THE TURN IN THE ROAD
It was a few weeks later, when the tardy spring was awaking reluctantly
from its long sleep, that Stanief's cloud drew nearer and gained darker
substance. Adrian's increasing restiveness took the form of active
interference with the government, and not wisely. All that was possible
Stanief was willing to yield, if he might keep peace, but finally the
impossible was asked.
It was a question of taxes which made the first rift between the
cousins, a question with which the young Emperor had nothing to do. The
tax had been imposed during the period of readjustment; now, owing to
the Regent's skilled government, it was no longer necessary and he
proposed to remove it. To the amazement of all concerned, Adrian chose
to object.
Plainly enough Stanief saw Dalmorov's influence behind the opposition,
and saw himself bound to persistence both by policy and an implied
promise to the people. Not as yet had the tax been removed, but he most
courteously had reminded Adrian that no one possessed the power of
interference with the measure. The result had been inevitable; Adrian
sulked and the Regent's enemies furtively rejoiced.
So opened the last year of the regency. If on the first night of the
first year Stanief had claimed check of his opponent, now, gazing across
the half-cleared board, Dalmorov could return the cry.
Meanwhile the suite of the sullen young sovereign suffered much from his
caprices; until finally Iria and Allard were the only two his caustic
tongue spared and his ill humor passed by. They alone did not dread the
honor of attending him. And at last he even contrived to give Allard the
sting of many rewakened memories.
"Allard," he remarked one morning, "you never told me more than just
that you were an American. From what state are you?"
They were alone together, two learned and exhausted professors having
just taken leave of as trying a listener as could well be conceived.
Across the book-strewn table Adrian contemplated the other, meditatively
at ease.
"I am a Californian, sire," was the reply.
"Come show me where in this atlas, _pour s'amuser_. Your California is
not small, if I recollect."
Allard came over obediently and found the map, pointing out the city
remembered so well and so sadly.
"There, sire, near that little bay. Our place lay beyond the town; we
called the house Sun-Kist."
"The house was near the bay?"
"Very near. We used to sail and fish there. Just here lay the yacht
club, where Robert kept his motor-boat--" He broke off and turned away
more abruptly than strict etiquette allowed.
Adrian deliberately drew his pencil through the name on the map.
"Robert?" he queried.
"Robert Allard, sire, my younger brother. He died two years ago."
"Soon after you came here, then?"
"While I was on the _Nadeja_, sire, making the voyage."
"Have you no other relatives there?"
"Yes; my aunt, Mrs. Leslie, and my cousin, her daughter."
Adrian studied his companion's pallor with a certain scientific
interest, idly scribbling on the margin of the atlas without regarding
what he wrote.
"You regret your home?" he inquired.
Allard bit his lip to steady its quiver, fiercely unwilling to bare his
old pain for the diversion of this coldly ennuied inquisitor.
"There is nothing to call me home, sire," he replied. "My brother is
not living, and my cousin, who was betrothed to him, has no wish or need
of me. I think I never want to see the place as it is now. My life is
here."
"You loved her," Adrian said calmly. "How much you give one another, you
quiet, gray-eyed people! Do not look like that, Allard;" he actually
smiled. "I am too used to my intricate and intriguing subjects to fail
in reading your truthfulness. And I have not watched you with the ladies
of the court without learning that some woman, one that you loved, sat
at the door of your heart."
Allard wavered between exasperation and helpless dismay at the other's
acuteness; there were occasions when his Imperial Majesty was almost
uncanny. But he ended by remaining silent, as usual. Adrian at fourteen
had been anything but a child; now, at sixteen, he was fairly matched
with Stanief himself, and the lesser players stood back at a distance
from the contest of wills. From those players Allard had learned the
wise habit of drawing aside to let the Emperor's moods sweep past.
"You and Iria," Adrian added, after a moment during which his thin,
high-bred face hardened strangely and not happily, "you two at least are
transparent, and free from under-thoughts. What time is it?"
Allard glanced at his watch.
"Eleven o'clock, sire."
"You need not go when the Grand Duke arrives; I may want you afterward.
Allard--"
"Sire?"
"I have been kind to you, if to no one else, I think. Kind, and
constant. Perhaps I have guarded you from more pitfalls set by envy than
you can conceive, or would credit. And you have served me, not Feodor or
another. If you were forced to the choice now, would you follow the
Regent or me?"
The question could not have been more unexpected or more difficult.
Allard caught his breath, utterly at a loss. Deceive Adrian he would
not. To forsake Stanief even in appearance was not to be considered, and
yet to exasperate the jealous and exacting Emperor still further against
his cousin was bitterly unnecessary.
"Sire--"
"Go on."
But he could not go on, his ideas in hopeless confusion.
"I am waiting."
"Sire, the Regent," he admitted with desperate candor.
Adrian laid his pencil carefully on the map and closed the atlas, saying
nothing at all. Allard flushed to the roots of his fair hair.
"Not that I am ungrateful," he protested in hot distress. "Not that I do
not remember, do not understand all that you have done for me, sire. And
against you I would serve no one, not even him. I would hold my life a
slight thing to give either of you. Sire," he took a step forward, his
ardent gaze seeking the other's comprehension, "before the brother I
loved, the woman I love, before any call, I would follow the Regent.
He--I have no words for it. It is not that my loyalty to your Majesty is
less, but that he claims me against the world."
"Happy Feodor," said Adrian coolly. "Do not distress yourself, Allard;
if you had told me anything else I should not have believed you. Why,"
he suddenly lifted to the amazed American a glance all cordial, "it is
pleasant to find that loyalty to any one still exists, to find one rock
in this shaking quagmire. Here is the Regent; go down the room and find
a book to read until we finish."
Dazed, Allard mechanically obeyed so far as to move down the apartment
and pick up a book. But keen anxiety for the friend he could not aid
kept his attention on the interview that followed, although it was
beyond his hearing.
Stanief crossed to his ward with the dignified formality never relaxed
between them, and bent over the offered hand. No shade of expression
foretold the announcement both knew he was come to make, nor was Adrian
on his part less impassive. The petulant boy of two years before had
become a slim, self-contained youth, whose bearing, no less than his
elaborate uniform, added much to his apparent age and height. If his
dark young face did not resemble his cousin's except in feature, the
difference was not in lack of equal firmness.
"Iria did not come to-day?" was the nonchalant greeting.
"No, sire. She was fatigued after last night's reception, and we did not
understand your desire."
"Oh, I expressed none, except as it is always pleasant to see her.
Madame was adorable last night, a very flower of her delicious South. It
occurred to me that you yourself, cousin, did not appear to feel so well
as usual."
"I was tired, sire," he replied simply.
Adrian frowned with some other emotion than anger, darting a swift
regard at Stanief, who leaned back in his chair with a listlessness
rare indeed in him. The Regent also had changed in the last two years;
one does not mold a chaotic, struggling mass of conflicting elements
into a ball to match the scepter without paying a price. Yet if the
habit of command had curved a little more firmly the firm lips, if deep
thoughts and watchful diplomacy had darkened calmness to gravity, some
other and subtler influences had brought a singular underlying
gentleness to his expression and kept hardness at bay. Adrian turned
away his head half-impatiently, and did not speak at once.
"You devote too close an attention to state affairs, cousin," he
rejoined. "Next year we will relieve you of them."
The accent was more than the words; together they brought Stanief's
color.
"I shall resign my charge most willingly, sire," he answered, with
dignity.
"I am glad to hear it; I fancied you might miss the regal game and find
life monotonous. You have taken the task so completely from my hands
that it causes no surprise to find you are wearied. I admit that you
have spared me even the fatigue of consulting my wishes or opinions in
regard to the government."
"The accusation is hardly just, sire. A suggestion of yours has never
been disregarded nor has it failed of its serious effect."
"Ah?" drawled Adrian, with his most aggravating incredulity in the
inflection.
Stanief raised his lashes and met the other's eyes steadfastly. Both
comprehended the situation perfectly, comprehended the imminent break
Adrian was forcing. And the Emperor did not soon forget the direct
sorrow and reproach of that glance. But Stanief attempted no defense.
"Because," Adrian resumed, fixing his eyes on the table before him, "I
have been told otherwise. I am rejoiced to learn the truth from you,
cousin; especially as a rumor reached me this morning that a certain tax
had been removed, against my wish. You doubtless know the measure of
which I speak. I am glad to find it is not so."
"Pardon, sire; it is so," was the calm reply.
"The tax is removed?"
"Yes, sire."
The Adrian of two years before would have burst into furious passion;
the one of to-day simply rose and walked to the nearest window. Stanief
necessarily rose also, and stood by his chair, waiting. At the opposite
end of the room Allard clenched his hands in helpless nervousness,
forgetting to keep his pretense of reading. The low voices, the
leisurely movements of the two, had not masked from him the crisis for
the hopes and plans of years.
But Adrian made no scene. Probably no one realized less than the Regent
himself how much the example of his own self-control had taught the same
quality to his ward. When the young Emperor came back, only his extreme
pallor betrayed the tempest within.
"Very well," he said resolutely. "Amuse yourself, my cousin; I can
wait. Eleven months, is it not?"
The break, and the menace. Stanief saluted him quietly.
"A trifle less than eleven months, sire. May I assume your Imperial
Majesty's permission to retire? I suppose it is scarcely worth while to
reiterate the arguments as to the necessity of my action."
"Scarcely. Do not let me detain you from your many affairs, cousin. Ah,
I believe Dalmorov is waiting out there; let me tax your courtesy so far
as to ask you to send him to me."
He extended his hand carelessly; no longer as a sign of friendliness,
but as a compulsion of homage.
"It is for you to command, sire," was Stanief's proudly unmoved
response.
Adrian looked down at the bent head and put out his left hand in rapid,
curious gesture, almost as if to touch caressingly the heavy ripples of
dark hair,--the merest abortive movement, for the hand fell again at his
side before even Allard saw.
"Thank you," he acknowledged composedly, and watched the other go.
Dalmorov entered presently, radiant with satisfaction, but Allard could
have borne witness that the baron passed no pleasant hour with his
irritable and irritating master. Like the fleck of a lash Adrian's
tongue touched each weakness and stung each exposed hope of the courtier
three times his age, until even the distrait American found himself
compelled to amusement.
Stanief did not ride home that morning with the cheerful Vasili and
bored Rosal, who awaited him. As he came down the wide steps between the
usual parting, obsequious crowds, a girl leaned from a victoria that
stood in the place of his own carriage,--Iria, opposite her the pale
young Countess Marya.
"Will you ride with me, monseigneur?" invited the Gentle Princess, with
her deliciously confiding glance and smile. "We were on the promenade,
and I thought perhaps you would have finished--"
[Illustration: "Will you ride with me, Monseigneur?"]
A knot of early daffodils was tucked in her girdle, the spring breeze
fluttered a bright strand of crinkled bronze against her brighter cheek;
all the youth of the year was in the happy face she lifted to him.
Stanief paused with his foot on the step to look at her, many thoughts
meeting in his drowsily-brilliant eyes.
"Thank you," he answered. "I wonder if you will ever come for me again,
Iria, after I have finished here indeed."
An innocent surprise and pleasure dawned in her expression.
"I will come every day, if you like, monseigneur," she offered. "I did
not know you cared."
He took the seat beside her, with a courteous salute to Marya.
"You are gracious, as always. I did not mean exactly that, although you
can not guess how pleasant it was to find you here to-day. Live your
pretty routine and fancies, Duchess of Dreams, and give me the alms of
time you can not use."
They spoke in Iria's soft native tongue, which the Countess Marya did
not understand and which Stanief had learned long before in some of the
_Nadeja's_ nomadic voyages. Always gentle to the gentle Iria, to-day his
voice carried an added tenderness which stirred her to vague unrest and
wistfulness.
"You do not mean that," she said, troubled. "How should I have any time
that is not yours, monseigneur? And my fancies--you can not know how
many of them are wishes that I might prove a little, only a little, of
all your kindness makes me feel. I wish, how much I wish, that I could
do something for you!"
The victoria was rolling through the busy, cheerful streets; vehicles
making way for it in respectful haste, people saluting with more than
mere formality and following the Regent with grateful eyes. Stanief's
city, Stanief's country this, drawn by him out of anarchy into order,
out of suffering into peace. The people knew, and he knew. He looked
across it all now before answering, battling with fierce loneliness and
rebellion.
"Iria, what I have done for you is nothing. You are my wife," there was
no mockery in the quietly spoken word, "and claim all I can give. But,
since we are alone except for each other and have been placed together,
would you care to save my pride some day by stepping at my side out of
this court? By giving me the dignity of holding my household above the
wreck?"
Startled and dismayed, she turned to him.
"Monseigneur, I do not understand! You, you to speak of wreck! Oh, and
you ask me that, you doubt?"
He laid his hand warningly on hers.
"We are under a hundred eyes, Iria. You live aloof from politics and
intrigues, but yet you know my regency ends in a few months."
"You mean--the Emperor?"
"The Emperor has never trusted me, never forgiven me for the chance
which set me as ruler of his country. There is no danger of the old
kind; the days of state executions are past, or I would never have
survived the last reign. But when Adrian assumes command it will
undoubtedly mean that I lay aside all you have seen of me, and retire a
simple gentleman of leisure to my estates. No more will I play 'the
regal game,' as Adrian expressed it to-day. Could you brave that, Iria,
to be no longer the center of a brilliant court? To live the stately
monotony of my life in the old castle among the mountains, or perhaps
travel to other countries as just the wife of the Grand Duke Feodor
Stanief, who is of no more importance than any noble? For Adrian will
want to keep you, if you will stay."
The little hand under his turned to clasp his fingers; star-eyed, richly
tinted with excitement, Iria leaned to him.
"With you, let me be with you. I am afraid of nothing with you, without
you of everything. Oh, monseigneur, do you not see that what you lose
are a man's desires, not a woman's? Power, political influence, to guide
and rule--what do such names mean to me? I shall miss nothing; it is
only you who will grieve and regret."
"My dear, my dear," said Stanief unsteadily, and turned away his face
before a new hope which out-dazzled all the morning's pictured loss.
"It is so, only do not speak again of leaving me here. I love the
Emperor, but I am afraid of him. And if he can treat you in this way--"
"Hush; never blame him, however alone you fancy us. If you can help it,
do not let him guess that I have told you of this. And for the rest, the
fault is more Dalmorov's than his."
"I will not," she promised. And after a moment, "Some one else will
follow you always, monseigneur."
He knew the answer before he asked the question, and the light went
suddenly from his face, leaving it to all the old grave endurance.
"Who, Iria?"
"Monsieur Allard," she replied.
Stanief again looked across the teeming streets; it was as if a chill,
intangible mist stole up from the near-by river and drew its cold
grayness between the two who sat side by side.
"John is a loyal gentleman," he said, without anger; "I value you both
above all else. For two years I have walked without seeing beyond a
certain point, to-day I have come to a turn in the road and on ahead I
see my destination. Not the end I hoped, perhaps, but at least I know.
And I thank you for the household security which you have given to me,
my poor child."
The carriage stopped in front of the quaintly splendid Palace Stanief.
Iria lingered before accepting the Regent's aid to descend, her delicate
lip curving distressedly.
"Do not call me that, please," she begged. "Because you have made me
very happy, monseigneur."
The perfume of her daffodils was about him, faint, virginal,
bitter-sweet as her presence in his house. Stanief deliberately painted
to himself the fierce delight of catching her in his arms, of pressing
the little sunny head to him and crushing her sweet ignorance out of
existence with one kiss she could never forget. But his hand did not
even close upon the small one resting in it.
"Then I have lived to some purpose," he responded serenely.