"They have robbed him, but you and I were permitted to do nothing. Where is the prosperity of which we formerly boasted? I, too, hear crumbling walls. Yet, the son of this Englishman, whose strange freak is still unaccountable, will come at the appointed time; I know the race. He will renew the loan for another ten years. What a fancy! Lord Fitzgerald was an eccentric man. Given a purpose, he pursued it to the end, neither love nor friendship, nor fear swerved him. Do you know that he made a vow that Duke Josef should never sit on this throne, nor his descendants? What were five millions to him, if in giving them he realized the end? The king would never explain the true cause of this Englishman's folly, but I know that it was based on revenge, the cause of which also is a mystery. If only the prince were here!"

"He will come; youth will be youth."

"Perhaps."

"You have never been young."

"Not in that particular sense to which you refer," dryly.

* * * * * *

In the chamber of finance Colonel Beauvais leaned over the desk and perused the writing on a slip of paper which the minister had given him. Enough daylight remained to permit the letters to stand out legibly. When he had done the Colonel tossed back the missive, and the minister tore it into shreds and dropped them into the waste basket.

"So much for your pains," said Beauvais. "The spy, who has eaten up ten thousand crowns, is not worth his salt. He has watched this man Hamilton for two days, been his guide in the hills, and yet learns nothing. And the rigor of the customs is a farce."

"This day," replied the minister, "the police lost its jurisdiction over the customs. Complaints have been entered at the British legation, which forwarded them to the chancellor."

"O ho!" The Colonel pulled his mustache.

"I warned you against this. The chancellor is a man to be respected, whatever his beliefs. I warned you and Mollendorf of the police what the result would be. The chancellor has a hard hand when it falls. He was always bold; now he is more so since he practically stands alone. In games of chance one always should play close. You are in a hurry."

"I have waited six years."

"And I have waited fourteen."

"Well, then, I shall pass into the active. I shall watch this Englishman myself. He is likely to prove the agent. Count, the time for waiting is gone. If the debt is liquidated or renewed—and there is Prince Frederick to keep in mind—we shall have played and lost. Disgrace for you; for me—well, perhaps there is a power behind me too strong. The chancellor? Pouf! I have no fear of him. But you who laugh at the archbishop—"

"He is too old."

"So you say. But he has dreams unknown to us. He has ceased to act; why? He is waiting for the curtain to rise. Nothing escapes him; he is letting us go to what end we will, only, if we do not act at once, to draw us to a sudden halt. Now to this meddling Englishman: we have offered him a million—five millions for four. He laughs. He is a millionaire. With characteristic bombast he declares that money has no charms. For six months, since his father's death, we have hounded him, in vain. It is something I can not understand. What is Leopold to these Englishmen that they risk a princely fortune to secure him his throne? Friendship? Bah, there is none."

"Not in France nor in Austria. But this man was an Englishman; they leave legacies of friendship."

The Colonel walked to the window and looked down into the gardens. He remained there for a time. Von Wallenstein eyed him curiously. Presently the soldier returned to his seat.

"We are crossing a chasm; a man stands in our way; as we can not go around him, we, being the stronger, push him aside. Eh?"

"You would not kill—" began the minister.

"Let us use the French meaning of the word 'suppress.' And why not? Ambition, wherever it goes, leaves a trail of blood. What is a human life in this game we play? A leaf, a grain of sand."

"But, since the prince promises to liquidate the debt, what matters it if the Englishman comes? It is all one and the same."

"Within twenty, nay, within fifteen days, what may not happen?"

"You are ambitious," said von Wallenstein, slyly.

"And who is not?"

"Is a Marshal's baton so much, then, above your present position? You are practically the head of the army."

"A valiant army!" laughing; "five thousand men. Why, Madame the duchess has six thousand and three batteries."

"Her army of six thousand is an expedient; you can raise volunteers to the amount of ten thousand."

"To be sure I could; but supposing I did not want to?"

The minister dropped his gaze and began fingering the paper cutter. The Colonel's real purpose was still an enigma to him. "Come, you have the confidence of the king, the friendship of her Royal Highness. What do you gain in serving us? The baton?"

"You embarrass me. Questions? I should not like to lie to you. Batons were fine things when Louises and Napoleons conferred them. I have thrown my dice into the common cup; let that be sufficient."

"A man who comes from a noble house such as you come from—"

"Ah, count, that was never to be referred to. Be content with my brain and sword. And then, there is the old saying, Give a man an ell, and look to your rod. We are all either jackals or lions, puppets or men behind the booth. I am a lion." He rose, drew his saber half-way from the scabbard, and sent it slithering back. "In a fortnight we put it to the touch to win or lose it all, as the poet says. Every man for himself, and let the strongest win, say I."

"You are playing two games," coldly.

"And you? Is it for pure love of Madame the duchess that you risk your head? Come, as you say; admit that you wish to see my hand without showing yours. A baton is not much for me, as you have hinted, but it is all that was promised me. And you, if we win, will still be minister of finances? What is that maggot I see behind your eyes? Is it not spelled 'chancellor'? But, remember, Madame has friends to take care of in the event of our success. We can not have all the spoils. To join the kingdom and the duchy will create new offices, to be sure, but we can have only part of them. As to games, I shall, out of the kindness in my heart, tell you that I am not playing two, but three. Guess them if you can. Next to the chancellorship is the embassy to Vienna, and an embassy to Paris is to be created. Madame is a superior woman. Who knows?" with a smile that caused the other to pale.

"You are mad to dream of that."

"As you say, I come of a noble house," carelessly.

"You are mad."

"No, count," the soldier replied. "I have what Balzac calls a thirst for a full life in a short space."

"I would give a deal to read what is going on in that head of yours."

"Doubtless. But what is to become of our friends the Marshal and Mollendorf? What will be left for them? Perhaps there will be a chamber of war, a chamber of the navy. As a naval minister the Marshal would be nicely placed. There would be no expense of building ships or paying sailors, which would speak well for the economy of the new government. The Marshal is old; we shall send him to Servia. At least the office will pay both his vanity and purse to an extent equal to that of his present office. By the way, nothing has yet been heard from Prince Frederick. Ah, these young men, these plump peasant girls!"

Both laughed.

"Till this evening, then;" and the Colonel went from the room.

The minister of finance applied a match to the tapers. He held the burning match aloft and contemplated the door through which the soldier had gone. The sting of the incipient flame aroused him.

"What," he mused aloud, as he arranged the papers on his desk, "is his third game?"

"It appears to me," said a voice from the wall behind, "that the same question arises in both our minds."

The minister wheeled his chair, his mouth and brows puckered in dismay. From a secret panel in the wall there stepped forth a tall, thin, sour-visaged old man of military presence. He calmly sat down in the chair which Beauvais had vacated.

"I had forgotten all about you, Marshal!" exclaimed the count, smiling uneasily.

"A statement which I am most ready to believe," replied old Marshal Kampf, with a glance which caused the minister yet more uneasiness. "What impressed me among other things was, 'But what is to become of our friends the Marshal and Mollendorf?' I am Marshal; I am about to risk all for nothing. Why should I not remain Marshal for the remainder of my days? It is a pleasant thing to go to Vienna once the year and to witness the maneuvers, with an honorary position on the emperor's staff. To be Marshal here is to hold a sinecure, yet it has its compensations. The uniforms, gray and gold, are handsome; it is an ostrich plume that I wear in my chapeau de bras; the medals are of gold. My friend, it is the vanity of old age which forgives not." And the Marshal, the bitterest tongue in all Bleiberg, reached over and picked up the cigar which lay by the inkwells. He lit it at one of the tapers, and sank again into the chair. "Count, how many games are you playing?"

"My dear Marshal, it was not I who spoke of games. I am playing no game, save for the legitimate sovereign of this kingdom. I ask for no reward."

"Disinterested man! The inference is, however, that, since you have not asked for anything, you have been promised something. Confess it, and have done."

"Marshal!"

"Well?"

"Is it possible that you suspect me?" The cold eyes grew colder, and the thin lips almost disappeared.

"When three men watch each other as do Beauvais, Mollendorf and you, it is because each suspects the other of treachery. You haven't watched me because I am old, but because I am old I have been watching you. Mollendorf aspires to greatness, you have your gaze on the chancellorship, and curse me if the Colonel isn't looking after my old shoes! Am I to give up my uniform, my medals and my plume—for nothing? And who the devil is this man Beauvais, since that is not his name? Is he a fine bird whose feathers have been plucked?"

The minister did not respond to the question; he began instead to fidget in his chair.

"When I gave my word to his Highness the duke, it was without conditions. I asked no favors; I considered it my duty. Let us come to an understanding. Material comfort is necessary to a man of my age. Fine phrases and a medal or two more do not count. I am, then, to go to Servia. You were very kind to hide me in your cabinet."

"It was to show you that I had no secrets from you," quickly.

"Let us pass on. Mollendorf is to go to Paris, where he will be a nonentity, while in his present office he is a power in the land—Devil take me, but it seems to me that we are all a pack of asses! Our gains will not be commensurate with our losses. The navy? Well, we'll let that pass; the Colonel, I see, loves a joke."

"You forget our patriotism for the true house."

"Why not give it its true name—self-interest?"

"Marshal, in heaven's name, what has stirred your bile?" The minister was losing his patience, a bad thing for him to do in the presence of the old warrior.

"It is something I've been swallowing this past year." The Marshal tipped the ash of his cigar into the waste basket.

"Marshal, will you take the word not of the minister, but of the von Wallenstein, that whatever my reward shall be for my humble services, yours shall not be less?"

"Thanks, but I have asked for no reward. If I accepted gain for what I do, I should not be too old to blush."

"I do not understand."

"Self-interest blinds us. I have nothing but pity for this king whose only crime is an archbishop; and I can not accept gain at his expense; I should blush for shame. Had I my way, he should die in peace. He has not long to live. The archbishop—well, we can not make kings, they are born. But there is one thing more: Over all your schemes is the shadow of Austria."

"Austria?"

"Yes. The Colonel speaks of a power behind him. Bismarck looks hungrily toward Schleswig-Holstein. Austria casts amorous eyes at us. A protectorate? We did not need it. It was forced on us. When Austria assumed to dictate to us as to who should be king, she also robbed us of our true independence. Twenty years ago there was no duchy; it was all one kingdom. Who created this duchy when Albrecht came on the throne? Austria. Why? If we live we shall read." He rose, shook his lean legs. "I have been for the most part neutral. I shall remain neutral. There is an undercurrent on which you have failed to reckon. Austria, mistress of the confederation. There are two men whom you must watch. One is the archbishop."

"The archbishop?" The minister was surprised that the Marshal should concur with the Colonel. "And the other?"

"Your friend the Colonel," starting for the door.

The minister smiled. "Will you not dine with me?" he asked.

"Thanks. But I have the Servian minister on my hands to-night. A propos, tell the Colonel that I decline Belgrade. I prefer to die at home." And he vanished.

Von Wallenstein reviewed the statements of both his visitors.

"I shall watch Monseigneur the archbishop." Then he added, with a half-smile: "God save us if the Marshal's sword were half so sharp as his tongue! It was careless of me to forget that I had shut him up in the cabinet."

Meanwhile Beauvais walked slowly toward his quarters, with his saber caught up under his arm. Once he turned and gazed at the palace, whose windows began to flash with light.

"Yes, they are puppets and jackals, and I am the lion. For all there shall serve my ends. I shall win, and when I do—" He laughed silently. "Well, I am a comely man, and Madame the duchess shall be my wife."



CHAPTER VI. MADEMOISELLE OF THE VEIL

The public park at night was a revelation to Maurice, who, lonely and restless, strolled over from the hotel in quest of innocent amusement. He was none the worse for his unintended bath; indeed, if anything, he was much the better for it. His imagination was excited. It was not every day that a man could, at one and the same time, fall out of a boat and into the presence of a princess of royal blood.

He tried to remember all he had said to her, but only two utterances recurred to him; yet these caused him an exhilaration like the bouquet of old wine. He had told her that she was beautiful, indirectly, it was true; she had accepted his friendship, also indirectly, it was true. Now the logical sequence of all this was—but he broke into a light laugh. What little vanity he possessed was without conceit. Princesses of royal blood were beyond the reach of logical sequence; and besides, she was to be married on the twentieth of the month.

He followed one of the paths which led to the pavilion. It was a charming scene, radiant with gas lamps, the vivid kaleidoscope of gowns and uniforms. Beautiful faces flashed past him. There were in the air the vague essences of violet, rose and heliotrope. Sometimes he caught the echo of low laughter or the snatch of a gay song. The light of the lamps shot out on the crinkled surface of the lake in tongues of quivering flame, which danced a brave gavot with the phantom stars; and afar twinkled the dipping oars. The brilliant pavilion, which rested partly over land and partly over water, was thronged.

The band was playing airs from the operas of the day, and Maurice yielded to the spell of the romantic music. He leaned over the pavilion rail, and out of the blackness below he endeavored to conjure up the face of Nell (or was it Kate?) who had danced with him at the embassies in Vienna, fenced and ridden with him, till—till—with a gesture of impatience he flung away the end of his cigar.

Memory was altogether too elusive. It was neither Nell nor Kate he saw smiling up at him, nor anybody else in the world but the Princess Alexia, whose eyes were like wine in a sunset, whose lips were as red as the rose of Tours in France, and whose voice was sweeter than that throbbing up from the 'cello. If he thought much more of her, there would be a logical sequence on his side. He laughed again—with an effort—and settled back in his chair to renew his interest in the panorama revolving around him.

"They certainly know how to live in these countries," he thought, "for all their comic operas. All I need, to have this fairy scene made complete, is a woman to talk to. By George, what's to hinder me from finding one?" he added, seized by the spirit of mischief. He turned his head this way and that. "Ah! doubtless there is the one I'm looking for."

Seated alone at a table behind him was a woman dressed in gray. Her back was toward him, but he lost none of the beautiful contours of her figure. She wore a gray alpine hat, below the rim of which rebellious little curls escaped, curls of a fine red-brown, which, as they trailed to the nape of the firm white neck, lightened into a ruddy gold. Her delicate head was turned aside, and to all appearances her gaze was directed to the entrance to the pavilion. A heavy blue veil completely obscured her features; though Maurice could see a rose-tinted ear and the shadow of a curving chin and throat, which promised much. To a man there is always a mystery lurking behind a veil. So he rose, walked past her, returned and deliberately sat down in the chair opposite to hers. The fact that gendarmes moved among the crowd did not disturb him.

"Good evening, Mademoiselle," he said, politely lifting his hat.

She straightened haughtily. "Monsieur," she said, resentment, consternation and indignation struggling to predominate in her tones, "I did not give you permission to sit down. You are impertinent!"

"O, no," Maurice declared. "I am not impertinent. I am lonesome. In all Bleiberg I haven't a soul to talk to, excepting the hotel waiters, and they are uninteresting. Grant me the privilege of conversing with you for a moment. We shall never meet again; and I should not know you if we did. Whether you are old or young, plain or beautiful, it matters not. My only wish is to talk to a woman, to hear a woman's voice."

"Shall I call a gendarme, Monsieur, and have him search for your nurse?" The attitude which accompanied these words was anything but assuring.

He, however, evinced no alarm. He even laughed. "That was good! We shall get along finely, I am sure."

"Monsieur," she said, rising, "I repeat that I do not desire your company, nor to remain in the presence of your unspeakable effrontery."

"I beseech you!" implored Maurice, also rising. "I am a foreigner, lonesome, unhappy, thousands of miles from home—"

"You are English?" suddenly. She stood with the knuckle of her forefinger on her lips as if meditating. She sat down.

Maurice, greatly surprised, also sat down.

"English?" he repeated. His thought was: "What the deuce! This is the third time I have been asked that. Who is this gay Lothario the women seem to be expecting?" To her he continued: "And why do you ask me that?"

"Perhaps it is your accent. And what do you wish to say to me, Monsieur?" It was a voice of quality; all the anger had gone from it. She leaned on her elbows, her chin in her palms, and through the veil he caught the sparkle of a pair of wonderful eyes. "Let us converse in English," she added. "It is so long since I have had occasion to speak in that tongue." She repeated her question.

"O, I had no definite plan outlined," he answered; "just generalities, with the salt of repartee to season." He pondered over this sudden transition from wrath to mildness. An Englishman? Very well; it might grow interesting.

"Is it customary among the English to request to speak to strangers without the usual formalities of an introduction?"

"I can not say that it is," he answered truthfully enough; "but the procedure is never without a certain charm and excitement."

"Ah; then you were led to address me merely by the love of adventure?"

"That is it; the love of adventure. I should not have spoken to you had you not worn the veil." He remarked that her English was excellent.

"You differ from the average Englishman, who is usually wrapt up in himself and has no desire to talk to strangers. You have been a soldier."

The evolutions of his cane ceased. "How in the world did you guess that?" surprised beyond measure.

"Perhaps there is something suggestive in your shoulders."

He tried to peer behind the veil, but in vain. "Am I speaking to one I have met before?"

"I believe not; indeed, sir, I am positive."

"I have been a soldier, but my shoulders did not tell you that."

"Perhaps I have the gift of clairvoyance," gazing again toward the entrance.

"Or perhaps you have been to Vienna."

"Who knows? Most Englishmen are, or have been, soldiers."

"That is true." Inwardly, "There's my friend the Englishman again. She's guessing closer than she knows. Curious; she has mistaken me for some one she does not know, if that is possible." He was somewhat in a haze. "Well, you have remarkable eyes. However, let us talk of a more interesting subject; for instance, yourself. You, too, love adventure, that is, if I interpret the veil rightly."

"Yes; I like to see without being seen. But, of course, behind this love of adventure which you possess, there is an important mission."

"Ah!" he thought; "you are not quite sure of me." Aloud, "Yes, I came here to witness the comic opera."

"The comic opera? I do not understand?"

"I believed there was going to be trouble between the duchy and the kingdom, but unfortunately the prima donna has refused the part."

"The prima donna!" in a muffled voice. "Whom do you mean?"

"Son Altesse la Grande Duchesse! 'Voici le sabre de mon pere!'" And he whistled a bar from Offenbach, his eyes dancing.

"Sir!—I!—you do wrong to laugh at us!" a flash from the half-hidden eyes.

"Forgive me if I have offended you, but I—"

"Ah, sir, but you who live in a powerful country think we little folk have no hearts, that we have no wrongs to redress, no dreams of conquest and of power. You are wrong."

"And whose side do you defend?"

"I am a woman," was the equivocal answer.

"Which means that you are uncertain."

"I have long ago made up my mind."

"Wonderful! I always thought a woman's mind was like a time-table, subject to change without notice. So you have made up your mind?"

"I was born with its purpose defined," coldly.

"Ah, now I begin to doubt."

"What?" with a still lower degree of warmth.

"That you are a woman. Only goddesses do not change their minds—sometimes. Well, then you are on the weaker side."

"Or the stronger, since there are two sides."

"And the stronger?" persistently.

"The side which is not the weaker. But the subject is what you English call 'taboo.' It is treading on delicate ground to talk politics in the open—especially in Bleiberg."

"What a diplomat you would make!" he cried with enthusiasm. Certainly this was a red-letter day in his calendar. This adventure almost equalled the other, and, besides, in this instance, his skin was dry; he could enjoy it more thoroughly. Who could this unknown be? "If only you understood the mystery with which you have enshrouded yourself!"

"I do." She drew the veil more firmly about her chin.

"Grant me a favor."

"I am talking to you, sir."

This candor did not disturb him. "The favor I ask is that you will lift the corner of your veil; otherwise you will haunt me."

"I am doomed to haunt you, then. If I should lift the corner of my veil something terrible would happen."

"What! Are you as beautiful as that?"

There was a flash of teeth behind the veil, followed by the ripple of soft laughter. "It is difficult to believe you to be English. You are more like one of those absurd Americans."

Maurice did not like the adjective. "I am one of them," wondering what the effect of this admission would be. "I am not English, but of the brother race. Forgive me if I have imposed on you, but it was your fault. You said that I was English, and I was too lonesome to enlighten you."

"You are an American?" She began to tap her gloved fingers against the table.

"Yes."

Then, to his astonishment, she gave way to laughter, honest and hearty. "How dense of me not to have known the moment you addressed me! Who but the American holds in scorn custom's formalities and usages? Your grammar is good, so good that my mistake is pardonable. The American is always like the terrible infant; and you are a choice example."

Maurice was not so pleased as he might have been. His ears burned. Still, he went forward bravely. "A man never pretends to be an Englishman without getting into trouble."

"I did not ask to speak to you. No one ever pretends to be an American. Why is it you are always ashamed of your country?" with malice aforethought.

Maurice experienced the sting of many bees. "I see that your experience is limited to impostors. I, Mademoiselle, am proud of my country, the great, free land which stands aside from the turmoil and laughs at your petty squabbles, your kings, your princes. Laugh at me; I deserve it for not minding my own business, but do not laugh at my country." His face was flushed; he was almost angry. It was not her words; it was the contempt with which she had invested them. But immediately he was ashamed of his outburst. "Ah, Mademoiselle, you have tricked me; you have found the vulnerable part in my armor. I have spoken like a child. Permit me to apologize for my apparent lack of breeding." He rose, bowed, and made as though to depart.

"Sit down, Monsieur," she said, picking up her French again. "I forgive you. I do more; I admire. I see that your freak had nothing behind it but mischief. No woman need fear a man who colors when his country is made the subject of a jest."

All his anger evaporated. This was an invitation, and he accepted it. He resumed his seat.

"The truth is, as I remarked, I was lonesome. I know that I have committed a transgression, but the veil tempted me."

"It is of no matter. A few moments, and you will be gone. I am waiting for some one. You may talk till that person comes." Her voice was now in its natural tone; and he was convinced that if her face were half as sweet, she must possess rare beauty. "Hush!" as the band began to breathe forth Chopin's polonaise. They listened until the music ceased.

"Ah!" said he rapturously, "the polonaise! When you hear it, does there not recur to you some dream of bygone happy hours, the sibilant murmur of fragrant night winds through the crisp foliage, the faint call of Diana's horn from the woodlands, moon-fairies dancing on the spider-webs, the glint of the dew on the roses, the far-off music of the surges tossing impotently on the sands, the forgetfulness of time and place and care, and not a cloud 'twixt you and the heavens? Ah, the polonaise!"

"Surely you must be a poet!" declared the Veil, when this panegyric was done.

"No," said he modestly, "I never was quite poor enough for that exalted position." He had recovered his good humor.

"Indeed, you begin to interest me. What is your occupation when not in search of—comic operas?"

"I serve Ananias."

"Ananias?" A pause. "Ah, you are a diplomat?"

"How clever of you to guess."

"Yours is a careless country," observed the Veil.

"Careless?" mystified.

"Yes, to send forth her green and salad youth. Eh, bien! There are hopes for you. If you live you will grow old; you will become bald and reserved; you will not speak to strangers, to while away an idle hour; for permit me, Monsieur, who am wise, to tell you that it is a dangerous practice."

"And do I look so very young?"

"Your beard is that of a boy."

"David slew Goliath."

"At least you have a ready tongue," laughing.

"And you told me that I had been a soldier."

But to this she had nothing to say.

"I am older than you think, Mademoiselle of the Veil. I have been a soldier; I have seen hard service, too. Mine is no cushion sword. Youth? 'Tis a virtue, not a crime; and, besides, it is an excellent disguise."

For some time she remained pensive.

"You are thinking of something, Mademoiselle."

"Do you like adventure?"

"I subsist on it."

"You have been a soldier; you are, then, familiar with the use of arms?"

"They tell me so," modestly. What was coming?

"I have some influence. May I trust you?"

"On my honor," puzzled, yet eager.

"There may be a comic opera, as you call it. War is not so impossible as to be laughed at. The dove may fly away and the ravens come."

"Who in thunder might this woman be?" he thought.

"And," went on the Veil, "an extra saber might be used. Give me your address, in case I should find it necessary to send for you."

Now Maurice was a wary youth. Under ordinary circumstances he would have given a fictitious address to this strange sybil with the prophecy of war; for he had accosted her only in the spirit of fun. But here was the key which he had been seeking, the key to all that had brought him to Bleiberg. Intrigue, adventure, or whatever it was, and to whatever end, he plunged into it. He drew out a card case, selected a card on which he wrote "Room 12, Continental," and passed it over the table. She read it, and slipped it into her purse.

Maurice thought: "Who wouldn't join the army with such recruiting officers?"

While the pantomime took place, a man pushed by Maurice's chair and crossed over to the table recently occupied by him. He sat down, lit a short pipe, rested his feet on the lowest rung of the ladder-like railing, and contemplated the western hills, which by now were enveloped in moon mists. Neither Maurice nor his mysterious vis-a-vis remarked him. Indeed, his broad back afforded but small attraction. And if he puffed his pipe fiercely, nobody cared, since the breeze carried the smoke waterward.

After putting the card into her purse, Mademoiselle of the Veil's gaze once more wandered toward the entrance, and this time it grew fixed. Maurice naturally followed it, and he saw a tall soldier in fatigue dress elbowing his way through the crush. Many moved aside for him; those in uniform saluted.

"Monsieur," came from behind the veil, "you may go now. I dismiss you. If I have need of you I promise to send for you."

He stood up. "I thank you for the entertainment and the promise you extend. I shall be easily found," committing himself to nothing. "I suppose you are a person of importance in affairs."

"It is not unlikely. I see that you love adventure for its own sake, for you have not asked me if it be the duchy or the kingdom. Adieu, Monsieur," with a careless wave of the gray-gloved hand. "Adieu!"

He took his dismissal heroically and shot a final glance at the approaching soldier. His brows came together.

"Where," he murmured, "have I seen that picturesque countenance before? Not in Europe; but where?" He caught the arm of a passing gendarme. "Who is that gentleman in fatigue uniform, coming this way?"

"That, Monsieur," answered the gendarme in tones not unmixed with awe, "is Colonel Beauvais of the royal cuirassiers."

"Thanks.... Beauvais; I do not remember the name. Truly I have had experiences to-day. And for what house is Mademoiselle of the Veil? Ravens? War? 'Voici le sabre de mon pyre!'" and with a gay laugh he went his way.

Meanwhile Colonel Beauvais arrived at the table, tipped his hat to the Veil, who rose and laid a hand on his arm. He guided her through the pressing crowds.

"Ah, Madame," he said, "you are very brave to choose such a rendezvous."

"Danger is a tonic to the ill-spirited," was the reply.

"If aught should happen to you—"

"It was in accord with her wishes that I am here. She suffers from impatience; and I would risk much to satisfy her whims."

"So would I, Madame; even life." There was a tremor of passion in his voice, but she appeared not to notice it. "Here is a nook out of the lights; we may talk here with safety."

"And what is the news?" she asked.

"This: The man remains still in obscurity. But he shall be found. Listen," and his voice fell into a whisper.

"Austria?" Mademoiselle of the Veil pressed her hands together in excitement. "Is it true?"

"Did I not promise you? It is so true that the end is in sight. Conspiracy is talked openly in the streets, in the cafes, everywhere. The Osians will be sand in the face of a tidal wave. A word from me, and Kronau follows it. It all would be so easy were it not for the archbishop."

"The archbishop?" contemptuously.

"Ay, Madame; he is a man so deep, with a mind so abyssmal, that I would give ten years of my life for a flash of his thoughts. He has some project; apparently he gives his whole time to the king. He loves this weak man Leopold; he has sacrificed the red hat for him, for the hat would have taken him to Italy, as we who procured it intended it should."

"The archbishop? Trust me; one month from now he will be recalled. That is the news I have for you."

"You have taken a weight from my mind. What do you think in regard to the rumor of the prince and the peasant girl?"

"It afforded me much amusement. You are a man of fine inventions."

"Gaze toward the upper end of the pavilion, the end which we have just left. Yes—there. I am having the owner of those broad shoulders watched. That gendarme leaning against the pillar follows him wherever he goes."

"Who is he?"

"That I am trying to ascertain. This much—he is an Englishman."

Mademoiselle of the Veil laughed. "Pardon my irrelevancy, but the remembrance of a recent adventure of mine was too strong."



Maurice could not regain his interest in the scene. He strolled in and out of the moving groups, but no bright eyes or winning smiles allured him. Impelled by curiosity, he began to draw near the shadowed nook. Curiosity in a journalist is innate, and time nor change can efface it. Curiosity in those things which do not concern us is wrong. Ethics disavows the practice, though philosophy sustains it. Perhaps in this instance Maurice was philosophical, not ethical. Perhaps he wanted to hear the woman's voice again, which was excusable. Perhaps it was neither the one nor the other, but fate, which directed his footsteps. Certain it is that the subsequent adventures would never have happened had he gone about his business, as he should have done.

"Who is this who stares at us?" asked Beauvais, with a piercing glance and a startled movement of his shoulders.

"A disciple of Pallas and a pupil of Mars," was the answer. "I have been recruiting, Colonel. There is sharpness sometimes in new blades. Do not draw him with your eyes."

The Colonel continued his scrutiny, however, and there was an ugly droop at the corners of his mouth, though it was partly hidden under his mustache.

Maurice, aware that he was not wanted, passed along, having in mind to regain his former seat by the railing.

"Colonel," he mused, "your face grows more familiar every moment. It was not associated with agreeable things. But, what were they? Hang it! you shall have a place in my thoughts till I have successfully labeled you. Humph! Some one seems to have appropriated my seat."

He viewed with indecision the broad back of the interloper, who at that moment turned his head. At the sight of that bronzed profile Maurice gave an exclamation of surprise and delight. He stepped forward and dropped his hand on the stranger's shoulder.

"John Fitzgerald, or henceforth garlic shall be my salad!" he cried in loud, exultant tones.



CHAPTER VII. SOME DIALOGUE, A SPRAINED ANKLE, AND SOME SOLDIERS

The stranger returned Maurice's salute with open-mouthed dismay; the monocle fell from his eye, he grasped the table with one hand and pushed back the chair with the other, while Maurice heard the name of an exceedingly warm place.

The gendarme, who was leaning against the pillar, straightened, opened his jaws, snapped them, and hurried off.

"Maurice—Maurice Carewe?" said the bewildered Englishman.

"No one else, though I must say you do not seem very glad to see me," Maurice answered, conscious that he was all things but welcome.

"Hang you, I'm not!" incogitantly.

"Go to the devil, then!" cried Maurice, hotly.

"Gently," said Fitzgerald, catching Maurice by the coat and pulling him down into a chair. "Confound you, could you not have made yourself known to me without yelling my name at the top of your voice?"

"Are you ashamed of it?" asked Maurice, loosing his coat from Fitzgerald's grip.

"I'm afraid of it," the Englishman admitted, in a lowered voice. "And your manly, resonant tones have cast it abroad. I am here incognito."

"Who the deuce are you?"

"I am Don Jahpet of Armenia; that is to say that I am a marked man. And now, as you would inelegantly express it, you have put a tag on me. When I left you in Vienna the other day I lied to you. I am sorry. I should have trusted you, only I did not wish you to risk your life. You would have insisted on coming along."

"Risked my life?" echoed Maurice. "How many times have I not risked it? By the way," impressed by a sudden thought, "are you the Englishman every one seems to be expecting?"

"Yes." Fitzgerald knocked his pipe against the railing. "I am the man. Worse luck! Was any one near when you called me by name?"

"Only one of those wooden gendarmes."

"Only one of those wooden gendarmes!" ironically. "Only one of those dogs who have been at my heels ever since I arrived. And he, having heard, has gone back to his master. Well, since you have started the ball rolling, it is no more than fair that you should see the game to its end."

"What's it all about?" asked Maurice, his astonishment growing and growing.

"Where are your rooms?"

"You have something important to tell me?"

"Perhaps you may think so. At the Continental? Come along."

They passed out of the pavilion, along the path to the square, thence to the terrace of the Continental, which they mounted. Not a word was said, but Maurice was visibly excited, and by constant gnawing ruined his cigar. He conducted his friend to the room on the second floor, the window of which opened on a private balcony. Here he placed two chairs and a small table; and with a bottle of tokayer between them they seated themselves.

"What's it all about?"

"O, only a crown and a few millions in money."

"Only a crown and a few millions in money," repeated Maurice very slowly, for his mind could scarcely accept Fitzgerald and these two greatest treasures on earth.

A gendarme had leisurely followed them from the park. He took aside a porter and quietly plied him with questions. Evidently the answers were satisfactory, for he at once departed.

Maurice stared at the Englishman.

"Knocks you up a bit, eh?" said Fitzgerald. "Well, I am rather surprised myself; that is to say, I was."

"Fire away," said Maurice.

"To begin with, if I do not see the king to-morrow, it is not likely that I ever shall."

"The king?"

"My business here is with his Majesty."

Maurice filled the glasses and pushed one across the table.

"Here's!" said he, and gulped.

Fitzgerald drank slowly, however, as if arranging in his mind the salient points in his forthcoming narrative.

"I have never been an extraordinarily communicative man; what I shall tell you is known only to my former Colonel and myself. At Calcutta, where you and I first met, I was but a Lieutenant in her Majesty's. To-day I am burdened with riches such as I know not how to use, and possessor of a title which sounds strange in my ears."

The dim light from the gas-jet in the room flickered over his face, and Maurice saw that it was slightly contorted, as if by pain.

"My father was Lord Fitzgerald."

"What!" cried Maurice, "the diplomat, the historian, the millionaire?"

"The same. Thirteen years ago we parted—a misunderstanding. I never saw him again. Six months ago he died and left me a fortune, a title and a strange legacy; and it is this legacy which brings me to Bleiberg. Do you know the history of Leopold?"

"I do. This throne belongs to the house of Auersperg, and the Osian usurps. The fact that the minister of the duchess has been discredited was what brought me here. Continue."

And Fitzgerald proceeded briefly to acquaint the other with the strange caprice of his father; how, when he left Bleiberg, he had been waylaid and the certificates demanded; how he had entrusted them to his valet, who had gone by another route; how the duke had sought him in Vienna and made offers, bribes and threats; how he had laughed at all, and sworn that Duke Josef should never be a king.

"My father wished to save Leopold in spite of himself; and then, he had no love for Josef. At a dinner given at the legation, there was among others a toast to her Majesty. The duke laughed and tossed the wine to the floor. It lost him his crown, for my father never forgave the insult. When the duke died, his daughter took up the work with surprising vigor. It was all useless; father was a rock, and would listen neither to bribes nor threats. Now they are after me. They have hunted me in India, London, and Vienna. I am an obscure soldier, with all my titles and riches; they threaten me with death. But I am here, and my father's wishes shall be carried out. That is all. I am glad that we have come together; you have more invention than I have."

"But why did you come yourself? You could have sent an agent. That would have been simple."

"An agent might be bought. It was necessary for me to come. However, I might have waited till the twentieth. I should have come openly and informed the British minister of my mission. As to the pheasants, they could have waited. Perhaps my fears are without foundation, unless you have been the unconscious cause of my true name being known. Every one has heard the story. It is known as 'Fitzgerald's folly,' and has gone the rounds of the diplomatic circles for ten years. I shall ask for an audience to-morrow morning."

"And these certificates fall due the same day that the princess is to be married," mused his auditor. "What a yarn for the papers!" his love of sensation being always close to the surface. "Your father, you say, took four million crowns; what became of the fifth?"

"The duke was permitted to secure that."

"A kind of court plaster for his wounds, eh? Why don't you get that other million and run the kingdom yourself? It's a great opportunity." Maurice laughed.

"Her Royal Highness must not be forgotten. My father thought much of her."

"But really I do not see why you are putting yourself to all this trouble. The king will pay off the indebtedness; the kingdom is said to be rich, or Austria wouldn't meddle with it."

"The king, on the twentieth of this month, will be some three millions short."

"And since he can not pay he is bankrupt. Ah, I see the plan. The duke knew that he wouldn't be able to pay."

"You have hit it squarely."

"But Austria, having placed Leopold here, is his sponsor."

"Austria has too many debts of her own; she will have to disavow her protege, which is a fact not unthought of by the house of Auersperg. By constant machination and intrigue the king's revenues have been so depleted that ordinary debts are troublesome. The archbishop, to stave off the probable end, brought about the alliance between the houses of Carnavia and Osia. My business here is to arrange for a ten years' renewal of the loan, and that is what the duchess wishes to prevent, mon ami. What's to become of the king and his daughter if aught in the way of mishap should befall me? I have not seen the king, but I have seen her Royal Highness."

"What is she like?" Maurice asked, innocently. He saw no reason why he should confide to the Englishman his own adventure.

"I'm not much of a judge," said Fitzgerald cautiously. "I have lived most of my life in cantonments where women were old and ran mostly to tongue. I should say that she is beautiful." A short sigh followed this admission.

"Ah!" said Maurice with a loud laugh to cover the sudden pang of jealousy which seized him; "in gratitude for saving her father's throne the daughter will fall in love with you. It is what the dramatist calls logical sequence."

"Why don't you write novels? Your imagination has no bounds."

"Writing novels is too much like work. But I'm serious. Your position in the world to-day is nearly equal to hers, and certainly more secure. Ah, yes; I must not forget that prince. He's a lucky dog—and so are you, for that matter. Millions and titles! And I have slapped you cavalierly on the back, smoked your cigars, drunk your whisky, and beaten you at poker!" comically.

"Ah, Maurice, it is neither wealth nor titles; it is freedom. I am like a boy out of school for good and all. Women, the society of women, who are the salt of earth; that is what I want. I have knocked out thirteen years of my life in furnace holes, and have not met nor spoken to a dozen young women in all that time. How I envy you! You know every one; you have seen the world; you are at home in Paris, or London, or Vienna; you have enjoyed all I wish to enjoy."

"Why did you ever get into the army?"

"You ought to know."

"But it was bread and butter to me."

"Well, I was young; I saw fame and glory. If the matter under hand is closed to-morrow, what do you say to the Carpathians and bears? I shall not remain here; some one will be looking for blood. What do you say?"

"I don't know," said Maurice, thoughtfully. He was thinking of Mademoiselle of the Veil and her prophecy of ravens. "I don't know that I shall be able. It is my opinion that your part in the affair is only a curtain-raiser to graver things. Every one of importance in town goes about with an air of expectancy. I never saw anything like it. It is the king, the archbishop and the chancellor against two hundred thousand. You're a soldier; can't you smell powder?"

"Powder! You do not believe the duchess mad enough to wage war?"

"Trust a woman to do what no one dreams she will."

"But Austria would be about her ears in a minute!"

"Maybe. Have you seen this Colonel Beauvais of the royal cuirassiers, the actual head of the army here?"

"A fine soldier," said the Englishman, heartily. "Rides like a centaur and wields a saber as if it were a piece of straw."

"I can hold a pretty good blade myself; I've an idea that I can lick him at both games."

Fitzgerald laughed good-naturedly. "There is the one flaw in your make-up. I admit your horsemanship; but the saber! Believe me, it is only the constant practice and a wrist of iron which make the saber formidable. You are more familiar with the pen; I dare say you could best him at that."

"What makes you think I can not lick him?"

"Since when have the saber and the civilian been on terms? And these continental sabers are matchless, the finest in the world. I trust you will steer clear of the Colonel; if you have any challenge in mind, spring it on me, and I'll let you down easy." Then: "Why the devil do you want to lick him, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Maurice. "I had a close range to-night, and somehow the man went against the grain. Well, Jack, I'll stay with you in this affair, though, as the county judge at home would say, it's out of my circuit."

They shook hands across the table.

"Come," said Fitzgerald; "a toast, for I must be off."

"What do you say to her Royal Highness?"

"Let us make it general: to all women!"

They set down the glasses and shook hands again.

"It seemed good to run across you in Vienna, Maurice. You were one of the bright spots in the old days."

"Do you want me to walk with you to the Grand? It's a fine night," said Maurice, waving his hand toward the moon. "By George, what a beautiful place this end of Bleiberg is! I do not wonder that the duchess covets it."

"No, I'll go alone. All I have to do is to march straight up the Strasse."

"Well, good-night and good luck to you," said Maurice, as he led the Englishman into the hallway. "Look me up when you have settled the business. I say, but it gets me; it's the strangest thing I ever heard." And he waited till the soldierly form disappeared below the landing.

Then he went back to his chair on the balcony to think it over. At four o'clock that afternoon he had grumbled of dullness. He lit a pipe, and contemplated the soft and delicate blues of earth and heaven, the silvery flashes on the lake, and the slim violet threads of smoke which wavered about his head. It was late. Now and then the sound of a galloping horse was borne up by the breeze, and presently Maurice heard the midnight bell boom forth from the sleepy spires of the cathedral—where the princess was to be married.

One by one the lamps of the park went out, but the moon shone on, lustrous and splendid. First he reviewed his odd adventure in the archbishop's gardens. He had spoken to princesses before, but they were women of the world, hothouse roses that bloom and wither in a short space. The atmosphere which surrounded this princess was idyllic, pastoral. She had seen nothing of the world, its sports and pastimes, and the art of playing at love was unknown to her. Again he could see her serious eyes, the delicate chin and mouth, the oval cheeks, and the dog that followed in her steps. Here was an indelible picture which time could never efface. Something stirred in his heart, and he sighed.

And ah, the woman in the veil! Who could she be? The more he thought of her the more convinced he was that she stood high in the service of any one but Leopold of Osia. And Fitzgerald! That sober old soldier concerned with crowns and millions! It was incredible; it was almost laughable. They had met up-country in India, and had hunted, and Maurice had saved the Englishman's life. Occasionally they had corresponded.

"Well, to bed," said the young diplomat. "This has been a full day." And, like the true newspaper man he was, for all his diplomacy, he emptied the bottle and entered the room. He was about to disrobe, when some one rapped on the door. He opened it, and beheld a man in the livery of the Grand Hotel. He was breathing hard.

"Herr Carewe?"

"Yes. What's wanted?"

"Herr Hamilton—"

"Hamilton? O, yes. Go on."

"Herr Hamilton bade me to tell your Excellency that in returning to the hotel he sprained his ankle, and wishes to know if Herr would not be so kind as to spend the night with him."

"Certainly. Run down to the office, and I shall be with you shortly." Again alone, Maurice opened his trunk. He brought forth a pint flask of brandy, some old handkerchiefs to be used as bandages, and a box of salve he used for bruises when on hunting expeditions. In turning over his clothes his hand came into contact with his old army revolver. He scratched his head. "No, it's too much like a cannon, and there's no room for it in my pockets." He pushed it aside, rose and slammed the lid of the trunk. "Sprained his ankle? He wasn't gone more than an hour. How the deuce is he to see the king to-morrow? Probably wishes to appoint me his agent. That's it. Very well." He proceeded to the office, where he found the messenger waiting for him. "Come on, and put life into your steps."

Together they traversed the moonlit thoroughfare. Few persons were astir. Once the night patrol clattered by. They passed through the markets, and not far ahead they could see the university. It looked like a city prison.

"This is the hotel, Herr," said the messenger.

They entered. Maurice approached the proprietor, who was pale and flurried; but as Maurice had never seen the natural repose of his countenance, he thought nothing of it.

"My friend, Herr Hamilton, has met with an accident. Where is his room?"

"Number nine; Johann will show you." He acted as if he had something more to say, but a glance from the round-faced porter silenced him. Maurice lost much by not seeing this glance. He followed the messenger up the stairs.

There were no transoms. The corridor was devoid of illumination. The porter struck a match and held it close to the panel of a door under which a thread of light streamed.

"This is it, Herr," he bawled, so loudly that Maurice started.

"There was no need of waking the dead to tell me," he growled.

The door opened, and before Maurice could brace himself—for the interior of the room made all plain to him—he was violently pushed over the threshold on to his knees. He was up in an instant. The room was filled with soldiers, foot soldiers of the king, so it seemed.

"What the devil is this?" he demanded, brushing his knees and cursing himself because he had not brought his Colt when fate had put it almost in his hand.

"It is a banquet, young man. We were waiting for the guest of honor."

Maurice turned to the speaker, and saw a medium-sized man with gray hair and a frosty stubble of a mustache. He wore no insignia of office. Indeed, as Maurice gazed from one man to the next he saw that there were no officers; and it came to him that these were not soldiers of the king. He was in a trap. He thought quickly. Fitzgerald was in trouble, perhaps on his account. Where was he?

"I do not see my friend who sprained his ankle," he said coolly.

This declaration was greeted with laughter.

"Evidently I have entered the wrong room," he continued imperturbably. He stepped toward the door, but a burly individual placed his back to it.

"Am I a prisoner, or the victim of a practical joke?"

"Either way," said the man with the frosty mustache.

"Why?"

"You have recently formed a dangerous acquaintance, and we desire to aid you in breaking it."

"Are you aware, gentlemen—no, I don't mean gentlemen—that I am attached to the American legation in Vienna, and that my person is inviolable?"

Everybody laughed again—everybody but Maurice.

"Allow me to correct you," put in the elderly man, who evidently was the leader in the affair. "You are not attached; you are detached. Gentlemen, permit me, M. Carewe, detache of the American legation in Vienna, who wishes he had stayed there."

Maurice saw a brace of revolvers on the mantel. The table stood between.

"Well," he said, banteringly, "bring on your banquet; the hour is late."

"That's the way; don't lose your temper, and no harm will come to you."

"What do you wish of me?"

"Merely the pleasure of your company. Lieutenant, bring out the treasure."

One of the soldiers entered the next room and soon returned pushing Fitzgerald before him. The Englishman was bound and gagged.

"How will you have the pheasant served?" asked the leader.

"Like a gentleman!" cried Maurice, letting out a little of his anger. "Take out the gag; he will not cry."

The leader nodded, and Fitzgerald's mouth was relieved. He spat some blood on the carpet, then looked at his captors, the devil in his eyes.

"Proceed to kill me and have done," he said.

"Kill you? No, no!"

"I advise you to, for if you do not kill me, some day I shall be free again, and then God help some of you."

Maurice gazed at the candles on the table, and smiled.

"I'm sorry they dragged you into it, Maurice," said Fitzgerald.

"I'm glad they did. What you want is company." There was a glance, swift as light. It went to the mantel, then passed to the captive. "Well," said Maurice, "what is next on your damned program?"

"The other side of the frontier."

"Maybe," said Maurice.

With an unexpected movement he sent the table over, the lights went out; and he had judged the distance so accurately that he felt his hands close over the revolvers.

"The door! the door!" a voice bawled. "Knock down any one who attempts to pass."

This was precisely what Maurice desired. With the soldiers massed about the door, he would be free to liberate Fitzgerald; which he did. He had scarcely completed the task, when a flame spurted up. The leader fearlessly lit a candle and righted the table. He saw both his prisoners, one of them with extended arms, at the ends of which glistened revolver barrels.

"The devil!" he said.

"Maybe it is," replied Maurice. "Now, my gay banqueteers, open the door; and the first man who makes a suspicious movement will find that I'm a tolerable shot."

"Seize him, your Excellency!" shouted one of the troopers. "Those are my revolvers he has, and they are not loaded."



CHAPTER VIII. THE RED CHATEAU

Two o'clock in the morning, on the king's highway, and a small body of horse making progress. The moon was beginning to roll away toward the west, but the world was still frost-white, and the broad road stretched out like a silver ribbon before the horsemen, until it was lost in the blue mist of the forests.

The troop consisted of ten men, two of whom rode with their hands tied behind their backs and their feet fastened under the bellies of the horses. The troop was not conspicuous for this alone. Three others had their heads done up in handkerchiefs, and a fourth carried his arm in a sling.

Five miles to the rear lay the sleeping city of Bleiberg, twenty miles beyond rose the formidable heights of the Thalians. At times the horses went forward at a gallop, but more often they walked; when they galloped the man with his arm in the sling complained. Whenever the horses dropped into a walk, the leader talked to one of the prisoners.

"You fight like the very devil, my friend," he said; "but we were too many by six. Mind, I think none the less of you for your attempt; freedom is always worth fighting for. As I said before, no harm is meant to you, physically; as to the moral side, that doesn't concern me. You have disabled four of my men, and have scarcely a dozen scratches to show for it. I wanted to take only four men with me; I was ordered to take eight. The hand of providence is in it."

"You wouldn't be so polite, Colonel," spoke up the trooper whose arm was in the sling, "if you had got this crack."

"Baron, who told you to call me Colonel?" the leader demanded.

"Why, we are out of the city; there's no harm now that I can see."

"Is it possible," said Maurice ironically, "that I have had the honor of hitting a baron on the head and breaking his arm?"

The baron muttered a curse and fell back.

"And you," went on Maurice, addressing the leader, "are a Colonel?"

"Yes."

"For the duchess?"

"For the duchess."

"A black business for you, Colonel; take my word for it."

"A black business it is; but orders are orders. Have you ever been a soldier?"

"I have."

"Well, there's nothing more to be said."

"America—" Maurice began.

"Is several thousand miles away."

"Not if you reckon from Vienna."

"I'd rather not reckon, if it's all the same to you. Your friend—I might say, your very valuable friend—takes the matter too much to heart."

"He's not a talkative man."

Fitzgerald looked straight ahead, stern and impassive.

"But now that we are talking," said Maurice, "I should like to know how the deuce you got hold of my name and dragged me into this affair?"

"Simple enough. A card of yours was given to me; on it was your name and address. The rest was easy."

Maurice grew limp in the saddle.

"By George! I had forgotten! The woman is at the bottom of it."

"Quite likely. I thought you'd come to that conclusion. Sometimes when we play with foxes they lead us into bear traps. Young man, witness these gray hairs; never speak to strange women, especially when they wear veils."

Fitzgerald was now attending the conversation.

"And who is this woman?" asked Maurice.

"Mademoiselle of the Veil, according to your picturesque imagination; to me she is the intimate friend and adviser of her Highness Stephonia." He wheeled to the troopers with a laugh: "Hoch, you beggars, hoch!"

Maurice indulged in some uncomplimentary remarks, among which was: "I'm an ass!"

"Every man improves on making that discovery; the Darwinian theory is wrong."

After a pause Maurice said: "How did you get on the ground so quickly?"

"We arrived yesterday afternoon as the escort of your charmer. A pretty woman finds it troublesome to travel alone in these parts. When you slapped your friend on the back and bawled out his name—a name known from one end of the kingdom to the other—the plan of action was immediately formed. You were necessary, for it was taken for granted that you knew too much. You had also promised your sword," with a chuckle.

"I made no promise," said Maurice. "I only said that I should easily be found when wanted."

"Well, so you were; there's no gainsaying that."

Maurice said some more uncomplimentary things.

"It was neatly done, you will admit. Life is a game of cards; he wins who plays first."

"Or he doesn't. Colonel, a game is won only when it is played'."

"That's true enough."

"Kings are a tolerable bother on earth," Maurice declared, trying to ease his wrists by holding them higher against his back.

"What do you know about them?"

"When I was in the army I often fell in with three or four of a night."

"Eh?—kings?"

"Yes; but usually I was up against aces or straight flushes."

"Cards! Well, well; when you get down to the truth of the matter, real kings differ but little from the kings in pasteboard; right side up, or wrong side up, they serve the purpose of those who play them. There's a poor, harmless devil back there," with a nod toward Bleiberg. "He never injured a soul. Perhaps that's it; had he been cruel, avaricious, sly, all of them would be cringing at his feet. Devil take me—but I'm a soldier," he broke off abruptly; "it's none of my business."

"Have you any titles?" Maurice asked presently.

"Titles?" The Colonel jerked around on his horse. "Why?"

"O," said Maurice carelessly, "I thought it not unlikely that you might have a few lying around loose."

The Colonel roared. "You Americans beat the very devil with your questions. Well, I am politely known as Count Mollendorf, if that will gratify you."

"What! brother of Mollendorf of the king's police?"

"God save the mark! No; I am an honest man—some of the time."

Maurice laughed; the old fellow was amusing, and besides, this conversation helped to pass away the time.

"Wake up, Jack; here's entertainment," he said.

A scowl added itself to the stern expression on Fitzgerald's face.

"I trust that none of your teeth are loose," ventured the Colonel.

"If they are, they'll be tight enough ere many days have passed," was the threatening reply.

"Beware the dog!" cried the Colonel, and he resumed his place at the head of the little troop.

Maurice took this opportunity to bend toward Fitzgerald. "Have you anything of importance about you?" he whispered significantly.

"Nothing. But God send that no chambermaid change the sheet in my bed at the hotel."

"Are they—"

"Silence." Fitzgerald saw the trooper next with his hand to his ear.

After a time the Colonel sang out: "Fifteen miles more, with three on the other side, men; we must put more life into us. A trot for a few miles. The quicker the ride is done, baron, the quicker the surgeon will look to your arm."

And silence fell upon the troop. Occasionally a stray horse in the fields whinneyed, and was answered from the road; sometimes the howl of a dog broke the monotony. On and on they rode; hour and mile were left behind them. The moon fell lower and lower, and the mountains rose higher and higher, and the wind which had risen had a frosty sting to it. Maurice now began to show the true state of his temper by cursing his horse whenever it rubbed against one of its fellows. His back was lame, and there was a dull pain in one of his shoulders. When he had made the rush for the door, clubbing right and left with the empty revolvers, he had finally been thrown on an overturned chair.

"Here, hang you!" he said to the trooper who held the bridle of his horse, "I'm cold; you might at least turn up my collar about my throat."

"You are welcome to my cloak," said the trooper, disengaging that article from his shoulders.

"Thank you," said Maurice, somewhat abashed by the respectful tone.

The trooper offered his blanket to Fitzgerald.

"I wish no favors," said the Englishman, thanklessly.

The trooper shrugged, and caught up Maurice's bridle.

At length the troop arrived at the frontier. There was no sign of life at the barrack. They passed unchallenged.

"What!" exclaimed Maurice, "do they sleep here at night, then? A fine frontier barrack." He had lived in hopes of more disturbance and a possible chance for liberty.

"They will wake up to-day," answered the Colonel; "that is, if the wine we gave them was not too strong. Poor devils; they must be good and cold by this time, since we have their clothes. What do you think of a king whose soldiers drink with any strangers who chance along?"

Maurice became resigned. To him the present dynasty was as fragile as glass, and it needed but one strong blow to shatter it into atoms. And the one hope rode at his side, sullen and wrathful, but impotent; the one hope the king had to save his throne. He had come to Bleiberg in search of excitement, but this was altogether more than he had bargained for.

The horses began to lift and were soon winding in and out of the narrow mountain pass. The chill of the overhanging snows fell upon them.

"It wouldn't have hurt you to accept the blanket," said Maurice to Fitzgerald.

"Curse it! I want nothing but two minutes freedom. It would be warm enough then."

"No confidences, gentlemen," warned the Colonel; "I understand English tolerably well."

"Go to the devil, then, if you do!" said Fitzgerald discourteously.

"When the time comes," tranquilly. "Of the two I like your friend the better. To be resigned to the inevitable is a sign of good mental balance."

"I am not used to words," replied the Englishman.

"You are used to orders. I am simply obeying mine. If I took you off your guard it was because I had to, and not because I liked that method best. Look alive, men; it's down hill from now on."

A quarter of an hour later the troop arrived at the duchy's frontier post. There was no sleep here. The Colonel flung himself from his horse and exercised his legs.

"Sergeant," he said, "how far behind the others?"

"They passed two hours ago, Excellency. And all is well?" deferentially.

"All is indeed well," with a gesture toward the prisoners.

"I've a flask of brandy in my hip pocket," said Maurice. "Will you help me to a nip, Colonel?"

"Pardon me, gentlemen; I had forgotten that your hands were still in cords. Corporal," to a trooper, "relieve their hands."

The prisoners rubbed their wrists and hands, which were numb and cold. Maurice produced his flask.

"I was bringing it along for your sprained ankle," he said, as he extended the flask to Fitzgerald, who drank a third of it. "I'd offer you some, Colonel, only it would be like heaping coals of fire on your head; and, besides, I want it all myself." He returned the emptied flask to his pocket, feeling a moderate warmth inside.

"Drink away, my son," said the Colonel, climbing into the saddle; "there'll be plenty for me for this night's work. Forward!"

The troop took up the march again, through a splendid forest kept clear of dead wood by the peasants. It abounded with game. The shrill cry of the pheasants, the rustle of the partridges in the underbrush, the bark of the fox, all rose to the ears of the trespassers. The smell of warm earth permeated the air, and the sky was merging from silver into gold.

When Napoleon humiliated Austria for the second time, one of his mushroom nobles, who placed too much faith in the man of destiny, selected this wooded paradise as a residence. He built him a fine castle of red brick, full of wide halls and drawing rooms and chambers of state, and filled it with fabulous paintings, Gobelin tapestries, and black walnut wainscot. He kept a small garrison of French soldiers by converting the huge stables partly into a barrack. One night the peasantry rose. There was a conflict, as the walls still show; and the prince by patent fled, no one knew where. After its baptism in blood it became known far and wide as the Red Chateau. Whenever children were unruly, they were made docile by threats of the dark dungeons of the Red Chateau, or the ghosts of the French and German peasants who died there. As it now stood, it was one of the summer residences of her Highness.

It was here that the long night's journey came to an end.

"Gentlemen," said the Colonel, dismounting, "permit me, in the name of her Highness, to offer you the hospitality of Red Chateau. Consider; will you lighten my task by giving me your word of honor to make no attempt to escape? Escape is possible, but not probable. There are twenty fresh men and horses in the stables. Come, be reasonable. It will be pleasanter on both sides."

"So far as I'm concerned," said Maurice, who needed liberty not half so much as sleep, "I pass my word."

"And you, sir?" to Fitzgerald.

Fitzgerald gazed about him. "Very well," he said, as he saw the futility of a struggle.

"Your humble servant, Messieurs," touching his cap. "Take the ropes off their ankles, men."

When Maurice was lifted from his horse and placed on the ground, his legs suddenly bent under him, and he went sprawling to the grass. A trooper sprang to his assistance.

"My legs have gone to sleep!"

The Englishman was affected likewise, and it was some moments before either could walk. They were conducted to a chamber high up in the left wing, which overlooked the forest and the mountains. It was a large airy room, but the windows were barred and there were double locks on the doors. The Colonel followed them into the room and pointed to the table.

"Breakfast, Messieurs, and a good sleep for you till this noon. As for the rest, let that take care of itself." And he left them.

Maurice, after having tried all the bars and locks in answer to his conscience, gave his attention to the breakfast. On lifting the covers he found fish, eggs, toast and coffee.

"Here's luck!" he cried. "We were expected."

"Curse it, Maurice!" Fitzgerald began pacing the room.

"No, no," said Maurice; "let us eat it; that's what it's here for," and he fell to with that vigor known only to healthy blood.

"But what's to be done?"

"Follow Solomon's advice, and wait."

"You're taking it cursed cool."

"Force of habit," breaking the toast. "What's the use of wasting powder? Because I have shown only the exterior, our friend the Colonel has already formed an opinion of me. I am brave if need be, but young and careless. In a day or so—for I suppose we are not to be liberated at once—he'll forget to use proper caution in respect to me. And then, 'who can say?' as the Portuguese says when he hasn't anything else to say. They'll keep a strict watch over you, my friend, because you've played the lion too much. Just before I left the States, as you call them, a new slang phrase was going the rounds;—'it is better to play the fox some of the time than to roar all of the time.' Ergo, be foxy. Take it cool. So long as you haven't got that mint packed about your person, the game breaks even."

"But the king!"

"Is as secure on his throne as he ever was. If you do not present those consols, either for renewal or collection, on the twentieth, he loses nothing. As you said, let us hope that the chambermaid is a shifty, careless lass, who will not touch your room till you return." Maurice broke an egg and dropped a lump of sugar into his cup.

"Is this the way you fight Indians?"

"Indians? What the deuce has fighting Indians to do with this? As to Indians, shoot them in the back if you can. Here, everything depends not on fighting but the right use of words. A man may be a diplomat and not render his country any large benefit; still, it's a fine individual training. Thrones stand on precipices and are pushed back to safety by the trick of a few words. Have an egg; they're fresh."

Fitzgerald sat down and gulped his coffee. "They broke my monocle in the struggle."

Maurice choked in his cup.

"I've worn it twelve years, too," went on Fitzgerald.

"Everything is for the best," said Maurice. "You will be able to see out of both eyes."

"Confound you!" cried Fitzgerald, smiling in spite of himself; "nothing will disturb you."

"You mean, nothing shall. Now, there's the bed and there's the lounge. Since you are the principal, that is to say, the constituent part of this affair, and also the principal actor in this extravaganza, suppose you take the bed and leave me the lounge? And the deuce take the duchess, who is probably a woman with a high forehead and a pair of narrow eyes!" He threw down his napkin and made for the lounge, without giving any particular attention to the smile and frown which were struggling in the Englishman's eyes. In less than a minute Maurice was dozing.

Fitzgerald thought that the best thing he could do was to follow the philosophical example of his friend. "These Americans," he mused, as he arranged the pillow under his ear, "are 'fifteen puzzles'; you can move them, or you can't."

As for Maurice, he was already dreaming; he was too tired to sleep. Presently he thought he was on a horse again, and was galloping, galloping. He was heading his old company to the very fringe of the alkali. The Apaches had robbed the pay train and killed six men, and the very deuce was to pay all around.... Again he was swimming, and a beautiful girl reached out a hand and saved him. Ah! how beautiful she was, how soft and rich the deep brown of her eyes!... The scene shifted. The president of the South American republic had accepted his sword (unbeknown to the United States authorities), and he was aiding to quell the insurrection. And just then some one whispered to him that gold would rise fifty points. And as he put out his hands to gather in the glittering coins which were raining down, the face of Colonel Beauvais loomed up, scowling and furious.... And yet again came the beautiful girl. He was holding her hand and the archbishop had his spread out in benediction over their heads.... A hand, which was not of dreamland, shook him by the arm. He opened his eyes. Fitzgerald was standing over him. The light of the sun spangled the walls opposite the windows. The clock marked the eleventh hour of day.

"Hang you!" he said, with blinking eyes; "why didn't you let me be? I was just marrying the princess, and you've spoiled it all. I—" He jumped to his feet and rubbed his eyes, and, forgetful of all save his astonishment, pursed his lips into a low whistle.



CHAPTER IX. NOTHING MORE SERIOUS THAN A HOUSE PARTY

Standing just within the door, smiling and rubbing the gray bristles on his lip, was the Colonel. In the center of the room stood a woman dressed in gray. Maurice recognized the dress; it belonged to Mademoiselle of the Veil, who was now sans veil, sans hat. A marvelous face was revealed to Maurice, a face of that peculiar beauty which poets and artists are often minded to deny, but for the love of which men die, become great or terrible, overturn empires and change the map of the world.

Her luxuriant hair, which lay in careless masses about the shapely head and intelligent brow, was a mixture of red and brown and gold, a variety which never ceases to charm; skin the pallor of ancient marble, with the shadow of rose lying below the eyes, the large, gray chatoyant eyes, which answered every impulse of the brain which ruled them. The irregularity of her features was never noticeable after a glance into those eyes. At this moment both eyes and lips expressed a shade of amusement.

Maurice, who was astonished never more than a minute at a time, immediately recovered. His toilet was somewhat disarranged, and the back of his head a crow's nest, but, nevertheless, he placed a hand over his heart and offered a low obeisance.

"Good morning, gentlemen," she said, in a voice which Maurice would have known anywhere. "I hope the journey has caused you no particular annoyance."

"The annoyance was not so particular, Madame," said Fitzgerald stiffly, "as it was general."

"And four of my troopers will take oath to that!" interjected the Colonel.

"Will Madame permit me to ask when will the opera begin?" asked Maurice.

"I am glad," said she, "that you have lost none of your freshness."

Maurice was struck for a moment, but soon saw that the remark was innocent of any inelegance of speech. Fitzgerald was gnawing his mustache and looking out of the corner of his eyes—into hers.

"My task, I confess, is a most disagreeable one," she resumed, lightly beating her gauntlets together; "but when one serves high personages one is supposed not to have any sentiments." To Fitzgerald she said: "You are the son of the late Lord Fitzgerald."

"For your sake, I regret to say that I am."

"For my sake? Worry yourself none on that point. As the agent of her Highness I am inconsiderable."

"Madame," said Maurice, "will you do us the honor to inform us to whom we are indebted for this partiality to our distinguished persons?"

"I am Sylvia Amerbach," quietly.

"Amerbach?" said Maurice, who was familiar with the great names of the continent. "Pardon me, but that was once a famous name in Prussia."

"I am distantly related to that house of princes," looking at her gauntlets.

"Well, Madame, since your business doubtless concerns me, pray, begin;" and Fitzgerald leaned against the mantelpiece and fumbled with the rim of his monocle.

Maurice walked to one of the windows and perched himself on the broad sill. He began to whistle softly:

Voici le sabre de mon pere! Tu vas le mettre a ton cote....

Beyond the window, at the edge of the forest, he saw a sentinel pacing backward and forward. Indeed, no matter which way he looked, the autumnal scenery had this accessory. Again, he inspected the bars. These were comparatively new. It was about thirty feet to the court below. On the whole, the outlook was discouraging.

"Count," said the distant relative of the house of Amerbach, "how shall I begin?"

"I am not a diplomat, Madame," answered the Colonel. "If, however, you wish the advice of a soldier, I should begin by asking if my lord the Englishman has those consols about his person."

"Fie, count!" she cried, laughing; "one would say that was a prelude to robbery."

"So they would. As for myself, I prefer violence to words. If we take these pretty papers by violence, we shall still have left our friend the Englishman his self-respect. And as for words, while my acquaintance with our friend is slight, I should say that they would only be wasted here."

The whistle from the window still rose and fell.

"Monsieur, I have it in my power to make you rich."

"I am rich," replied Fitzgerald.

"In honors?"

"Madame, the title I have is already a burden to me." Fitzgerald laughed, which announced that the cause of the duchess was not getting on very well. Once or twice he raised the tortoiseshell rim to his eye, but dropped it; force of habit was difficult to overcome.

"Your father nourished a particular rancor against the late duke."

"And justly, you will admit."

"Her Highness has offered you five millions for slips of paper worth no more than the ink which decorates them."

"And I have refused. Why? Simply because the matter does not rest with me. You have proceeded with a high hand, Madame, or rather your duchess has. Nothing will come of it. Had there been any possibility of my considering your proposals, this kidnaping would have destroyed it."

She smiled. Maurice saw the smile and stopped whistling long enough to scratch his chin, which was somewhat in need of a razor. He had seen many women smile that way. He had learned to read it. It was an inarticulate "perhaps."

"The rightful successor to the throne—"

"Is Madame the duchess," Fitzgerald completed. "I haven't the slightest doubt of that. One way or the other, it does not concern me. I came here simply to fulfill the wishes of my father; and my word, Madame, fulfill them I shall. You are holding me a prisoner, but uselessly. On the twentieth the certificates fall due against the government. If they are not presented either for renewal or collection, the bankruptcy scheme of your duchess will fall through just the same. I will tell you the truth, Madame. My father never expected to collect the moneys so long as Leopold sat on the throne."

The whistle grew shrill.

"This officer here," continued Fitzgerald, while the Colonel made a comical grimace, "suggests violence. I shall save him the trouble. I have seen much of the world, Madame—the hard side of it—and, knowing it as I do, it is scarcely probable that I should carry about my person the equivalent of four millions of crowns."

"Well, Madame," said the Colonel, pushing his belt closer about his hips, as a soldier always does when he is on the point of departure, "what he says is true, every word of it. I see nothing more to do at present."

Mademoiselle of the Veil was paying not so much attention to the Colonel's words as she was to Maurice's whistle.

"Monsieur," she said, coldly, "have you no other tune in your repertory?"

"Pardon me!" exclaimed Maurice. "I did not intend to annoy you." He stepped down out of the window.

"You do not annoy me; only the tune grows rather monotonous."

"I will whistle anything you may suggest," he volunteered.

She did not respond to this flippancy, though the pupils of her gray eyes grew large with anger. She walked the length of the room and back.

"Count, what do you think would be most satisfactory to her Highness, under the circumstances?"

"I have yet to hear of her Highness' disapproval of anything you undertake."

"Messieurs, your parole d'honneur, and the freedom of the chateau is yours—within the sentry lines. I wish to make your recollections of the Red Chateau rather pleasant than otherwise. I shall be most happy if you will honor my table with your presence."

The Colonel coughed, Maurice smoothed the back of his head, and Fitzgerald caught up his monocle.

"My word, Madame," said Maurice, "is not worth much, being that of a diplomat, but such as it is it is yours. However, my clothes are scarcely presentable," which was true enough. Several buttons were missing, and the collar hung by a thread.

"That can be easily remedied," said she. "There are several new hussar uniforms in the armory."

"O, Madame, and you will permit me to wear one of those gay uniforms of light blue and silver lace?"

The Colonel looked thoughtfully at Maurice. He was too much a banterer himself to miss the undercurrent of raillery. He eyed Madame discreetly; he saw that she had accepted merely the surface tones.

"And you will wear one, too, Jack?" said Maurice.

"No, thank you. I pass my word, Madame; I do not like confinement."

"Well, then, the count will shortly return and establish you in better quarters. Let us suppose you are my guests for a—a fortnight. Since both of us are right, since neither your cause nor mine is wrong, an armistice! Ah! I forgot. The east corridor on the third floor is forbidden you. Should you mistake and go that way, a guard will direct you properly. Messieurs, till dinner!" and with a smile which illumined her face as a sudden burst of sunshine flashes across a hillside, she passed out of the room, followed by her henchman, who had not yet put aside the thoughtful repose of his countenance.

"A house party," said Maurice, when he could no longer hear their footsteps. "And what the deuce have they got so valuable in the east corridor on the third floor?"

"It's small matter to me," said Fitzgerald tranquilly. "The main fact is that she has given up her game."

Said Maurice, his face expressing both pity and astonishment: "My dear, dear John! Didn't you see that woman's eyes, her hair, her chin, her nose?"

"Well?"

"True; you haven't had any experience with petticoats. This woman will rend heaven and earth rather than relinquish her projects, or rather those of her mistress. I should like to see this duchess, who shows a fine discernment in the selection of her assistants. Beware of the woman who is frankly your enemy. If she is frank, it is because she is confident of the end; if not, she is frank in order to disarm us of the suspicion of cunning. I would give much to know the true meaning of this house party."

"Hang me if I can see what difference it makes. She can not do anything either by frankness or by cunning."

"She gathered us in neatly, this red-haired Amazon."

"Red-haired!" in a kind of protest.

"Why, yes; that's the color, isn't it?" innocently.

"I thought it a red-brown. It's too bad that such a woman should be mixed up in an affair like this."

"Woman will sacrifice to ambition what she never will sacrifice to love. Hush; I hear the Colonel returning."

They were conducted to the opposite wing of the chateau, to a room on the second floor. Its windows afforded an excellent view of the land which lay south. Hills rolled away like waves of gold, dotted here and there with vineyards. Through the avenue of trees they could see the highway, and beyond, the river, which had its source in the mountains ten miles eastward.

The room itself was in red, evidently a state chamber, for it contained two canopied beds. Several fine paintings hung from the walls, and between the two windows rose one of those pier glasses which owe their existence to the first empire of France. On one of the beds Maurice saw the hussar uniform. On the dresser were razors and mugs and a pitcher of hot water.

"Ah," he said, with satisfaction.

"The boots may not fit you," said the Colonel, "but if they do not we will manage some way."

"I shall not mind the fortnight," said Maurice. "By the way, Colonel, I notice that French seems to prevail instead of German. Why is that?"

"It is the common language of politeness, and servants do not understand it. As for myself, I naturally prefer the German tongue; it is blunt and honest and lacks the finesse of the French, which is full of evasive words and meanings. However, French predominates at court. Besides, heaven help the foreigner who tries to learn all the German tongues to be found in the empires of the Hohenzollern and Hapsburg. Luncheon will be served to you in the dining hall; the first door to the right at the foot of the grand staircase. I shall send you a trooper to act as valet."

"Spare me, Colonel," said Maurice, who did not want any one between him and the Englishman when they were alone.

"I have never had a valet," said Fitzgerald; "he would embarrass me."

"As you please," said the Colonel, a shade of disappointment in his tones. "After all, you are soldiers, where every man is for himself. Make yourselves at home;" and he withdrew.

Maurice at once applied lather and razor, and put on the handsome uniform, which fitted him snugly. The coat was tailless, with rows of silver buttons running from collar to waist. The breast and shoulders and sleeves were covered with silver lace, and Maurice concluded that it must be nothing less than a captain's uniform. The trousers were tight fitting, with broad stripes of silver; and the half boots were of patent leather. He walked backward and forward before the pier-glass.

"I say, Fitz, what do you think of it?"

"You're a handsome rascal, Maurice," answered the Englishman, who had watched his young friend, amusement in his sober eyes. "Happily, there are no young women present."

"Go to! I'll lay odds that our hostess is under twenty-five."

"I meant young women of sixteen or seventeen. Women such as Madame have long since passed the uniform fever."

"Not when it has lace, my friend, court lace. Well, forward to the dining hall."

Both were rather disappointed to find that Madame would be absent until dinner. Fitzgerald could not tell exactly why he was disappointed, and he was angry with himself for the vague regret. Maurice, however, found consolation in the demure French maid who served them. Every time he smiled she made a courtesy, and every time she left the room Maurice nudged Fitzgerald.

"Smile, confound you, smile!" he whispered. "There's never a maid but has her store of gossip, and gossip is information."

"Pshaw!" said Fitzgerald, helping himself to cold ham and chicken.

"Wine, Messieurs?" asked the maid.

"Ah, then Madame offers the cellars?" said Maurice.

"Yes, Messieurs. There is chambertin, champagne, chablis, tokayer and sherry."

"Bring us some chambertin, then."

"Oui, Messieurs."

"Hurry along, my Hebe," said Maurice.

The maid was not on familiar terms with the classics, but she told the butler in the pantry that the smooth-faced one made a charming Captain.