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Although Stovik replaced the glittering loop upon the velvet pall, he smiled to think how little the Church had entered into his former scheme of life. Trusia seemed to divine his thoughts, for, as his ascending eyes met hers, she continued speaking of the aged prelate.
"He is a dear old man, sire, kindly and gentle. The beggars and little children call him their patron saint. Well past the allotted span of years, he has prayed to be spared until the day when he can anoint the head of the King of Krovitch. Then, he says, he will die joyously."
The King murmured his hopes for a longer life for the Bishop, and Trusia turned to present her chaperon, the Countess Muhlen-Sarkey, with the remaining gentlemen of the Court.
After the formalities had been attended to, and he had received the sincere good wishes of his nobles, the King turned to the beautiful girl at his side.
"Do you leave with us to-morrow?" he asked. "Of our future plans I have had necessarily only a sketch. So little time has elapsed since Colonel Sutphen visited Eugene Delmotte that King Stovik can readily be forgiven for some slight ignorance."
"If it meets with Your Majesty's approval, we will start to-morrow for Vienna," Trusia said. "There we will await Colonel Sutphen's summons from your capital, Schallberg. Major Carter, Josef, myself and the Countess Muhlen-Sarkey will accompany Your Majesty. The other gentlemen will attend the Colonel. They precede us to ascertain if all is in readiness."
"Will the gentlemen travel in uniform?" The King's glance about the room had not been free from an apprehension that such a course might awaken inquisitive questions from officials.
"Oh, certainly not, Your Majesty," the girl reassured him. "Your Majesty will procure a passport made out to Eugene Delmotte, artist. You will be traveling to Krovitch for studies for the painting I hear you are making. The uniforms will be a part of your paraphernalia."
"Will there be no risk?"
"Is Your Majesty unwilling to take the least? Your subjects must indeed seem reckless to you." Trusia's tone indicated the depth of her reproof.
"I suppose that did sound rather selfish," he hastened to confess, "but the truth is that I do not yet realize that I am actually a king. That I, a few hours ago a penniless artist, should be plunging into a national movement as its leader, its king, seems nothing short of a dream. But tell me, Duchess, from whom we should fear detection?"
"This is a national movement of ours, sire. Some chance may have aroused Russian suspicion, but believe me, I'd stake my life on your people's loyalty. St. Petersburg may be apprehensive, but they know nothing of the real truth nor the imminence of our uprising. Here is Colonel Sutphen, doubtless wishing to talk more fully of our plans to you," she concluded as the grizzled veteran stood courteously awaiting their leisure to speak with the King.
Feeling free to do so now, she turned to her American aide. "Major Carter," she said, "I think His Majesty can spare me now. Won't you tell me of your adventures to-night?" Taking the arm he offered they strolled together into the hall. Being there out of the royal presence they were at liberty to seat themselves. An alcove held a tempting divan. Here they found a place.
"Your Grace," he said in a tone he strove valiantly to hold within the pitch of social usage, "let me rather tell you how beautiful I fancied you to-night."
As the handsome fellow bent his head toward her, she was possessed of a strange yearning. The plans, the plots, the wearying details of years had almost deprived her of the solace of sex; in the rôle of patriot she had well-nigh forgotten that she was a woman. A hunger for her due, so long deferred, spoke in her voice.
"Yes," she said honestly, "please do. Anything to make me forget for the few minutes I can call my own. Tell me a fairy-story," she commanded with almost childish eagerness. "Or have you Americans foresworn fairies for Edisons?"
"I know one who has not," he answered, falling soothingly into her mood. "He has seen the Queen, Titania."
"Well, tell me about her. Oh, I do hope that she was beautiful," and she dimpled bewitchingly.
"She was – fairy queens are always beautiful, and sometimes kind. Once upon a time – all fairy-stories have happened once upon a time – there was a man."
"Yes," she interrupted, bending expectantly toward him.
"He was poor," he continued quietly.
"Oh," she exclaimed in disappointment.
Carter shook his head understandingly. "He was an artist. He hoped one day to be called a genius. The fairy queen knew this was not to be so she made him a king and gave him – part of her kingdom." He paused to find her looking down, a shade of sadness on her face. Noticing his pause she looked up.
"Well?" she asked.
"There was another man," he continued. "This other man was not poor. He was not an artist, but to-night he saw the fairy queen in all her regal splendor. It made him think that all the flowers in all the worlds condensed into one small but perfect bloom were not so sweet as she. So the other man more than ever wished to rule in her fairyland – with her."
"No, no," she cried, detecting the prohibited note, "you must not speak so." Her hands crumpled the morsel of cobweb and lace she had for handkerchief. Carried away with her proximity, however, he would not now be denied.
"This is but a fairy-story, Duchess. Oh, Fairy Queen, could you not find a kingdom for the other man in fairyland – a kingdom with you as Queen?"
His naked soul was laying pleading hands upon her quivering heart. She turned away, unable to withstand the suppliance of his eyes.
"You do not know what you ask," she whispered hoarsely. Then vehemently spurring her resolve into a gallop, she added, "When the King is crowned in Schallberg, I become his wife."
"Suppose he isn't," he urged doggedly.
"Oh, no," she cried brokenly, "don't make me a traitor to my country's hopes. Don't make me wish for failure."
Unwittingly her words confessed her love for Carter. Grimly forcing her weakness back into her secret heart, she turned a calm front to him once again.
"Enough of fairy-stories, Major Carter," she said. "We live in a workaday world where the 'little people' have no place. All of us have our duties to perform. If some be less pleasant than others it is no excuse for not fulfilling them to the uttermost. We have a hard day before us. With His Majesty's permission, therefore, I will retire for the night." She arose as she said this, so Carter had no other alternative than to follow her into the royal presence.
From a balcony at the far end of the room, crept a faint note of music. The players were carefully concealed behind banked palms and gigantic ferns. To the surprised ears of those unaware of their presence it came first as a single note, then a chord, a stave, a vibrant meaning. It was like a distant bugle call across a midnight plain. It swelled into a challenge.
Then, echoing the hoof beats of horses, it swept into a glorious charge. All the invisible instruments crashed valorously into their fullest sounds. The arteries of the listeners throbbed a response to its inspiration. Trusia, her eyes gleaming like twin stars, laid her hand softly on the royal arm.
"Oh, sire," she cried, "it is our nation's battle song."
Carter sighed. He saw that her loyalty would hold her to an alliance against her heart.
Possessed by the ardor of the song, the nobles, drawing their swords, cried in ecstatic chorus, "For Krovitch! For Krovitch!" In their pandemonium of joy, Carter's distress was unnoted.
He could not longer endure the sight of the prophetic association; it seemed as if they were receiving nuptial felicitations as they stood there side by side, so with a heavy heart he crept up to his own apartment, where, at least, without stint, he could indulge his thoughts. After the brilliance of the salon, the single light in his room seemed puling and weak, so he crossed over and extinguished it. In doing so, he found himself near the window, which, opening to the floor, door wise, looked along the roof of the stone porch. A cooling sweep of moonlight fell on Carter's face and urged him to peace of soul. He never noticed the soft indulgence of Diana, for, as he glanced streetward, he recalled the incident of Josef and the stranger. Drawing an easy-chair into the zone of moonlight he lit a cigar and strove desperately to find a clue.
"Two fingers – that means two something, at first glance. Has it any further significance?" he pondered. "Of course it was prearranged, when and how – and does Sobieska know? If he doesn't, Josef has correspondents unknown to Krovitch – that alone looks dangerous. I'll look up Sobieska. It's now twenty minutes of two," he said as he consulted his watch. A swift inspiration caused him suddenly to raise his head. "I've got it. The house is all still now. Two – two – two o'clock, that's the solution. They're to meet at two o'clock. Where? I can't wait for Sobieska, there's no time."
He bent over and slipped off his military boots and put on a pair of moccasins he always wore about his room. Cautiously he opened the long window and stepped gingerly upon the roof. "Josef won't dare go out the front way; so to leave the grounds he'll have to pass beneath me, and I can follow if he does." Placing one hand on the bow window beside him, he leaned over to peer into the moonlit yard beneath.
After he had waited what seemed a double eternity he was rewarded by seeing a shape disengage itself from the shadows about the servant's quarters in the rear, and come and stand directly beneath his place of observation. Somewhere a clock struck two. There was a grating sound as of the moving of rusty hinges from the direction of the front of the house, and the first comer had a companion with whom he instantly began a whispered conversation, of which, strain his ears as he might, Carter could catch only four words, – "Your report – and lists." The man whom he supposed to be Josef drew a bulky sheaf of papers from his breast pocket and passed them to the mysterious stranger. It was time to interfere, Carter thought. Swinging by his arms until his legs encircled the stone pillar he slid to the porch and, leaping to the ground, confronted the conspirators. Instinctively his first act was to clutch the papers, and as he did so he was struck from behind and fell unconscious to the ground. As his senses passed from him, he was dimly conscious of a surprise that neither man was Josef. A sleepy determination possessed him to hold grimly to the papers. Then all was blank.
He wished they wouldn't annoy him, he remonstrated drowsily. When he was asleep he didn't have that awful pain in his head. As he opened his eyes he smiled vacuously into Trusia's face. That brought him to his senses with a jerk. A candle sputtered fitfully in a gilt stand beside him on the ground. Trusia's arm was about his shoulder. The King and, yes, Sobieska were there. And that other figure, that was Josef. He glanced at his own right hand. It was still tightly clenched, but held no papers.
"How did you know I was here?" he inquired, his voice a trifle husky and weak. He looked at the girl against whose breast he leaned; her reply alone could satisfy him.
"Josef, in going around to see if all things were locked tight, heard you groaning, and, not knowing who it was, gave the alarm."
Carter struggled to his feet and, though a trifle dizzy yet from the blow of his unseen foe, was able to stagger into the house. There Trusia, with a woman's tender solicitude for those for whom she cares, without the intervention of servants poured from a near-by decanter, and forced Carter to drain, a goblet of wine. Under the stimulant his strength returned.
"If Count Sobieska will lend me his arm I think I can retire now. How I came in the yard – I see you are all curious though too polite to inquire – I'll tell you in the morning when I feel more fit. At present I have either a strange head or a beehive on my shoulders, I don't know which."
When he reached his room and the Count entering also had closed the door, Carter threw off much of the assumed languor, and told the Counselor the whole of the tale. The Krovitzer shook his head dubiously. "Josef found you at quarter past three this morning – yet you say Josef was not one of the two men. Did you see the faces of both?"
"Only a glance. Both were bearded. The one who came from the back part of the house was dark, black eyebrows, heavy black beard, pallid face, or so it looked in the moonlight. The visitor was undoubtedly Russian."
"It may have been soot," said Sobieska musingly. "I remember now that, while the rest of his face looked remarkably like a freshly scrubbed one, there was a long dark smear along one of Josef's eyebrows as we brought you into the house; but that is not enough to convict him of the treason, however strong a suspicion it arouses. Well, things are looking a trifle as if Vladimar not only knows where we are, but why we are here. We'll have to strike quickly – as soon, in fact, as we set foot in Krovitch again."
XVIII
I SAW – I KNOW
The next day they left Paris. Almost the first person Trusia espied at the railroad station was General Vladimar, a stately young aide, and the Casper Haupt of yesterday. Carter felt a thrill of recognition for the latter; he was the passer-by of the night before who had received Josef's signal, and, yes, it was the man who had met the Hereditary Servitor in the moonlit shadow of the porch.
The General bustled forward with easy appearance of boisterous friendliness. The group split; the King was adroitly surrounded by Sobieska, Muhlen-Sarkey and Carter, while Trusia and Sutphen advanced to meet and check the too curious Russian.
He smiled blandly as he tacitly acknowledged to himself that he had been gracefully repulsed in one direction. Glancing at the baggage of the party, he bent over Trusia's hand with almost real deference.
"So soon?" he inquired with a gesture toward the trunks. "It is almost as if I was hurrying you off," he laughed. Sutphen was reading what was back of the man's eyes. The Russian seemed so sure of his game that like a cat with a mouse, he played at friendliness. "I am going again to Schallberg, soon," he continued in his same manner of large good nature, "and hope the beastly hole will furnish more excitement this time. Could you arrange it, eh, Colonel?" and he turned smilingly to the troubled Krovitzer.
"We'll try," replied the veteran, "forewarned is always forearmed."
Vladimar assumed a look of gravity. "Let's not speak of arms, good friends, for your – for all our sakes. There's my train! Adieu; bon voyage." Without waiting to see the impression of his words, he left them. They were all conscious of an unrest caused by the Russian's advent. He had mentioned his return to Schallberg; could he know of what was going forward? Trusia summoned the Hereditary Servitor.
That those waiting in Krovitch should be informed of their coming, Josef was directed by her to send an already prepared cipher dispatch. The white-haired servitor did so with commendable alacrity. Assured that the operator had actually transmitted it, he filled in a blank for himself, with the following simple message: "Reach Bregenz Thursday. Be on hand. Josef." Dating it, he handed it to the official. The latter carefully read and reread it, then turned quizzically to Josef.
"A thousand pardons, m'sieu," he said, "but you have given no address."
"How stupid," laughed the old fellow. "It is for Fraulein Julia Haupt, Notions Merchant, 16 Hoffstrasse, Bregenz."
Long before their first objective was reached, the journey had proven exceedingly irksome to one member of the party; while, for the greater part of the time, a conscious restraint held both Trusia and Calvert in a silence broken only when the monotony grew unbearable. Stovik, lost in wonderment at his future regal state, and a trifle awed at the high-bred girl beside him, added but little to the conversation. The Countess Muhlen-Sarkey awoke only when there was a fitful attempt to break the embarrassment which held all the others. The quondam Parisian openly welcomed each stopping-place as an excuse to escape from such uncongenial companionship. In the throngs on the platforms he found both transient excitement and opportunities of stretching his cramped and restless limbs. Josef conscientiously attended him on these brief excursions, never relaxing for an instant his grave watchfulness over his royal charge.
There was a protracted stop at Bregenz. Being at the entrance of the Austrian Tyrol, there followed a rigid frontier examination of baggage. The three men excused themselves to Trusia and descended to the station in order to expedite matters as much as possible by their prompt appearance and presence. Apparently by accident, in the pushing crowd, Josef and his royal charge were separated from Carter, who was temporarily lost to view. Having no apprehension on that score, they gave no heed to his absence, but shouldered their way to the groups about the piled-up trunks where they knew he would rejoin them. After having their belongings properly visèd, the pair stood watching the panorama of the crowd.
Carter, at last catching sight of his fellow travelers, noted with some apprehension that they were being pretty closely watched by an alert-looking, middle-aged man. Receiving a covert nod from Josef, the latter had disappeared at once into the human medley. With all expedition, therefore, the American rejoined them. He read a question in Josef's eyes which changed into a defiance as the latter read in the newcomer's that the incident had not escaped him.
Just then Stovik caught him by the arm. "Look, Major," he cried, indicating a vivacious Austrienne at no great distance from where they stood, "isn't that a dainty morsel?" Carter turned to see that the woman was freely indulging in an ocular conversation with His Majesty.
"Monsieur," Carter commenced in dignified remonstrance, only to be cut short by a peevish King.
"See here, Carter, official business does not begin until we reach Schallberg. I'll practically be a prisoner for life if all goes well. I am not going to give up without just one more fling at the pomps and vanities of this wicked world."
To emphasize his assertion, he smiled gaily at the pretty woman, whose lips parted in audacious invitation.
"But the Duchess," Carter persisted, frowning.
"That's just it," Stovik replied unblushingly. "I am not accustomed to such women as Her Grace. When near her I have to keep a tight rein on my tongue for fear of being guilty of a faux pas. A pinch of a round cheek, a warm kiss given and returned, an arm about a lithe waist, is what I like. Her Grace is an iceberg."
Carter flushed angrily at the comparison. He restrained with some difficulty the stinging words of rebuke which sprang to his lips in Trusia's defense.
"Oh, I know what you would say," continued the royal scamp. "I admit her patriotism, sacrifices, devotion, and all that sort of thing. Frankly, though, we are too dissimilar ever to get along together. The differences are temperamental. Environment and education have made an insuperable barrier to our mutual happiness."
A hope he could not restrain lighted Carter's face at these careless words. "Do you mean," he inquired gravely, simulating a solemnity he felt but little, "do you mean that you will not marry Her Grace of Schallberg?"
The King, coming close, looked searchingly into Carter's eyes and laughed in faint raillery; he partially understood. His reply was evasive. "It is not every one," he said, "who can gain a throne by marrying a pretty girl." Shrugging his shoulders, he abruptly left his companions and approached the woman, with whom he did not seem to have any difficulty in establishing a cordial relation.
Carter reluctantly retraced his steps to the car. He was joined by Josef. The American nodded his head savagely toward where the monarch could be seen in high glee at his conquest. Taking this, apparently, as an indication that his persuasive offices were desired in that direction, Josef approached his royal master with deferential remonstrance. He touched the elbow of the oblivious King, who instantly turned. Irritated by what he could see of the express disapproval of his conduct in the smug face of the servitor, he inquired harshly what the fellow wanted.
"Beg pardon, m'sieu," stammered the old man, "but the train starts immediately." If Josef's poor efforts had been intended to persuade the return of the King they had been made with but little understanding of the character of the man addressed. The contrary effect was produced.
"So do I," responded His Majesty curtly, annoyed at what he considered an impertinent surveillance. "I shall rejoin the party at Vienna. You may call me when we arrive. Not before." He turned his back upon the discomfited Josef.
Carter, on reentering the car, braced himself to render an acceptable yet plausible excuse for Stovik's absence. The Countess Muhlen-Sarkey was placidly sleeping in the corner. Trusia was sitting with palm-propped chin, gazing straight out of the window. This kept the full view of her face away from such of the party as might chance to enter the car. Carter saw enough, however, to convince him that she had been weeping. One forgotten tear hung tremulously on her lashes as though too reluctant to part with her grief. A fierce resentment seized him. He turned to leave the car, determined to drag back the graceless King by the neck if necessary.
"Don't go," she pleaded as though comprehending his intentions. Unable to refuse her request he sat down beside her.
"Duchess," he began in the alternative of explanation; "His Majesty – "
"Has chosen to ride in another car," she interrupted, loyally unwilling that even he should criticise the King of Krovitch. "It is his right. I, a subject, would not attempt to pass in judgment upon the acts of my sovereign." There was a sad weakening of voice as she completed her defense, which convinced Carter that she had seen the whole disgusting performance.
"Forgive me," he said very gently.
"I saw," she admitted in distress. A woman, urged by pride, she had at first refused his sympathy. Finding pride insufficient for her solace, she now, womanlike, sought what she had refused. The entrance of Josef, at this juncture, however, and the resumption of the journey, deprived Carter of what had been the most propitious moment he had yet had to bind her heart indissolubly to his own.
How much the King had disclosed, how much the woman had discovered, Carter was unable to find out, as Stovik maintained a sulky silence in the face of all inquiries.
XIX
IT WAS JUDSON'S FAULT
Calvert Carter had a very democratic conversation with His Majesty of Krovitch. They were standing on the platform of the station at Vienna waiting with ill-concealed impatience for the train which was to carry them into Krovitch. Needless to say, their talk turned upon the King's recent misbehavior. It contained a sketchy outline of what the American considered would happen did the monarch again put such an affront upon Her Grace.
"You threaten, Major Carter?" asked Stovik with the insolence inseparable from a recent exaltation from humble life.
"No, Your Majesty," replied Carter, no whit annoyed by the other's ill-temper; "I never threaten. I promise." That was all that was said. Neither Eugene Delmotte in his proper person nor the future ruler of Krovitch was able, however, to withstand the cool, hard glitter in the American's eyes.
They boarded the waiting train as they came to this understanding. King Stovik's conduct for this new journey was exemplary. Nor were there other pretty coquettes available. He even exerted himself sufficiently to take an interest in the general conversation, at which Trusia's face brightened with appreciation.
Houses, fields, woods, mountains and sky fled by as the train sped on. At last the Vistula was crossed. Trusia's face grew radiant as the landmarks of her country began to appear on every hand. With grumbling wheels the cars drew nearer Schallberg.
"See, away off there to the northeast. There, that tiny speck against the sky," she cried rapturously as one returning home from a long sojourn abroad. "That is my castle. Do you see it, Your Majesty?" she asked, as she turned appealingly to him. "Schallberg, your capital, lies this side of it. The city is in a valley on the far side of this mountain we are now climbing." The whole party were peering out of the windows on the rapidly changing landscape, eagerly awaiting the first view of the place of their hopes.