THE ORDEAL
For Allard that last summer of the regency brought the hardest of all
things for a loving heart to bear: to stand in the shelter and watch a
friend in the storm, to be forced to witness where unable to aid. No
personal humiliation could have affected him so painfully as to see
Stanief under the Emperor's stinging sarcasms and cold, young insolence,
to note the furtive words and glances of the men who still courted
present power while predicting its future fall.
Never after that morning of the contest of wills between the cousins,
did Adrian's unforgiving sullenness lessen or relent. Day after day the
Regent paid his formal visit and endured the ordeal with chill dignity.
Day after day Adrian received him in the presence of Dalmorov or half a
dozen young nobles of the capital; usually on the point of going out,
and so making the brief interview a mere farce. Only one courtesy the
Emperor conceded to the self-respect of both; never did he make the
least hint of menace or future reckoning except when the cousins were
alone or with Allard. By inference alone could the rest of the court
foretell the coming end.
And Dalmorov was radiant. His spare figure actually dilated and gained
weight in these days of victory, his eye-glasses poised a trifle more
superciliously before his pale eyes. Stanief looked above and past him
with a certain lofty indifference, but between Dalmorov and the chafing,
aching Allard a clash was inevitable. As they seldom met except when
Adrian's desire for both compelled, it was not surprising that in his
presence that clash occurred.
It was after Stanief had passed an especially difficult and trying hour
with the Emperor, an hour which left Allard's nerves in quivering
exasperation. When at last the Regent took leave, Adrian rose at the
same time and crossed to a window with his nonchalant languor of
movement.
"Bring me those glasses we were trying this morning, Allard," he
directed. "I want to see that ship entering the river."
But Allard did nothing of the kind. The fourth one present, Dalmorov,
had just moved aside from the door with an indescribable smile and bow
to the Regent.
"I have the honor to wish your Royal Highness good morning," he said
sweetly.
Stanief glanced down at him, outwardly unmoved by the neglect of a
courtesy compelled by every rule of custom and etiquette; but before
embarrassment was possible Allard sprang forward and himself held back
the door.
"Thank you," Stanief said only, but his eyes met the gray ones in
passing.
"Really, Baron, for a diplomat you grow too absent-minded," commiserated
Allard softly to his vis-a-vis. "One might have imagined you intended
that his Royal Highness should open the door himself."
"Since Monsieur Allard has become so learned in etiquette, he might
observe that the Emperor is waiting," Dalmorov retorted viciously.
Allard shot a glance at Adrian, who had turned round just in time to
witness the whole scene.
"At least, if I offend, I am careful to offend one who can retaliate,
Baron," he flung back in an undertone, as he moved in quest of the
article demanded.
"Who can, and whom you are in no position to provoke," Dalmorov sent
after him, incautiously raising his tone with a bitter significance
which the other failed to comprehend.
"When you are at leisure, gentlemen," Adrian's voice interposed coolly.
"Dalmorov, I would suggest that you follow my cousin and explain your
unfortunate lapse of memory. Allard, I believe I made a request."
There was little Allard could not have forgiven to Adrian for sending
Dalmorov to make that apology.
"I beg a thousand pardons, sire," he answered contentedly as he crossed
the room.
After all Adrian did not look at his ship, but remained leaning against
the window with his reflective gaze fixed on the other's face.
"I wonder," he remarked, when the door had closed behind Dalmorov, "if
you do things like that because you are an American."
Surprised, Allard smiled involuntarily.
"Perhaps, sire, we are rather _sans gene_."
"You misunderstand me," he corrected. "I mean, do you act as the others
would not, because you are not my subject as they are?"
Allard understood then, and the implied accusation stung him to hot
anger.
"No, sire," he flashed. "I have not lived under your shelter and eaten
your bread to hide beneath another flag when the scale turns. I am an
American, yes, but I do not use my nationality as a cloak for cowardice.
So far, I have become your subject by entering your service."
Not until long afterward did Allard read the slow, half-amused smile
that rose to the surface of the Emperor's dark eyes.
"Very good, we shall remember, Monsieur _l'Americain_," he returned,
quite untroubled by the other's indignation. "Do not complain if some
day I interfere with your affairs."
His affairs? Allard puzzled mentally. But he received no further
explanation, and neither to him nor Dalmorov did Adrian again mention
the incident.
Stanief looked very grave when Allard repeated the scene to him.
"You have made an active enemy of Dalmorov instead of a passive," was
his comment.
"Why should I care, monseigneur? Where you go, I follow, when the end
comes."
"The end," Stanief echoed dreamily. "Everything does not end for us at
once, John; we leave our treasures all along the path as we journey."
Down his self-appointed path Stanief was moving steadfastly in those
months. And the first treasure left behind, the hardest to resign, had
been Iria's confidence. Locked within the old timidity, she avoided her
husband whenever it was possible to do so, hiding her eyes from him when
necessity brought them together, coming no more to his study.
But there was one exception: every morning, after Stanief's visit to the
palace, she waited for him in her carriage. Silent, her hands clasped in
her lap, replying with hesitating monosyllables, she sat by his side
during the drive home, one of her ladies opposite them.
Before Adrian, Stanief lifted his head a little more proudly, let his
lashes fall a little lower, and went on his way without protest. He had
enough to do, as he toiled to place the country in a position to
continue without him. Wisely, tactfully, striving not to antagonize the
Emperor to the right policy by claiming it as his own, he prepared the
guiding lines to lie peacefully in the inexperienced grasp soon to take
them.
It was not a happy task, or a light one, and he worked at it absolutely
alone except for Allard's passionate and powerless sympathy. But still
he worked. And because there was so much to be done, it seemed to him
that the days slipped through his fingers like beads of a broken chain.
So winter set its seal of silence on river and snow-muffled street
before he realized the fading summer. With spring would end the regency.
"How many months now, cousin?" drawled the Emperor, returning from the
races held upon the glittering ice of the river, and pausing on the
steps of the palace to unclasp his too oppressive furs.
"Five, sire," answered the tranquil Regent. "I believe I have to
congratulate your Imperial Majesty upon the victories in to-day's
sport."
"My horses? Ah, yes; this is my fortunate year. Thank you, cousin."
And Allard, in attendance, bit his lip until a tiny thread of crimson
sprang beneath the pressure.
Faster and faster the beads were slipping from the chain; the path was
straight to the end and very short.