THE NEW DAY
The morning sunlight penetrated the room riotously, merrily defying the
azure silk and lace muffling the windows, glinting in every polished
surface and running golden-footed from point to point. Lying tranquilly
among his pillows, Allard watched the man busied in folding and laying
away a multitudinous array of garments, placing gloves and handkerchiefs
in drawers and arranging toilet articles.
"You are not Petro," Allard remarked finally.
The man started and turned.
"No, monsieur. With monsieur's permission, I am Vladimir. His Royal
Highness said that as monsieur had not yet engaged a valet for the
voyage, perhaps I might be accepted. I would be very glad to serve
monsieur."
"Very well," Allard assented. Stanief was not to be contradicted, but
certainly embarrassment seemed unavoidable in view of an absent
wardrobe. Dancla had been of a decidedly different figure from his
successor. "What time is it?"
"Nearly ten o'clock, monsieur," and he approached and kissed the hand
outside the coverlet before the surprised American could object. "Every
thanks, monsieur; I am monsieur's devoted servant. It pleases monsieur
to rise?"
"I--suppose so. The yacht has stopped."
"Yes, monsieur. We are anchored before the great city, New York, since
many hours."
Allard had yet to learn his Stanief; the time was to come, when to know
an affair in his charge was to abandon anxiety concerning it. The
question of the wardrobe was embarrassing only from its overwhelming
answer. Never even in the other days had Allard, naturally simple in
tastes, provided himself with the lavish and sybaritic completeness he
found awaiting him now. No detail was forgotten; the very toilet-table
bore its shining array, each dainty article carrying the correct
monogram, J. L. A. Marveling, Allard pictured what it meant to have
produced this in one night; and vaguely realized that there must be a
deeper object than mere consideration for his comfort, behind all this
unnecessary elaboration.
Breakfast was served in his own miniature salon.
"His Royal Highness is awake?" he inquired.
"Monsieur, his Royal Highness went ashore an hour ago, to pay farewell
visits of ceremony."
They were to sail soon, then. Allard's pulses quickened with relief at
the prospect. Remembering Stanief's expressive injunction to show
himself at ease and make friends with his new companions, he resolved to
go on deck. But before the white and silver writing-desk he lingered
wistfully.
"You can mail a letter for me, Vladimir?"
"Certainly, monsieur."
The letter must be convincing, and not dangerous in the wrong hands.
With a tenderness that was almost pain he recalled the last signed
letter to his brother, written on that final night at home, while
Robert sat by with hidden eyes. A letter he had headed South America,
the date blank, to be used as explanation to Theodora and her mother if
the crash came and he disappeared for years.
The thick cream-tinted paper was convincing in itself, bearing in gilt
letters the name of the yacht, _Nadeja_.
MY DEAR OLD ROBERT:
I have just returned from the South, and of course intended to
come straight home. But I met H. R. H. the Grand Duke Feodor
Stanief, who has been visiting the United States, and he is
taking me with him as his secretary. I owe him more than I can
tell, or you guess, Bertie; and this service is a service of
love. I will write again; you know there was no opportunity
where I have been.
Give my love to Aunt Rose and Theo--is she quite my sister by
this time?
Very happily and lovingly, my brother,
Your brother,
JOHN ALLARD.
Like a girl he touched the letter to his lips before putting it in the
envelop. Robert would watch the eastern newspapers, he knew, and couple
the two stories together.
The lower Hudson was swept by a strong salt wind when Allard reached the
deck, green and white waves running under the bright sunshine and lashed
to swirling froth by the innumerable boats plowing back and forth. On
the yacht everything was activity and preparation, all sound overborne
by the crash of loading coal. The busy Captain Delsar left his affairs
and came to greet the guest punctiliously, if hurriedly.
"We sail this morning," he explained, "and you will understand all that
involves for me, monsieur."
Allard responded cordially; it was so wonderful, so beautiful, just to
meet other men again and be himself. And presently Lieutenant Vasili
came to add his cheerful greeting and lead the way to the forward deck,
where wicker chairs and small tables stood under a gay scarlet awning.
"His Royal Highness told me this morning to amuse you, if I could," he
declared. "Indeed, I think he left me behind for that purpose, Monsieur
John."
"Allard," the other corrected pleasantly. "I am infinitely obliged to
his Royal Highness, then, I am sure."
"A thousand pardons; I misunderstood your name last night."
"Not exactly, his Royal Highness calls me John, my Christian name."
Vasili's eyes opened and he regarded his companion with marked respect.
"He told me he had known you a long time," he assented, "and that you
had been ill. The voyage across will tone you up--if you are a good
sailor--before we reach home."
"I am a good sailor," Allard affirmed, rather astonished at Stanief's
account of his health. He had no idea of the extreme delicacy of his
own appearance, of how those years of torture had left him worn and
colorless.
Vasili tilted his chair against the rail and smiled engagingly.
"For my part I am always happiest at sea," he confided. "Not that I am
concerned with political affairs--_pas si bete_; I leave that for wiser
heads. But still one is never secure in a country like ours. I walk
straight ahead without asking questions, and hope the Grand Duke sees I
am doing no more; nevertheless, one is more comfortable at sea. Ah, this
America is a restful place! No intrigues, no rivals, no salt-mines in
the background."
"A delightful picture you are painting for me," suggested Allard
laughingly.
"Oh, you are the friend of his Royal Highness, monsieur. Moreover, every
one believes an American or an Englishman when he declares himself with
one party; it is only each other whom we always suspect. _Tiens_, the
little white boat!"
The little white boat in question was one of the city police launches,
and Allard's hand closed sharply on the arm of his chair as the officer
in charge hailed the yacht, signifying his intention of coming on board.
Captain Delsar went down to receive the visitors, not without visible
impatience at the interruption.
"Come," exclaimed the diverted Vasili, after watching the colloquy for a
few moments, during which several of the yacht's officers joined their
chief. "If it is droll!"
"What is it?"
"Why, of course we all speak French--as does every one at home except
peasants--but since Dancla went only the Grand Duke is left who speaks
English. And evidently our guests have no French."
Allard surveyed the group, and glanced up at the gorgeous flag
fluttering in the breeze and casting its shadow over him. Foreign
ground, Stanief had called this.
"I might play interpreter," he offered slowly.
"Surely! Am I dull not to think of that? Shall we go?"
The mutually exasperated group paused to look at the pair coming down
the deck toward them, Vasili in his gold-laced uniform and the gentleman
in yachting flannels.
"Monsieur Allard, if you will indeed assist us!" welcomed the captain
gratefully. "Consider that we sail in an hour, and the moments are
going. His Royal Highness does not accept an excuse instead of a
result."
"Delighted," Allard responded, nodding an acknowledgment of the
sergeant's equally relieved salute. "Officer, can I translate for you?
His Royal Highness is not on board, but I am his secretary--"
Oh, Stanief was very thorough! The cards Vladimir had presented were
waiting for their owner to use on the occasion.
"You are very kind, Mr. Allard," said the deferential officer, reading
the square of pasteboard. "You see, we received a telephone call from
up the river at Peekskill, asking us to get a better description of the
clothes that were stolen by an escaping convict. They've picked up a
coat, but it looks rather different from what would be expected. In
fact, there was a man inside of it; but he says he lost his hat in the
wind, and they haven't yet got the prison people to identify him."
It was so long since Allard had really laughed that he startled himself,
but the humor of the situation was too much.
"I think you want to see the Grand Duke's valet," he explained, and
translated for the others.
Petro was hurriedly sent for, and the fuming captain left the affair in
charge of the two young men.
"Poor wretch; hope he gives them a run," commented Vasili. "Last year,
at home, I had to ride second-class on a crowded train. In the
compartment was just such a case as this man's,--convict being taken
back to a fortress. We rode ten miles, twenty; suddenly he spoke to me
as naturally as possible. 'You know what I'm going to; give me a cigar,'
he said, just like that. I gave his guards a ruble, gave him a cigar,
and went on reading my _Figaro_. Before we reached the next station,
just over a deep ravine, he flung himself right through the door and
down. Always felt glad I gave him the cigar."
There was a curious unreality in the scene for one of the actors, as he
leaned listening against the rail in the warm April sunshine, Vasili
chatting gaily by his side and the imperturbable policeman opposite. But
he answered the little lieutenant's last sentence with a very
sympathetic glance of comprehension.
Petro appeared presently, and Allard gravely repeated a description of
the famous rain coat, giving the name of the English firm that had made
it.
"Thank you, sir," said the satisfied officer, snapping shut his
note-book. "Much obliged. You've no objection if your name gets to the
papers, sir?"
Allard thought of Robert.
"Why, no, none at all. But I have done nothing."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
"And now?" queried Vasili. "Shall we go back and chat, or first go over
the yacht? Unless you know it already, of course; I forget you are an
old friend of his Royal Highness."
"Let us go over the yacht, if you will," Allard evaded, not at all
certain of what Stanief might please to assert. He sighed relievedly,
hearing the puff of the launch below. "We can rest afterward."
Vasili contemplated him reflectively, inwardly deciding that Stanief's
American must have been very ill indeed to be so easily tired. But he
led the way below, charmed with the new companionship, and they wandered
together over the costly floating toy.
They ended in the general salon, and Allard's long-starved eyes went
eagerly to the magazines and newspapers littering the table.
"Pleasant place," assented Vasili to the expression, dropping into an
easy-chair. "And you will usually find some of us here. Of course, Count
Rosal is ashore now with the Grand Duke, but he will be enchanted to
learn that you are going with us. These voyages nearly kill him with
ennui. He likes fast horses and fast motorcars, and the Theatre
Francais."
"Then why does he come?" Allard inquired interestedly.
"Why? There is a question! Because he is the Grand Duke's aide, because
he wants to win favor with the man who will rule the country by the time
we reach it."
"Why, the Emperor--"
Vasili raised one eyebrow significantly.
"Of course, if you do not want to talk," in slightly injured tones. "But
every one knows that the Emperor is dying."
Allard summoned his recollections of affairs European, doubtfully
allowing for the gap of more than two years.
"The Grand Duke Feodor is the Emperor's nephew, not his son," he
objected.
"Oh, he will only be regent, certainly," was the dry reply. "Never mind;
I told you I understood nothing of politics."
Allard opened his lips to avow equal ignorance, then closed them. He had
no idea of the role Stanief designed for him, or of what he was supposed
to know. He moved to the table, instead of answering, and let his gaze
devour the topmost paper of the pile. Vasili watched him, deeply
impressed by the reticence and a little anxious as to his own frankness.
When Allard again turned to him, the lieutenant welcomed the amity with
relief and joyously accepted the suggestion of return to the deck.
The morning wore on quietly. The preparations for sailing were
completed; the yacht poised restlessly like a snowy bird on the point of
flight. Allard no less quivered with the restless desire for departure,
the thirst for the peace which would come with absolute security. Lying
in his chair, regarding the teeming river shut in on either side by the
two great cities and feeling all alike hostile toward him, he clung
almost superstitiously to the phrase of the night before:
"A Stanief guards his own."
And not all content with bare liberty, he treasured the being no longer
an outlaw; he had learned the old primitive ache of the "masterless
man."
Near noon a tiny boat darted from shore. The captain hurried to the head
of the miniature stairway; Vasili uttered a hasty excuse and also went
in that direction. Allard hesitated, in some doubt before this new
etiquette, then judged by the others' attitude and remained where he
was.
As Stanief stepped on the deck, another gorgeous flag rose majestically
into place and unfolded its emblazoned notice of his presence. His
drowsy black eyes swept over the scene comprehensively, then he gave a
brief order to the captain and crossed directly to Allard. And Allard,
rising to receive him, suddenly felt his heart quicken with a strange,
familiar violence. "We Allards love more than other people," Robert had
said. This was what he was giving Stanief, he realized with something
like dismay,--that passion of fierce un-English intensity which
considered nothing and made him its plaything. He had not meant to care
like that again--
"Good morning, John," said the cool, faintly imperious voice; the warmly
dark eyes met his.
Sighing, Allard yielded up the last resistance and gave his all.
"Your Royal Highness--" he murmured, and hated himself for the
unsteadiness of his tone.
Stanief sank into a chair and waved him to the one opposite.
"We are going to sail at once," he announced. "We will watch our
progress out of the harbor and then have lunch. You have passed an
agreeable morning?"
"Yes--no," answered Allard incoherently, taken by surprise. "That is,
everything is right now."
Interpreting for himself, Stanief smiled.
"Tell me about it," he suggested.
The ringing of anchor chains ceased, the little launch again swung in
its davits. The yacht shuddered, moved. Vasili came up and saluted
rigidly.
"I have the honor to report that we sail."
Stanief rested his dark head against the chair-back and met the
brilliant gray eyes with the sweet serenity of his own.