with the invitation came a strong hint that it was not advisable it should be accepted, and the Princess, who was a wise woman, stayed away. The reason for this in hospitable behaviour was twofold. In the first place, the Princess had just accomplished the betrothal of her elder daughter, Princess Bettine, to the young King of Mœsia, a cousin of her own, and son of a younger branch of the house of Schwarzwald-Molzau, whom her father had chosen to follow him on the throne. None of her successes ever came about by accident, and she had been preparing this step for years; but it was unfortunate that the Roumi province of Rhodope, which abutted on her husband’s principality, and which had been guaranteed by Europe in the enjoyment of administrative autonomy, should have chosen this particular moment for carrying through a small revolution on its own account, and declaring, without asking the leave or advice of the Powers, its intention of uniting itself to Dardania. This occurrence, also, was by no means wholly unforeseen by the Princess; but she objected to the conjunction of the two events because it directed the attention of Europe to her doings, and with this attention she could very well have dispensed. Ever since her runaway marriage with the Prince of Dardania, Princess Ottilie had devoted herself with great singleness of purpose to avenging herself upon her father’s family for their attempt to force her into a marriage with Caerleon, then King of Thracia, and she had combined with this object that of the aggrandisement of her husband’s dynasty. The means of gratifying both ambitions she had obtained by ranging herself resolutely on the side of Scythia in all European questions—which meant, of course, that her husband and Dardania followed her lead.
Not long after her marriage, the Princess became a convert to the Orthodox faith, and all her children were brought up in it—a fact which caused much wrath among her own relations and considerable embarrassment to her husband, who, although a devoted adherent of the Eastern Church and a cousin of the Emperor of Scythia, was in no sense a bigot, and feared, somewhat unnecessarily, that it might be thought he had brought pressure on his wife to induce her to embrace his own creed. Having thus taken her stand in such a way as to cause the maximum of annoyance to the Germanic Powers, and win the largest amount of sympathy from the Scythian Imperial family, the Princess had proceeded to lay the plans which she was now working out. Her elder son would succeed his father in the principality, and a Scythian alliance was already arranged for him; it only remained, therefore, to enlarge his dominions in every possible way. But far more important were the marriage projects devised for the benefit of the Princesses Bettine and Lida. With her daughters seated on the thrones of the two Balkan kingdoms, Princess Ottilie looked forward to finding the whole peninsula in a measure under her control, thus enabling her to form a confederation which could defy the Western Powers, and would need to be reckoned with by Scythia. The changing of her husband’s coronet into a kingly crown, and the putting forward of a claim to the heirship of the European portion of the Roumi Empire, were among the visions which floated before her eyes—not yet planned out in detail, but affording endless possibilities of activity.
And now, as she recognised without difficulty, her schemes were threatened with failure. The Germanic Powers had taken alarm at the two latest evidences of her ambition and its success, and the gathering at Molzau would be occupied in laying plans for her overthrow. The Schwarzwald-Molzaus would muster strongly, regarding her as a renegade, and eager to avenge the sedulous slights of years; the Emperors of Hercynia and Pannonia, whose one anxiety was the maintenance of the balance of power in the Balkans as the security for European peace, would spare no effort of diplomacy to thwart her; and Cyril, her old enemy, would have the game in his own hands. Unless she could forestall him, that is—for the Princess of Dardania was not in the habit of leaving the game in the hands of any opponent.
“Let me see,” she mused; “is it possible to bind Ernestine and Michael before they can be approached by the enemy? No. Ernestine is as deeply committed to her son’s marriage with Lida as is possible, short of an actual engagement, and to broach the project to Michael would have a very ugly appearance while he is actually under age. Only a fortnight, and everything would be right! Well, I must try delay. If we can tide over the fortnight, Michael’s betrothal shall be announced simultaneously with his assuming the reins of government. It is evident that I must distract the attention of the assembled diplomats from my delinquencies to the indiscretions of some one else—draw a red herring across the trail, in fact. I regret to be obliged to sacrifice you, my dear Ernestine, but I see that the moment has come for making use of that interesting piece of information which I have been keeping so long. You and your lover must be denounced. It will not be the first time that the apple of discord has been thrown into the midst of a wedding-feast, and I am very much mistaken if your friend Count Mortimer is consulted on the affairs of Europe when it has once made its appearance. Even if his presumption is ever pardoned, it will not be for a long while hence.”
The next point to be considered was the manner of the disclosure. To write to either of the Emperors or to her Schwarzwald-Molzau kindred would be to ensure failure, for her letter would be regarded as a palpable attempt to break up the concert of the Powers. The secret must be revealed by an apparent accident, and if possible by means of some other person. The person on whom her choice fell finally was the Princess Amalie of Weldart, the canoness, her own aunt and Ernestine’s, who was known as “Tant’ Amalie” to half the royal personages of Europe. In spite, or perhaps in consequence of, her semi-conventual status, the Princess Amalie took great delight in the weddings of her many relations, and was scarcely ever known to miss attending one. She was also an authority on the subject of the etiquette proper for such occasions, and her kindred invariably consulted her as to the descent and consequent precedence of the innumerable ramifications of their family trees, and the complicated Court ceremonies which were necessary in German eyes almost to the validity of the marriage itself. To her the Princess wrote—a pleasant chatty letter, describing the doings of her children, who kept her so busy that she could not find time even to come to Molzau for dearest Theudelinde’s wedding, and commenting on such details of the dresses and the company as had reached her.
“I wonder what you will think of your new nephew,” she remarked towards the close. “I call him new, because when you saw him before, I am sure you never thought of him in this light. I shall be interested to hear whether Ernestine takes advantage of the family gathering to introduce Count Mortimer as her future husband. It is a task that will need a good deal of courage, but no doubt the bridegroom’s self-possession and urbanity of manner will smooth over any awkwardness. I have it on unimpeachable authority that if they are not married already, they will be so as soon as Michael has been declared of age. If Ernestine has not announced her intention by the time this reaches you, pray say nothing to any one. The Emperor Sigismund would be very likely to take the matter up in an unsympathetic spirit, and it would be sure to reach him if you told any one about it. In any case, do not mention my name. I suppose it is incautious in me to have said anything before hearing that Ernestine has broken the ice, but I know that it is quite safe to make an exception in your favour, for there is no one who keeps a secret so wonderfully. You will not get me into trouble with Ernestine, I am sure.”
To say that the Princess Amalie was surprised by the little item of news thus tacked on at the end of her niece’s letter would be wilfully to understate the case. She was thunderstruck for fully two minutes, and only recovered owing to the necessity she felt of communicating the tidings to some one else. As the Princess of Dardania had remarked, her method of keeping a secret was truly wonderful, but she was mindful of the injunction not to give her informant’s name, and tore off the signature carefully from the letter before proceeding in search of some of her relations, preserving the letter itself in order to exhibit it as a guarantee of her good faith. As it happened, the first person she met was the Emperor of Pannonia, and knowing that, like his brother monarch of Hercynia, he prided himself on the rigidity with which he maintained the barriers separating the caste to which he belonged from the lower world, she congratulated herself on being able to astonish him with her appalling news before it had been so much as breathed to any one else.
“Why, what is the matter, Tant’ Amalie?” asked the Emperor, as he saw the old lady approaching him in eager haste, with her cap on one side and the letter clasped tightly to her bosom. “Has anything happened to spoil the programme?”
“Oh, my dear cousin, I have received such a shock!” panted Princess Amalie. “Had you any idea that my niece Ernestine was intending to marry her Prime Minister—that Englishman, the Mortimer?”
“Oh, come, that’s an old story. Drakovics set it afloat just before his dismissal, in order to prejudice Count Mortimer in the eyes of the world. But there was no truth in it. Your brother went to Bellaviste to inquire into the matter, and was quite satisfied that there was nothing wrong.”
“My dear cousin, I know all about my brother’s visit to Thracia, and if there was nothing wrong then, M. Drakovics is all the more to blame, for he must have put the idea into their heads. I learn now, from an authority I cannot doubt, that it is probable—almost certain—that they are married already, but that if this is not the case, they will marry as soon as Michael comes of age.”
“This is a serious matter, Tant’ Amalie. Who is your informant?”
“My niece—oh, I forgot. I must not give you her name. But I assure you that she has the best means of knowing the truth.”
“Perhaps you would not object to my seeing her letter?”
Princess Amalie congratulated herself on the foresight which had prepared her for this demand as she handed over the mutilated letter without demur. The merest glance at the opposite page showed the Emperor from whom the news had come, and the discovery gave him no surprise. Passing from the Princess of Dardania’s description of her rural life at Praka, he read the important paragraph carefully, and restored the letter to its owner.
“Now, can you doubt it any longer?” asked the old lady vehemently. “I know you did not believe me just now—you thought that I was exaggerating, or had made some mistake—but you see that it is quite clear. One cannot even give Ernestine the benefit of the doubt. Is it not shameful?” and the black lace of Princess Amalie’s headgear seemed to bristle with indignation as she prepared to pass on and denounce the culprit before a new audience. But the Emperor made no movement to allow her to leave him.
“I must ask you to spare me a moment longer, Tant’ Amalie. What steps would you suggest ought to be taken in such a matter as this?”
“Steps, my dear cousin!” The word was far too mild. Princess Amalie would have expected the Emperor to ask what punishments ought to be inflicted on the two offenders. “I suppose——” she realised suddenly that it was not easy at the present day to order a presumptuous Minister to the block, and hesitated. “Of course you can imprison him in a fortress,” she said, more confidently, “and deprive Ernestine of her regency and sentence her to live in retirement. All her family will support you, I am sure. She, a Princess of Weldart, and willing to disgrace herself by marrying beneath her!”
“I fear there might be difficulties in the way of executing this salutary discipline,” said the Emperor, with a perfectly grave face. “Count Mortimer has relations in high places in England, you see, and they might think we were going beyond our powers in dealing so severely with the sovereign and Prime Minister of an independent state. On the whole, Tant’ Amalie, I think it will be well if you leave the matter in my hands for the present.”
“You will allow Ernestine to talk you over,” said Princess Amalie suspiciously.
“You think that the honour of our order is not safe in my hands, I see. Well, if I promise to associate Sigismund of Hercynia with myself in the consideration of the matter, will that satisfy you?”
“My dear cousin, I would not presume to doubt you, but I am not unaware,” and Princess Amalie looked extremely knowing, “what an effect the sight of a pretty woman in tears produces on the firmness of most men. Still, if the Emperor Sigismund is with you——”
“You think that no tears would melt him? Well, Tant’ Amalie, is it settled? You say nothing to any one until we have inquired into the matter?”
“Not to any one? Oh, nothing in public, of course. But just to one or two——”
“Absolutely nothing to any one—on pain of my severe displeasure.”
“Of course, if you take that tone, my dear cousin—— But still, I think I have the right to know something of your reasons——”
“My reason is simple. We do not know that there is any truth in the story. That they are not married I am perfectly certain, for Mortimer is far too prudent a man to cut the ground from under his feet by putting himself so flagrantly in the wrong, and the rest of the tale may be equally false. Would you subject your niece to the pain and scandal of such a charge before it is proved to be true?”
“I think that she deserves any humiliation if she can stoop to contemplate such a misalliance,” was the stout reply.
“But if she is not contemplating any such thing? And even if it should be true, we must deal with the matter prudently. To stir up ill-feeling either in England or Thracia is not to be thought of at this moment. Rest assured, Tant’ Amalie, that the honour of your house is safe with us, and tell no one what you have told me. Especially do not answer that letter at present.”
He passed on, leaving the old lady not at all satisfied. The fact of possessing such a secret and being obliged to keep it hidden was almost worse than the feeling that Ernestine was escaping so much of the obloquy which she deserved, but the charge so solemnly given was not to be disregarded if there was still to be a welcome for Princess Amalie at the Pannonian Court. This consideration acted effectually in helping her to preserve the secret, and the wedding and its attendant festivities passed off without any one’s becoming aware of the matter. Ernestine and her son were treated with the most marked cordiality by all the royal personages assembled, and Cyril shared in the favour accorded to them. He knew the reason for this, and attributed it less to the personal friendliness of the entertainers than to their desire to detach Thracia from the possible Balkan Confederation projected by the Princess of Dardania. For the diplomacy which threw King Michael continually into the society of the younger members of the Hercynian Imperial family, however, he saw a further reason, at which he smiled as one not ill-pleased at his own penetration—a smile which was reflected on the face of the absent Princess, to whom Ernestine had written in all innocence that “Sigismund and his wife are so kind to Michael, and he is continually riding or bicycling with Frederike and Hermine and their youngest brother, but he says that they are dreadfully dull, and that Bettine and Lida are worth dozens of them.”
Affairs were in this state when, on the evening preceding the departure of the royal and imperial guests from the Schloss at Molzau, Cyril was invited by his friend Baron de la Mothe von Elterthal to come to his room and talk European politics when every one else had gone to bed. This request from the Hercynian Chancellor did not mislead Cyril in the least, and he neither felt nor showed any surprise when he was conducted by means of a secret staircase from the Baron’s sitting-room to one on a different floor, and found there the Emperors of Hercynia and Pannonia and the Grand-Duke of Schwarzwald-Molzau, who was brother-in-law to one Emperor and cousin to the other, while their relationships had just been further complicated by the marriage of his daughter to a Hercynian Prince. The gathering was evidently intended to be a secret, for the one candle which lighted the room was placed so as not to throw the shadow of any of the occupants on the window-blind, and Baron de la Mothe von Elterthal reconnoitred the passage outside as soon as he had admitted Cyril, and remained on guard at the door during the whole of the interview.
“Count,” said the Emperor of Pannonia, “we have requested your presence here this evening for the purpose of discussing the situation in the Balkans, especially in so far as it has been affected by recent events in Dardania. Your position as the faithful friend and servant of the late King of Thracia, and the way in which you have exercised the duties of your responsible office during the minority of his son, entitle you to our fullest confidence and esteem.”
“My late brother,” said the Grand-Duke, as Cyril bowed, “assured me more than once, Count, that in his opinion you would prove yourself a most efficient guardian of European peace, and this confidence has not been misplaced.”
“Come, come,” said the Emperor Sigismund, who had been moving restlessly in his chair, “we are wasting time. Be good enough to answer a few questions, Count.”
“At your Majesty’s pleasure,” returned Cyril, resisting an impulse to bring his heels together with a click and stand at attention, so vividly did the Emperor’s tone recall that of the drill-sergeant at Eton long ago.
“You have considered the bearing of the late events in Dardania upon Balkan politics as a whole, Count?”
“I have, sir.”
“And what, in your opinion, do they foreshadow?”
“The confederation, sir, of the three states under the hegemony of Dardania.”
“As Premier and Foreign Minister of Thracia, have you taken any steps towards entering such a confederation, or expressed your willingness to do so?”
“Neither, sir.”
“Is it your intention to do so in the future? No? Then upon what are the promoters of this scheme relying as an inducement to Thracia to join them?”
“If I am to give my candid opinion, sir, they are relying upon the means which have already proved successful in the case of Mœsia.”
“You mean that a marriage is projected between your sovereign and the younger daughter of the Prince and Princess of Dardania?”
“That is my impression, sir.”
“Have any steps been taken, either publicly or privately, towards bringing about this marriage?”
“None, sir, so far as I am aware.”
“It is possible that communications on the subject have been exchanged without your knowledge?”
“It is possible, sir, but I have purposely refrained from alluding to the subject in conversation with her Majesty the Queen-Regent. My wish was to leave myself a free hand in the matter.”
“You were very wise. Purely personal and family arrangements need not be regarded in such a case. Well, Count, this marriage must not be allowed to take place.”
“Your Majesty’s opinion is my own.”
“What steps would you suggest as likely to prevent it? Speak freely.”
“In my choice of weapons, sir, I would take a lesson from the enemy.”
“In other words,” said the Emperor of Pannonia, “you would counteract the plans of the Princess of Dardania by arranging another project of marriage for the young King. A marriage with whom, Count?”
“With an Imperial Princess of Germanic birth, sir, belonging preferably to the illustrious Hercynian house.”
“You aim high for your sovereign. Why an Imperial Princess?”
“In order, sir, that the splendour of the alliance may reconcile the nation to a Queen not belonging to the Orthodox faith.”
“Good!” interrupted the Emperor of Hercynia. “But why a member of my family?”
“That the complications might be avoided which would arise from the introduction of a third form of religion into the Thracian Court, sir.”
“I see,” said the Grand-Duke; “that is well thought of You have considered the matter on all sides, Count. Have you gone so far as to think of any particular lady in connection with the subject.”
“Your Royal Highness asks the question merely for form’s sake. The Princess Frederike of Hercynia alone fulfils all the conditions, so far as I am aware.”
“Are you making proposals for my daughter’s hand on behalf of your master, Count?” snapped the Emperor of Hercynia.
“I have no authority to take such a step, sir. My place is merely to offer the suggestion for which your Majesty asked.”
“He is right,” said the Emperor of Pannonia. “Why should we stand on ceremony in a secret council such as this? Count Mortimer’s solution of the difficulty is the same as that which occurred to ourselves, and provided that the preliminaries are arranged now, everything can be done in due form later. But, Count, it is important for us to know whether you can ensure the acceptance of the arrangement by Thracia. The hand of a Princess of Hercynia must not be made the subject of factious discussion.”
“I can answer for the acceptance by the country of any measure proposed by myself, sir, if the precautions I have suggested are observed. The danger lies in a different direction.”
“You mean that the Princess of Dardania is likely to set herself in opposition to the scheme? But is it in her power to do any harm?”
“That depends upon our method of procedure, sir. What was your Majesty’s intention with respect to the settlement of the matter?”
“What course would you recommend, Count?”
“There is no time like the present, sir. My advice would be to arrive at a distinct understanding with her Majesty the Queen-Regent, and allow the affair to come to the knowledge of all the royal personages here before they leave Molzau. No formal announcement could be made as yet, owing to the youth of both parties, but it would quickly become known that the marriage was in prospect, and the desired impression would be produced.”
The Emperor of Pannonia shook his head. “Your advice is excellent, Count, but the understanding must not become known before the King is of age. It would appear that the influence of his family had been used to entrap him into an engagement before he was old enough to judge for himself. One must pay some heed to popular illusions, even in matters of state; and you know that in the Princess of Dardania we have to deal with an unscrupulous woman, who will seize with avidity on any opportunity that may offer itself for casting odium on the decision at which we have arrived.”
“This must be as your Majesty pleases, but I fear that the Princess of Dardania is the only person who will gain by the delay. With the arrangement once ratified, I should not be afraid to defy her misrepresentations.”
“The matter is not in your hands, Count,” growled the Emperor of Hercynia. “My daughter’s marriage cannot be made the talk of Europe.”
Cyril bowed. “May I at least venture to entreat your Majesties to represent the matter to the Queen-Regent, and show her its importance, in order that her voice may be entirely on our side in the matter?”
“Nothing shall induce me to entreat my cousin Ernestine to allow her son to marry my daughter for the sake of European peace,” was the Emperor’s retort.
“It is unnecessary to parade these family differences,” interrupted the Emperor of Pannonia. “No, Count; I think you will see that the suggestion cannot come either from the Emperor Sigismund or myself. It is for you to represent the matter to Queen Ernestine, and convince her of its vital importance. If we had not believed you capable of bringing her to regard it in the desired light, you would not have been admitted to our private counsels.”
“Your Majesty may rely upon my doing my best, although I fear I shall be severely handicapped by being obliged to act ostensibly on my own motion. If even a hint could be given to the Queen——”
“It is impossible, Count. But we leave the matter with confidence in your hands. And a word in your ear. It has come to our knowledge that you entertain certain views—or aspirations—the nature of which is at present immaterial. If this matter of your sovereign’s marriage is arranged to the satisfaction of all parties concerned, and conducted with the zeal and promptness for which you are so well known, I can promise for myself—and also for the Emperor Sigismund and my brother-in-law—that these plans of yours shall receive the most sympathetic consideration, and be furthered in so far as the exigencies of state allow. We should be loth to lose your influence on the side of peace in the Balkans.”
“I am overwhelmed by your Majesty’s condescension,” was Cyril’s guarded reply, but as he descended the secret staircase his heart was beating with unwonted speed. “A bid! a distinct bid for my support!” he said to himself. “With the two Emperors and the Schwarzwald-Molzaus on our side, Ernestine and I could face the world without a qualm. How did they come to know of our little affair, I wonder? Well, it doesn’t signify—some devilry of Princess Ottilie’s, I suppose. If they will recognise our marriage, and help me to get the Constitution altered, so that I can keep my place in Thracia, that is all I want. It would scarcely look well for me to introduce the Bill to amend the Constitution myself, though, even after the Powers had given their consent. Mirkovics could do it, and Ernestine and I would absent ourselves delicately from the kingdom while it was being discussed, and take a honeymoon trip. But talk of counting your chickens before they are hatched! The recognition has to be earned yet, and the Princess won’t allow me to do it without a big fight, I foresee. Well—— to the victor the spoils.”
“Good morning, ladies! Is her Majesty disengaged at present?”
“Her Majesty will see you, Count, I do not doubt,” and Anna Mirkovics rose to inquire the Queen’s pleasure.
“You are early, Count,” said the other lady, who was Paula von Hilfenstein no longer, having married the eldest son of Prince Mirkovics some seven years before. Her sister-in-law, in spite of the large fortune she inherited from her mother, was still single, but more, people said, by reason of her whole-hearted devotion to the Queen than from any lack of suitors.
“Yes, Princess, I am early; but there are many things to settle.”
“So I should imagine, since the Queen has been seeing people all morning. You are arranging the details of next week’s festivities, I suppose? I hope you are allotting plenty of room to us ladies? I have ordered the most exquisite gowns imaginable from Paris, and it would be heart-rending to have them crushed.”
“Your wishes are law, Princess, and I will give orders, if you like, that twice as much space shall be allotted to you as to any of the other ladies, so that your gowns may be properly displayed. That is the real secret of your anxiety, is it not?”
“Her Majesty will receive you, Count,” said Anna Mirkovics, returning and interrupting her colleague’s laughing disclaimer, and Cyril passed on into Ernestine’s presence. She was sitting in a low chair, looking white and tired, for the Court had only returned from Molzau the day before, and there were endless details to be arranged for the celebration the following week of her son’s attainment of his majority, but the soft flush which never failed to appear at Cyril’s approach crept slowly up her cheek as he kissed her hand.
“I know you would not have asked for an interview unless there was something important to tell me,” she said.
“You are right in supposing my errand to be of importance, but I have nothing to tell—merely a suggestion to make. I want to speak to you about your boy’s marriage.”
Ernestine sat upright, and looked at him in dismay. “Michael’s marriage!” she cried. “But he is only a boy. We need not think of that for five or six years yet—certainly not for four.”
“We need not under ordinary circumstances, I agree with you. But there are reasons in the present case which render it advisable——”
“It is absurd, Cyril. I won’t hear of it. Michael is far too young. He doesn’t know his own mind. He——”
“My dear Ernestine, please hear me out. Nothing could be further from my mind than to suggest an immediate marriage for him, or even a definite betrothal. But it is highly desirable that it should be generally understood that his choice—or our choice for him, if you like—is fixed.”
“Oh, that is not so bad, of course,” said Ernestine, trying to speak calmly. “But,” her tone thrilled with anxiety, “upon whom does your choice fall?”
“On the only possible person, Princess Frederike of Hercynia, your cousin, the Emperor’s daughter.”
“You know that I detest Sigismund, and don’t care for his wife. Nothing shall induce me to allow Michael to marry one of their girls.”
“The feeling seems to be mutual,” thought Cyril, remembering his midnight meeting with the Emperors. “You must not allow your little differences with your cousin to prejudice you against his children,” he added aloud. “I made it my business when at Molzau to observe and find out all I could about the Hercynian Princesses, and I am convinced that they are most excellent and amiable young people, and very well brought up.”
“Well brought up!” said Ernestine scornfully. “They are dull, Cyril—fearfully dull. Michael cannot endure them.”
“That speaks badly for his taste. But as you said just now, he is only a boy, and doesn’t know his own mind. All we have to do is to bring him in contact with Princess Frederike in due time, and propinquity will do the rest.”
“I wish you would not talk like that. I tell you it is impossible. Michael must be allowed to choose for himself.”
“You don’t seem to perceive that by my plan he will choose for himself—as far as any monarch can. You would not wish him to choose a shop-girl or a village maiden, I presume? Try to look at it sensibly, Ernestine. There need be no fuss and no difficulty. Your cousin will write to congratulate you on your son’s coming of age, of course. In your answer, you hint that it is your hope that your families may one day be more nearly connected, and you make the same remark to the Hercynian Envoy when he presents the Emperor’s letter. It is merely the expression of a pious wish on your part—doesn’t even bind you if Michael turns rusty when he gets older, but it tides over this crisis, and makes a good impression. Why, in the name of all that is unreasonable, should you hang back?”
“Because—oh, I must tell you—because my cousin Ottilie and I have arranged for years that he is to marry her daughter Lida. There, you know the truth now!”
“And how long has this beautiful arrangement been in force?” Nothing in Cyril’s tone showed that he had suspected its existence for a long time past.
“Since Michael was three years old. We were at Tatarjé at the time—it was before you and I became friends—and we determined to bring them up together as far as possible, that they might really learn to know one another.”
“And so this is the explanation of all the running wild in woods, and so on?” said Cyril indulgently. “Upon my word! it’s a very pretty idea, Ernestine. Pity that it’s so utterly out of the question.”
“Out of the question! Cyril, I have promised Ottilie. It is to be.”
“Oh, indeed, and what becomes of Michael’s youth, and the impossibility of his knowing his own mind, and so on? It seems to me that you are trying to pin him down pretty strictly to one young lady.”
“It is quite in a different way. They have been destined for each other nearly all their lives.” (“Probably quite all, by Princess Ottilie,” interjected Cyril, sotto voce.) “You cannot say that I have entered into the arrangement upon impulse. I was sacrificed in marriage to political considerations, and I determined solemnly that my son’s life should not be spoilt in the same way. You helped to sacrifice me, and that is why I cannot accept your advice about Michael. He shall make his own choice, and fall in love properly with the girl he is to marry.”
“But how are you going to make him fall in love with Princess Lida? It is the last idea that would come into his head after their having been brought up together like brother and sister. More probably he will fall in love with some maid of honour old enough to be his aunt.”
“Cyril, what a coarse thing to say!” Ernestine spoke with chilling disapproval, but it was evident that the shaft had gone home, and Cyril improved his opportunity before she had time to recover herself.
“I know you don’t like it if I venture to say a word against your cousin, Ernestine, but at the risk of displeasing you I must tell you this. She is the champion intriguer of Europe, and this projected marriage is merely the finishing touch to her schemes for bringing the whole of the Balkan States under the control of members of her family. She has almost succeeded in plunging the Powers into war already, by the annexation of Rhodope and the betrothal of her elder daughter to young Albrecht of Mœsia, and for years she has been trying to alienate Michael from you and attach him to herself in order to ensure the success of her plans—a success which would in all probability lead at once to the Great War.”
Ernestine sat silent, with the tears rolling down her face. Ottilie’s schemes and their probable result had never been presented to her so baldly before, although an inkling of their nature had forced itself into her mind. But even now, taken at a disadvantage as she was, she refused to yield her point.
“It is very dreadful, Cyril, and perhaps if I had known it all at the time, I would not have entered into the compact. But Michael and Lida shall not be sacrificed now. I will not break the children’s hearts.”
“My dear Ernestine, pray remember their youth. As you said, it is impossible that Michael can have fixed his heart on her as yet. Unless—surely you have not put the idea into his head?”
“No, indeed. We wanted it all to be quite natural and unprompted. They were to grow up together, and drift into love gently.”
“Well, then, the current must be diverted into another channel, that is all. There need be no difficulty about it. When I am gone, send for your boy, and talk to him about next week. Oh, you know the kind of talk I mean. What do women say on such occasions? Then when you have got him into a suitably softened frame of mind, just let out how happy it would make you if you thought he would one day bring home a bride from Hercynia——”
“But it would not. It would make me miserable.”
“If it preserved the peace of Europe, and thwarted your cousin’s ambitious schemes? Besides, Ernestine, this affair has a further significance for us. If we can spoil the Princess of Dardania’s great plan, the Emperors will look kindly upon our marriage.”
“You expect me to sell my son as the price of my own happiness?”
“No, I don’t. I know you far too well to expect you to do anything so businesslike. But what is the good of our rubbing each other the wrong way like this? Think of me a little, even if the prospect offers no temptation to you. Won’t you allow that to find all I have worked for suddenly within my reach is a thing to tempt a man? I don’t ask you to force your son’s inclination—only to let him know which way your wishes turn. Is that so very much to do for me? I do not often ask a favour from you.”
“No; but when you do they are so very hard to grant. Still, I will moot the matter to Michael, as you wish it so much, Cyril. It cannot well do any harm. But I must wait until he returns from Praka.”
“You don’t mean to say that he is at Praka now? I thought he came home with you, and was in the Palace.”
“No; we separated at Witska, and I came on without him. He wanted to see his cousins again, and besides, he heard that Ottilie had been slighted in some way with regard to the invitation to Molzau, and nothing would satisfy him but going to sympathise with her.”
“This is very bad, Ernestine.” Cyril was seriously disturbed. “If your cousin’s suspicions are aroused as to anything that passed at Molzau, she is quite capable of ruining our plans. You must telegraph to Michael immediately, and desire him to return without delay. I would advise you to send Pavlovics and some of his suite to fetch him—for he is getting too old to be running about the country with only a servant or two—but the Princess might get wind of our intentions and forestall us.”
“But even if Michael is heart-whole, Cyril, and does not object to the idea of marrying Frederike in the course of time, what about Ottilie? How can I ever explain the change to her? And there is no explanation. I am simply breaking my solemn promise.”
“Refer her Royal Highness to me, if you like. We are old acquaintances, and I may be able to remind her of a promise or two that she has herself broken. Lay the blame on Europe, tell her that you object to the honour of being one of the causes of the Great War—but send for your son at once.”
“I will. The telegram shall go immediately.”
The Queen kept her word, without taking any one into her counsels; yet only an hour or so later a second telegram left Bellaviste, also for Praka, but addressed to the Princess of Dardania. The contents were in cipher, and translated, read thus:—