TO MEET THE EMPEROR
There are some periods which offer to the backward glance of memory
rather a blur of blended color than a distinct picture, a rich and
shining tapestry in which no one thread can be distinguished. So always
to Allard seemed that first week in the country he learned to call home.
The stately ceremonies of Stanief's reception and assumption of the
regency; the dazzle and pageantry of the court even when thus subdued by
mourning; his own sudden importance as the favorite of the actual
sovereign, all merged into a glittering confusion through which he moved
automatically.
But there were two incidents which detached themselves from the bright
background and always remained with him. The first was the first morning
when Stanief formally met the Emperor at the palace; and, as he had
stooped to the salute, Adrian had deliberately given him an embrace so
markedly affectionate that even Allard felt the significant thrill that
ran through the room. And then, even while the unusual color still
flushed Stanief's dark cheek, Adrian shot a glance at a sharp-faced man
opposite, a glance so sneering, so bitterly triumphant, that the
straightforward American actually shrank from the revelation of dual
thought. Evidently the embrace was given less to please Stanief than to
annoy this other. Seeing the man's rigidly held face beneath the ordeal,
he knew without question that this was the Baron Dalmorov whose desire
in life was to prevent this very friendship between the cousins.
Never again did Allard make the mistake of measuring Adrian by his few
years.
The second event was near the end of the week,--one noon when Stanief
came home from a visit to the palace and found Allard alone.
"Do you remember the trust you offered to take for me?" he asked
abruptly. And, without waiting an assent, "You are summoned to it
already."
"Monseigneur?"
"The Emperor this morning asked me to add you to his household. It is
more than I hoped to gain, that he should himself make the request;
yet--"
They looked at each other, Allard startled and half dismayed, Stanief's
velvet eyes less tranquil than usual.
"Yet I shall miss you, John," he concluded, his voice a caress.
The regret and the tone lay unforgotten in the closed room of Allard's
heart. Years after, he could turn and find them there.
So from the gorgeous household of the Regent one man passed to the still
more gorgeous palace. Vasili and Count Rosal regarded him with
respectful envy; he was elected to membership of the two clubs of the
capital's _jeunesse doree_, and overwhelmed with friends and
invitations.
But the Emperor was not at all inclined to let his new companion remain
away from him very much, and Allard was quite as willing to stay at what
he privately considered the post of duty. So it happened that he went
riding with Adrian more frequently than he went motoring with Rosal, and
accepted readily a routine which left him few hours unoccupied.
It was not possible to live at the palace without learning many things.
But it required just one day for Allard to learn enough of Adrian to
make him smile at ever having thought Stanief imperious. The desire for
absolute dominion and power over those near him was the most obvious
characteristic of this descendant of a hundred autocrats. Moreover, he
tolerated no contradiction, no evasion of a resolve.
"You are not rich in your own right, Monsieur Allard?" he said one day,
with his mature directness and self-possession.
They were strolling up and down a terrace overlooking the river, and
Allard involuntarily paused in surprise and with no slight
embarrassment.
"No longer, sire," he admitted, truth coming as the one course.
"My cousin,--you served him as his secretary?"
"Yes, sire."
Adrian sat down on a broad marble seat under the trees, lifting his head
with the movement usually to be translated as a signal of danger.
"You serve me at present, not the Regent. As one of my household, you
will accept from me in future."
"Pardon me, sire--"
"I will have it so, monsieur. You must be all mine, all. I shall speak
to Feodor. Why do you object? You do, then, consider yourself his, not
mine?"
"Sire, you misinterpret; I am assuredly of your service."
"Then you accept?"
Allard met the flashing gaze helplessly; it was the other Adrian,
distrustful, jealous, haughty, whom he faced and to whom he yielded.
"It is as you wish, sire, of course. I thank you."
"You do not," he retorted shrewdly, although his brow relaxed. "Why did
you resist?"
Again Allard took refuge in the simple truth, a little sadly.
"We Americans, sire, are not accustomed to serve, I am afraid. We would
stand alone. If I could accept the Grand Duke Feodor's protection
without such reluctance, it was because of old reasons and old love."
"For him?"
"Yes, sire."
"Do you know Dalmorov secretly urges to me your love for Feodor as a
cause for dismissing you?"
"I had not known it, although I might have guessed. But you could not
believe me, sire, if I told you I did not love him."
"No; you are very easy to read. And I know more: I know that Feodor is
glad to have you near me, although he is fond of keeping you with
himself. Why?"
Allard regarded his keen young inquisitor candidly.
"Because--I use his own phrase, sire--because I am the only one that he
feels he can wholly trust."
Adrian's eyes opened, then he laughed outright and the sinister
personality faded altogether from his expression.
"You tell me that yourself, Monsieur Allard? Oh, if Dalmorov could hear
you! Never mind; perhaps Feodor is deceiving you, perhaps you are both
sincere, but certainly you yourself are all truthful. His turn also
comes to-day, my cousin's."
"I do not understand--"
"It is not necessary. I am going to receive him here, this morning.
After he arrives, pray stay at the other end of the terrace and let no
one pass to disturb us."
This daily visit of the Regent had become a matter of course. Sometimes
it found Adrian surrounded by many people, sometimes alone, more often
with Allard, as now. And never was he so sweetly gracious to Stanief as
in Dalmorov's presence; although, as Stanief knew perfectly well, at
other times he listened without rebuke to the baron's constant
insinuations and warnings. If the young Emperor had confidence in no
one, most assuredly no one could risk a judgment of his real thoughts.
Only one sentiment he took no care to conceal: for whatever reason, he
liked the regular visit and would suffer nothing to prevent it.
However puzzled by the last suggestion, Allard could only comply with
the request and retire as Stanief came down the steps a moment later.
And Stanief, seeing Adrian waiting alone, left his aide at the head of
the terrace and alone came to him. So, Vasili at one end of the grassy
ledge, Allard at the other, the cousins were for once unobserved.
Adrian's expression was unusually animated as Stanief bent over his
hand.
"Do you know why I wished to see you out here in quietness, cousin?" he
demanded.
"I am afraid not, sire," Stanief confessed, smiling.
"Then sit down here," he touched the bench on which he himself was
seated, "and I will tell you."
Stanief obeyed, and Adrian surveyed his stately kinsman with earnest,
though doubting intentness.
"That night on the _Nadeja_," he at last said, "when you told me that I
governed, 'but'--were you in earnest? It amused me to tell Dalmorov--not
all you said or when you said it, of course--yet some of that. I told
him you had promised to do as I wished, and he insisted that you played
with me. Were you in earnest, I wonder?"
"Absolutely in earnest," Stanief answered, too well trained in
self-mastery to betray his irritation at being discussed with his rival
in the game of the future.
"'But'--" Adrian repeated, and sat silent for an instant. "Were you ever
in love with a woman, cousin?"
The question was so unexpected that Stanief started and replied almost
at random:
"No, sire."
"Dalmorov says that you were, long ago."
"Dalmorov," the other began, then checked himself, his tone chilling.
"The incident to which Baron Dalmorov doubtless refers, sire, hardly
answers your question. Ten years ago, when I was less than twenty-two, I
was briefly attracted toward a lady of the court. The affair died in its
birth, on my discovering that mademoiselle was acting as the paid spy of
the Emperor, your father. Since then I have thought of more important
matters."
Adrian leaned back, his slim fingers twisted together.
"That was the Countess Sophia Mirkoff," he supplemented calmly, "whose
husband you pardoned from the Two Saints last month; Dalmorov informed
me. Was that because you still care?"
"No; because I would not have her imagine I remember enough for
prejudice," Stanief answered, with glacial indifference.
The approving fire shot across the boy's lowered eyes, his pride sprang
to comprehension of the other's.
"I am glad it is so," he said sedately. "I have been arranging your
marriage, cousin."
If the terrace had crumbled beneath them, Stanief could have been no
more astounded than at this.
"I beg your pardon!" he gasped.
"Why not? It is my privilege," Adrian returned, not moving.
Stanief opened his lips, and closed them again. The green and gold
garden, the blue river and white city spread below, swam in a dazzle of
color. He had never been more deeply annoyed, or more furiously angry
with Dalmorov. But habitual self-control again aided him.
"I have no desire to marry, or time to give to such a distraction at
present, sire," he answered.
"You would have to marry sooner or later, cousin."
"Then permit it to be later. After your coronation, if you still
insist."
Adrian's small mouth set in a firm line rivaling the Regent's own.
"I wish it now. I have arranged that you shall marry the Princess Iria
of Spain."
"Sire, forgive me if I presume to remind your Imperial Majesty that I
have the right of questioning an order so personal."
The steel-hard anger of Stanief's voice struck fire from the flint of
Adrian's determination.
"So I rule you!" he flashed tempestuously. "So you meant your pretty
phrases! Dalmorov was right, right. You played with me, and I will never
pardon you, Feodor Stanief."
Stanief drew back, realizing all the trap prepared for him.
"You are severe, sire," he retorted with dignity. "Perhaps reflection
upon how unexpected this is, upon how serious to me is the amusement
which to you signifies nothing, may win your indulgence. My life is full
to overflowing; there is no place in it for a wife."
"You refuse?"
Stanief bit his lip.
"No, sire; I protest."
Adrian stood up, and the other perforce rose with him.
"You yourself said it," the boy stated, his chest heaving with passion.
"Now, the test. I have the right; you know it. Do you govern me, or I
you?"
"Sire--"
"You or I?"
Stanief looked very steadily into the blazing young eyes, himself
colorless with the restraint forced upon his own emotions.
"I believed there were two promises given on the _Nadeja_, sire," he
answered, never so quietly. "It seems that only one is to be remembered
and that Baron Dalmorov wins. But I make no complaint; I suppose your
last question was hardly serious."
"You consent?"
"I obey," he corrected pointedly.
At once victorious, and dominated by his kinsman's bearing, Adrian flung
himself on the seat and motioned the other to the place beside him. But
Stanief remained standing, choosing not to see the invitation, and there
was a pause.
"I do remember my promise," Adrian declared, proudly reverting to the
reproach of a few moments before. "If I have made you do this, cousin,
it was not to please Dalmorov."
Stanief bowed, answering nothing.
"The lady--you will have heard of her. I met her last year on the
Riviera. In her country they call her the Gentle Princess, because--she
is. And she is very lovely."
Still the dark face was unstirred. His object gained, Adrian fretted and
chafed before the change he himself had wrought.
"You are like Monsieur Allard; you do not want to yield your will," he
said, half petulantly, half haughtily. "He is mine, you gave him to me;
yet he did not like it because I said that no longer shall his fortune
come from any one but me. Why?"
"He is an American, sire."
"Why does that make a difference between you and me?"
"I love him, sire."
The cold explanation coincided perfectly with Allard's; illogically
Adrian felt a pang of isolation before this friendship, although he
would not have believed either if they had professed the same affection
for him.
"The churches are ringing the hour," he remarked, the sullen child
struggling with the Emperor. "If you wish to go, as usual, you have my
leave."
"Thank you, sire; my hours are indeed crowded."
"You are willing to ask the Princess Iria in marriage?"
"As you dispose, sire."
Satisfied and dissatisfied, Adrian held out his hand.
"You are not content, cousin," he accused. "You think me unkind."
Stanief paused to meet the wilful gaze.
"Perhaps I think of a day the years are bringing, sire," he replied
gravely, and bent his head still lower to the jeweled fingers which
grasped so much.
Adrian flushed scarlet.
"No," he denied fiercely. "Feodor, you can not believe I will fail you
if you do not me? You can not think that then, after that--"
Stanief did not help him at all. Taking refuge in wordlessness, Adrian
left the sentence unfinished and let his cousin go, with an assumption
of dignity that hardly concealed the sting of the rebuke he had
received. But he did not offer to relinquish the purpose so distasteful
to Stanief.
For half an hour the terrace remained hushed and silent under the noon
sunshine, the tree-shadows wavering back and forth across the small,
motionless figure.
"Monsieur Allard!" at last the summons rang.
Allard returned serenely, of course ignorant of the recent stormy
discussion.
"In a few months," Adrian stated, without looking at him, "the Princess
Iria de Bourbon will come here to be married to the Regent. I wish you
to be one of the escort that will meet her and bring her to the
capital."
"But, sire--"
"You are surprised?"
"I did not know the Grand Duke contemplated marriage, sire," Allard
explained, stunned.
"He did not; it is I who contemplated it. You will go?"
"Surely there will be many more fitted for such an honor. Of course it
will be as you arrange, sire; but I would rather stay here."
Adrian moved, sighing; his lip took a softer curve and for the first
time he almost looked his few years. "If you like her, monsieur, Feodor
will like her. I want you to see her, to tell him good of her. She is
different from any one else--when we were both in Italy we saw each
other every day, and I know. She is so gentle; I want her here."
Allard gazed at him in utter wonder.
"Feodor believes I force the marriage to annoy him and please Dalmorov.
It is not so; it is because I want Iria here. You understand that?"
"I am trying, sire."
Adrian stood up decisively.
"Let us go in. When the time comes, you shall go with her escort."