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He laughed. “I’m glad you cannot go over to my enemies. You read my mind too accurately.”
“Nonsense,” she retorted; “Armand knows it quite as well as I, though possibly he may not yet have realized how timid you have grown.”
“Timid!”
She nodded. “Yes, timid; you had plenty of nerve at first, when the American came; but it seems to have run to water.”
“And I shall lose, you think?”
She tossed the cigarette among the red ashes and arose.
“Why should you win, Ferdinand?” she asked – then a sly smile touched her lips – “so far as I have observed, you haven’t troubled even so much as to pray for success.”
He leaned forward and drew her back to the place beside him.
“Patience, Madeline, patience,” said he; “some day I’m going back to Dornlitz.”
“To see the Archduke Armand crowned?” she scoffed.
He bent his head close to her ear. “I trust so – with the diadem that never fades.”
She laughed. “Trust and hope are the weapons of the apathetic. Why don’t you, at least, deal in predictions; sometimes they inspire deeds.”
“Very good,” he said smilingly. “I predict that there is another little game for you and me to play in Dornlitz, and that we shall be there before many days.”
“You are an absent-minded prophet,” she said; “I told you I would not go to Dornlitz.”
“But if I need you, Madeline?”
She shook her head. “Transfer the game to Paris, or any place outside Valeria, and I will gladly be your partner.”
He took her hand. “Will nothing persuade you?”
She faced him instantly. “Nothing, my lord, nothing, so long as Frederick is king.”
The Duke lifted her hand and tapped it softly against his cheek.
“Tres bien ma chère, tres bien,” he said; then frowned, as Mrs. Spencer’s maid entered.
“Pour Monsieur le Duc,” she curtsied.
Lotzen took the card from the salver and turned it over.
“I will see him at once,” he said; “have him shown to my private cabinet… It is Bigler,” he explained.
“Why not have him here?”
He hesitated.
“Oh, very well; I thought you trusted me.”
He struck the bell. “Show Count Bigler here,” he ordered. Then when the maid had gone: “There, Madeline, that should satisfy you, for I have no idea what brings him.”
She went quickly to him, and leaning over his shoulder lightly kissed his cheek.
“I knew you trusted me, dear,” she said, “but a woman likes to have it demonstrated, now and then.”
He turned to catch her; but she sprang away.
“No, Ferdinand, no,” as he pursued her; “the Count is coming – go and sit down.” – She tried to reach her boudoir, but with a laugh he headed her off, and slowly drove her into a corner.
“Surrender,” he said; “I’ll be merciful.”
For answer there came the swish of high-held skirts, a vision of black silk stockings and white lace, and she was across a huge sofa, and, with flushed face and merry eyes, had turned and faced him.
And as they stood so, Count Bigler was announced.
“Welcome, my dear Bigler, welcome!” the Duke exclaimed, hurrying over to greet him; “you are surely Heaven sent… Madame Spencer, I think you know the Count.”
She saw the look of sharp surprise that Bigler tried to hide by bowing very low, and she laughed gayly.
“Indeed, you do come in good time, my lord,” she said; “we were so put to for amusement we were reduced to playing tag around the room – don’t be shocked; you will be playing it too, if you are here for long.”
“If it carry the usual penalty,” he answered, joining in her laugh, “I am very ready to play it now.”
“Doubtless,” said the Duke dryly, motioning him to a chair. “But first, tell us the gossip of the Capital; we have heard nothing for weeks. What’s my dear cousin Armand up to – not dying, I fear?”
“Dying! Not he – not while there are any honors handy, with a doting King to shower them on him, and a Princess waiting for wife.”
The Duke’s face, cold at best, went yet colder.
“Has the wedding date been announced?” he asked.
“Not formally, but I understand it has been fixed for the twenty-seventh.”
Lotzen glanced at a calendar. “Three weeks from to-morrow – well, much may happen in that time. Come,” he said good-naturedly, shaking off the irritation, “tell us all you know – everything – from the newest dance at the opera to the tattle of the Clubs. I said you were Heaven sent – now prove it. But first – was it wise for you to come here? What will Frederick say?”
The Count laughed. “Oh, I’m not here; I’m in Paris, on two weeks leave.”
“Paris!” the Duke exclaimed. “Surely, this Paris fever is the very devil; are you off to-night or in the morning?”
Bigler shot a quick glance at Mrs. Spencer, and understood.
“I’m not to Paris at all,” he said, “unless you send me.”
“He won’t do that, Monsieur le Comte,” the lady laughed; and Lotzen, who had quite missed the hidden meaning in their words, nodded in affirmance.
“Come,” he said, “your budget – out with it. I’m athirst for news.”
The Count drew out a cigar and, at Mrs. Spencer’s smile of permission, he lighted it, and began his tale. And it took time in the telling, for the Duke was constant in his questions, and a month is very long for such as he to be torn from his usual life and haunts.
And, through it all, Mrs. Spencer lay back in sinuous indolence among the cushions on the couch before the fire, one hand behind her shapely head, her eyes, languidly indifferent, upon the two men, her thoughts seemingly far away. And while he talked, Count Bigler watched her curiously, but discreetly. This was the first time he had seen the famous “Woman in Black” so closely, and her striking beauty fairly stunned him. He knew his Paris and Vienna well, but her equal was not there – no, nor elsewhere, he would swear. Truly, he had wasted his sympathy on Lotzen – he needed none of it with such a companion for his exile.
And she, unseeing, yet seeing all, read much of his thoughts; and presently, from behind her heavy lashes, she flashed a smile upon him – half challenge, half rebuke – then turned her face from him, nor shifted it until the fading daylight wrapped her in its shadow.
“There, my tale is told,” the Count ended. “I’m empty as a broken bottle – and as dry,” and he poured himself a glass of wine from the decanter on a side table.
“You are a rare gossip, truly,” said the Duke; “but you have most carefully avoided the one matter that interests me most: – what do they say of me in Dornlitz?”
Bigler shrugged his shoulders. “Why ask?” he said. “You know quite well the Capital does not love you.”
“And, therefore, no reason for me to be sensitive. Come, out with it. What do they say?”
“Very well,” said Bigler, “if you want it, here it is: – they have the notion that you are no longer the Heir Presumptive, and it seems to give them vast delight.”
The Duke nodded. “And on what is the notion based?”
“Originally, on hope, I fancy; but lately it has become accepted that the King not only has the power to displace you, but has actually signed the decree.”
“And Frederick – does he encourage the idea?”
The Count shook his head. “No, except by his open fondness for the American.”
“I’ve been urged to go to Dornlitz and kill the American,” Lotzen remarked, with a smile and a nod toward Mrs. Spencer.
“If you can kill him,” said Bigler instantly, “the advice is excellent.”
“Exactly. And if I can’t, it’s the end of me – and my friends.”
“I think your friends would gladly try the hazard,” the Count answered. “It is dull prospect and small hope for them, even now. And candidly, my lord, to my mind, it’s your only chance, if you wish the Crown; for, believe me, the Archduke Armand is fixed for the succession, and the day he weds the Princess Royal will see him formally proclaimed.”
The Duke strode to the far end of the room and back again.
“Is that your honest advice – to go to Dornlitz?” he asked.
The other arose and raised his hand in salute. “It is, sir; and not mine alone, but Gimels’ and Rosen’s and Whippen’s, and all the others’ – that is what brought me here.”
“And have you any plan arranged?”
The Count nodded ever so slightly, then looked the Duke steadily in the face – and the latter understood.
He turned to Madeline Spencer. “Come nearer, my dear,” he said, “we may need your quick wit – there is plotting afoot.”
She gave him a smile of appreciation, and came and took the chair he offered, and he motioned for Bigler to proceed.
“But, first, tell me,” he interjected, “am I to go to Dornlitz openly or in disguise? I don’t fancy the latter.”
“Openly,” said the Count. “Having been in exile a month, you can venture to return and throw yourself on Frederick’s mercy. We think he will receive you and permit you to remain – but, at least, it will give you two days in Dornlitz, and, if our plan does not miscarry, that will be quite ample.”
“Very good,” the Duke commented; “but my going will depend upon how I like your plot; let us have it – and in it, I trust you have not overlooked my fiasco at the Vierle Masque and so hung it all on my single sword.”
“Your sword may be very necessary, but, if so, it won’t be alone. We have several plans – the one we hope to – ”
A light tap on the door interrupted him, and a servant entered, with the bright pink envelope that, in Valeria, always contained a telegram.
“My recall to Court,” laughed the Duke, and drawing out the message glanced at it indifferently.
But it seemed to take him unduly long to read it; and when, at length, he folded it, his face was very grave; and he sat silent, staring at the floor, creasing and recreasing the sheet with nervous fingers, and quite oblivious to the two who were watching him, and the servant standing stiffly at attention at his side.
Suddenly, from without, arose a mad din of horses’ hoofs and human voices, as the returning cavalcade dashed into the courtyard, women and men yelling like fiends possessed. And it roused the Duke.
“You may go,” to the footman; “there is no answer now.” He waited until the door closed; then held up the telegram. “His Majesty died, suddenly, this afternoon,” he said.
Count Bigler sprang half out of his chair.
“Frederick dead! the King dead!” he cried – “then, in God’s name, who now is king – you or the American?”
The Duke arose. “That is what we are about to find out,” he said, very quietly. “Come, we will go to Dornlitz.”
II
TO-MORROW AND THE BOOK
Frederick of Valeria had died as every strong man wants to die: suddenly and in the midst of his affairs, with the full vigor of life still upon him and no premonition of the end. It had been a sharp straightening in saddle, a catch of breath, a lift of hand toward heart, and then, with the great band of the Foot Guards thundering before him, and the regiment swinging by in review, he had sunk slowly over and into the arms of the Archduke Armand. And as he held him, there was a quick touch of surgeon’s fingers to pulse and breast, a shake of head, a word; and then, sorrowfully and in silence, they bore him away; while the regiment, wheeling sharply into line, spread across the parade and held back the populace. And presently, as the people lingered, wondering and fearful, and the Guards stood stolid in their ranks, the royal standard on the great tower of the Castle dropped slowly to half staff, and the mellow bell of the Cathedral began to toll, to all Valeria, the mournful message that her King was dead.
And far out in the country the Princess Dehra heard it, but faintly; and drawing rein, she listened in growing trepidation for a louder note. Was it the Cathedral bell? – the bell that tolled only when a Dalberg died! For a while she caught no stroke, and the fear was passing, when down the wind it came, clear and strong – and again – and yet again.
And with blanched cheek and fluttering heart she was racing at top speed toward Dornlitz, staying neither for man nor beast, nor hill nor stream, the solemn clang smiting her ever harder and harder in the face. There were but two for whom it could be speaking, her father and her lover – for she gave no thought to Lotzen or his brother, Charles. And now, which? – which? – which? Mile after mile went behind her in dust and flying stones, until six were passed, and then the outer guard post rose in front.
“The bell!” she cried, as the sentry sprang to attention, “the bell, man, the bell?”
The soldier grounded arms.
“For the King,” he said.
But as the word was spoken she was gone – joy and sorrow now fighting strangely in her heart – and as she dashed up the wide Avenue, the men uncovered and the women breathed a prayer; but she, herself, saw only the big, gray building with the drooping flag, and toward it she sped, the echo of the now silent bell still ringing in her ears.
The Castle gates were closed, and before them with drawn swords, stern and impassive, sat two huge Cuirassiers of the Guard; they heard the nearing hoof beats, and, over the heads of the crowd that hung about the entrance, they saw and understood.
“Stand back!” they cried; “stand back – the Princess comes!”
And the gates swung open, and the big sorrel horse, reeking with sweat and flecked with foam and dust, flashed by, and on across the courtyard. And Colonel Moore, who was about to ride away, sprang down and swung her out of saddle.
“Take me to him,” she said quietly, as he stood aside to let her pass.
She swayed slightly at the first step, and her legs seemed strangely stiff and heavy, but she slipped her hand through his arm and drove herself along. And so he led her, calm and dry-eyed, down the long corridor and through the ante-room to the King’s chamber, and all who met them bowed head and drew back. At the threshold she halted.
“Do you please bid all retire,” she said. “I would see my father alone.”
