IN WHICH CAPTAIN ROGER EGREMONT ACTS AS COACHMAN, AND
LIEUTENANT-GENERAL THE DUKE OF BERWICK AS FOOTMAN
THAT night, returning to their lodgings, Berwick said to Roger: “One
week must do our errand here, for we have but a week in which to
consider the apology you are to make to the Prince.”
“Only a week,” said Roger, reflectively; “I am not nimble enough of wit
to think out a suitable apology in one little week--and that I shall
tell him.”
“So I supposed.”
Next morning brought Count Bernstein, very early, to the joint lodging
of Berwick and Roger.
“My dear sir,” he said, debonairly, when Roger appeared in answer to
the Count’s name. “I come from Sir Hugo Egremont, your half-brother.
Naturally, he is annoyed at your behavior yesterday, but he considers
that you are--pardon me--a man of impetuous temper, and will make
allowances. If you will deliver to me the jewelled handle of the sword,
which, in your--your excitement last night, you wrenched from his
person, he will overlook all else. I am authorized to receipt for the
handle.”
“My dear Bernstein,” replied Roger, in the friendliest way possible,
“you have been grossly imposed upon. There is no such person as Sir
Hugo Egremont. He who assumes that name and the arms of Egremont is
a bastard, by name Hugo Stein. My father was his father--and a great
sinner my father was.”
Bernstein made a gesture of impatience.
“And,” continued Roger, as Berwick entered the room then and gravely
saluted Bernstein, “I can call the Duke of Berwick to witness that
I was up at sunrise this morning, hammering the jewels, which are
mostly heirlooms in my family, out of Hugo Stein’s sword-hilt. I have
them here in a little box in my bosom, and the fragments of gold I
saved carefully and will thank you to return to Hugo Stein with my
compliments.”
And he thrust a little parcel into Bernstein’s hands.
Bernstein, in a rage, turned to Berwick.
“Sir,” he said, “the Prince of Orlamunde will take cognizance of this
affair. Your friend and protégé must submit to the authority of his
Highness.”
“Alas, Bernstein,” replied Berwick, “I cannot answer for Mr. Egremont
submitting to the authority of the Prince of Orlamunde. William, Prince
of Orange, Stadtholder of Holland, and _de facto_ King of England,
a great prince, although a usurper, could not bring Mr. Egremont to
submission, and how does the Prince of Orlamunde compare with William
of Orange?”
Bernstein rose, speechless with anger. Berwick and Roger accompanied
him ceremoniously to the head of the stairs, Berwick saying, “We shall
hope to see you when we have our appointed interview with the Prince at
noon.”
At twelve o’clock the two found themselves entering the palace doors of
Monplaisir. They were ushered into a room Roger had not before seen,
known as the Prince’s cabinet. It was small and luxurious, and the
bright sun of April laughed in at the one tall window, with its yellow
satin hangings. There was an inner room, which seemed smaller still.
Seated at a table in the first apartment, was Prince Karl, and with him
Bertha von Kohler.
The Prince rose as Berwick entered, and saluted him pleasantly; nor was
he cold to Roger.
“I desire to place in your Highness’s hands,” said Berwick, suavely,
“the letter of His Most Christian Majesty. Likewise to convey to you
the views of His Most Christian Majesty on certain matters concerning
the league between the kingdom of France and the principality of
Orlamunde.”
The Prince extended his hand for the letter. Countess Bertha wore
a broad smile of delight. She aspired to be the Maintenon of this
dissipated, evil Prince.
“Pardon,” said Berwick, bowing, “I must ask your Highness for a private
interview.”
“Come into my closet, then,” replied the Prince, in a fretful voice.
Roger and the Countess Bertha remaining alone, the Countess appeared to
be furiously vexed.
“His Highness discusses questions of state before me,” she said; “I do
not know why the Duke of Berwick can object to my presence.”
“Nor can I, dear lady,” said Roger, with a grin, “unless it be that he
has orders from his Most Christian Majesty to make his communication in
the strictest privacy. And it would be exactly like the Duke of Berwick
to do what the King of France told him, in spite of your own sweet
wishes.”
Countess Bertha turned very red in her anger, unlike the Prince, who
turned pale when he was in a rage.
“At all events, I shall know all that passes; of that you may be sure.”
“My charming friend, of course I know it. The Prince leaks like a
sieve. The King of France took, I think, much trouble for nothing.”
Countess Bertha’s eyes flashed. The impudence of this fellow was past
bearing.
“I think I understand you, Mr. Egremont,--and I understand why you
and your friend the Duke of Berwick treat the Prince and me with such
studied disrespect. We all had eyes last night. There is a personage
here in whom you take a singular interest. Her enemies are your
enemies, her feuds are your feuds, her friends your friends; shall I
speak her name?”
“Not, dearest madam, if you have the least regard for your present
health and future welfare. For, I swear to you, if you speak that
lady’s name before me with any but the most profound respect, I am your
enemy and you are mine, to the very last hour of my life. Remember,
creatures like you hold their power by a very uncertain tenure, and the
personage you dare to allude to holds hers by the power of a subsidy of
two hundred thousand livres a year. The Prince loves money better than
he loves you, and upon the report that we take back to France does that
two hundred thousand livres depend.”
Countess Bertha sat down again, still trembling. Roger sat and smiled
at her with the utmost blandness.
In a few minutes Berwick came from the inner room, and he was heard
saying: “Thanks for your Highness’s safe conduct. For two days I shall,
with Captain Egremont, visit Mondberg and Arnheim, and return with my
report to your Highness.”
The Prince remained sulking in the inner room, and Berwick, after a
pause at the threshold, said, “I have the honor to bid your Highness
good-morning.”
Then, nodding slightly to Countess Bertha, Berwick’s tall figure
stalked out. But Roger made her a low obeisance, and walked out
backward, with many genuflexions, as if he were leaving the presence of
royalty--much to the lady’s fury.
He joined Berwick, and the two walked together through the Saloon of
the Swans, the marble corridor, and many other sumptuous rooms, Berwick
growling:
“The abandoned villain! But I have him--I can make him squeal, and by
God, I will!”
On the marble terrace outside, the Princess was walking up and down,
with the Marochetti and some other busybodies about her. They closed in
around Berwick and Roger, and there seemed to be a sort of preconceived
attempt to prevent them from having any private conversation with the
Princess. But Berwick, in his direct and simple way, foiled them.
“Madam,” he said to the Princess, “may Mr. Egremont and I have the
honor of a few moments’ private talk with your Highness?”
“Certainly, my lord Duke,” replied the Princess, walking apart from the
crew, which slunk back.
She led the way to a marble bench, over which stood a statue of
Silence, holding a rose in one hand, with the finger of the other to
her lip. On the Princess’s invitation, they sat, Roger on a garden
chair which he drew up, and Berwick on the bench with the Princess. The
ladies and gentlemen in waiting hovered as near as they dared, but out
of earshot.
Roger observed Michelle well. She was indeed pale and thin, and had
that look most wretched to see on a woman’s face,--one of defiant
misery. But she was plainly softened by the presence of her two
friends. To Roger Egremont’s eyes, she was only more lovely, more
enchanting, in her woe than in her triumphant youth. How did he long to
take this poor, stricken lamb to his bosom, and soothe and cherish her!
“Madam,” said Berwick, “we have come on a double errand,--to see how
the Prince is keeping his engagements about Mondberg and Arnheim, and
to see how it fares with you. The King has given me large discretion;
he has no mind to sacrifice you, and is your unwavering friend.”
Michelle’s eyes filled with tears, but she laughed as she turned away,
saying tremulously,--
“I must not let those wretches yonder see me weep. They have not
yet wrung a tear from me that any one has seen. As for the Prince’s
engagements, I cannot tell how he is keeping them, but this I know,
that Hugo Stein”--she turned to Roger, and a brilliant smile broke over
her face--“is the accredited agent of William of Orange, and he has
been trying to induce the Prince to sell the twenty-four bronze guns
for about one half their value. Countess Bertha is in the scheme, and
no doubt will get a part of the money.”
“We shall settle that very easily, madam,” replied Berwick. “We go to
Mondberg and Arnheim this very day, and if the guns are not there,
we return here, and make the Prince account for them. If they are
there, with what you have told me, and with what the Prince betrayed
involuntarily to me, I shall demand the instant withdrawal of Hugo
Stein, on pain of withholding your dowry.”
“And without my dowry, the Prince will not want me,” cried poor
Michelle, her sad eyes beginning to sparkle.
“Madam,” said Berwick, “if you wish to return to France, I cannot
myself escort you, as it might make political complications; but
Mr. Egremont--who is only my travelling companion, and is therefore
independent--”
“Will take you, and cut the throat of any man who would keep you back,”
interrupted Roger, vehemently.
Michelle leaned back smiling, and trying to keep back her tears.
“I thought I had not a friend in the world,” she said, “but now--
Only, if I should leave, what would become of the poor French who
have settled here? For there are in Orlamunde a dozen or so of
French families which have come here to practise their arts--such as
perfumers, wig-makers, and such. Those people look to me.”
“We may trust the King of France to look after his subjects,” replied
Berwick. “But now tell me, madam, all you know of Hugo Stein.”
“I know nothing good of him,” said Michelle, a deep blush appearing
upon her pale cheek. “He had the insolence to pity me, as a neglected
wife,--to--to--dare to say that I could find in him the devotion the
Prince lacked--and much else. I ordered him from my presence; I could
not order him from the palace, because I have no authority here--the
Countess Bertha reigns at Orlamunde--” this with extreme bitterness.
“He appeared with unabated assurance at the levee after this interview,
and excepting that he is insolent to me, where once he cringed,
there is no change in him. But I know that he has orders to get the
twenty-four guns, if possible; and I believe he is offered a place at
court in England, provided he can get them.”
Roger’s heart swelled as she spoke, but his spirits rose likewise. How
sweet was the thought of revenge upon his enemy! And he had little
doubt that Berwick would make Orlamunde too hot to hold Hugo Stein.
Then they talked together for an hour.
Michelle had much to ask of her friends in France, and some gentle
words of sympathy for Berwick when he gave her, in a few words, some
particulars of the loss of his young and lovely wife. At last she rose.
Berwick, who was no waster of time, wished to start for Arnheim that
afternoon.
“For I foresee,” he said with a grim smile, “that a week will be the
extreme limit of our stay here. The Prince has graciously allowed Mr.
Egremont a week to make up his mind to apologize for pitching Hugo
Stein out of the window,--and, as I know he will not be able to do it
in that time, I take it that we shall be leaving shortly.”
“Oh that I could go with you!” cried the poor Princess. “If you but
knew--” Then she stopped speaking, rose quickly, and tripped away
gayly, waving her hand and crying out, “Au revoir.”
All that day Michelle had the feeling of an impending crisis--something
decisive was in the air. True it was that Berwick came armed with all
the authority of the King of France, and as such, having great power
over the Prince. But it was something more than that--a crisis was at
hand in Michelle’s life. This she felt as she had never felt before. It
made the time pass as if she were in a dream.
On the Wednesday, Berwick and Roger Egremont had left for the fortified
places, which were only about fifteen miles away--and on the Friday
were they expected to return.
As soon as their absence was known, Sir Hugo appeared at Monplaisir.
He had thought it judicious to keep away for a day, especially until
the blast of ridicule had blown over--for this precious crew fell upon
each other with savage mirth when one of them met with disaster. At
the levee on Wednesday evening, however, he appeared in the Saloon
of the Swans. He was as cool, as calm, as handsome as ever, and as
superbly dressed, except that he wore a new sword, without a jewelled
handle. He had to hear many sly innuendoes, and much open rallying upon
his exit through the window, on meeting his half-brother. He took it
with stoical composure.
“My brother is quite light-headed in his fury,” he said, and told the
story of Roger’s throwing the plate of beans into the face of William
of Orange. He told it in a loud voice as he stood at the foot of the
dais, so that the Princess, sitting on her canopied chair, heard him
distinctly.
“And he is a disloyal man and a rebel, and being both evil and
unfortunate, I can but pity him; and besides, he is my brother,--we are
the sons of one father.”
“Did you say your brother was both evil and unfortunate?” asked
Michelle, leaning forward.
Now, this was an unlucky speech for the poor Princess, because it was
already in the air, as Countess Bertha had said, that there was love
between the Princess and the English gentleman.
“I did, madam,” replied Sir Hugo, impudently. “But perhaps you know him
better than I.”
“I do,” retorted the Princess, in a soft voice. “I know that at St.
Germains he had the high regard of his King and yours, and that of
the King of France, upon whose will alone Orlamunde exists as an
independent state. You are a very rash man, Hugo Stein, to show
yourself in the presence of your half-brother Roger Egremont, and of
Lieutenant-General the Duke of Berwick, who comes here with the fate
of Orlamunde in his hands.”
Sir Hugo’s face turned scarlet as she called him Stein, and all his
dear friends laughed--so much so that the Prince, who was playing
lansquenet in the next room, asked what the joke was; a dozen persons
pressed forward eagerly to tell him.
Presently Sir Hugo got near enough to the Princess to whisper in her
ear, “You shall pay for that speech, my lady.”
“Just as you please,” smilingly replied Michelle, out aloud. “I do not
think that Orlamunde is large enough to hold you and me much longer;
and when you go, you carry with you the bribe of your master William of
Orange,--but when I go, I take with me most of the ready money which
goes to support the Countess Bertha.”
And with this shot the Princess lay back in her chair of state, her
dark eyes full of laughter and triumph. Sir Hugo turned his back
upon her, at which she laughed a rippling, silver laugh; and then
the tale-bearers flew into the next room to tell the Prince that the
Princess and Sir Hugo were quarrelling, or making love,--nobody exactly
knew which.
On the next night was the weekly masked ball, which was, next to
gambling, the very life of the princely palace of Monplaisir.
It was to be a very brilliant ball; for so the Countess Bertha had
determined. The Prince had just given her a new emerald and diamond
necklace, and she longed to display it. The Princess had ever taken but
little interest in these balls, and when she appeared at them--which
was not always--did not commonly take the trouble to put on her jewels.
But to-night that strange, intangible, but convincing feeling of an
impending crisis moved Michelle to dress herself magnificently, with
all her diamonds blazing upon her graceful head and around her white
neck. Perhaps it was partly also that feeling, which departs only with
life, that makes a woman desire to shine before the man she loves.
Michelle had loved but one man,--Roger Egremont,--and he was far
removed from her by all manner of obstacles; yet she had loved him
well, and loved him still. She had noted all the silver hairs in his
chestnut locks, all the lines that had come into his bronzed face; his
coming had power to thrill her, to make her hate tenfold the wretched
creature to whom she was tied, to make her blush with rage and shame
at the insults he and his wretched companions heaped upon her. And
having hungered for the sight of Roger Egremont for five years, she had
herself splendidly dressed, and called up the color into her pallid
face, and the fire into her weary eyes to welcome him.
The haunting presentiment which had not left her since Berwick and
Roger appeared made her collect what money she had, as well as her
jewels, and put it where she could lay her hand upon it. And also she
made her waiting-women lay upon her bed a plain riding-suit and a
furred mantle.
“For,” she said to herself, as she descended, with stately grace, the
marble staircase, “this is my last ball at Orlamunde--my last ball at
Orlamunde.”
When she reached the Saloon of the Swans, where there was dancing to
the incomparably good music of Prince Karl’s private band, neither the
Duke of Berwick nor Roger Egremont was there. Michelle’s heart sank a
little; but Berwick and Roger had told her they would return on the
Friday night, and nothing could shake her faith in them. They would be
there; sooner or later, they would be there.
Hugo Stein was already present, walking about with his mask in his
hand. He bowed insolently to the Princess, who sat in her chair of
state, unmasked and declining to dance, and she gave him a smile of
contempt which made him long to wring her white neck.
Michelle sat in her place hour after hour, smiling, composed, and
waiting. It was divined at once for whom she was waiting,--in fact,
Hugo Stein had told the Countess Bertha, in tones loud enough for
Michelle to hear, why the Princess waited so patiently, and why she was
so splendidly dressed. Michelle heard him, but did not betray so much
as by the flicker of an eyelash that his words disturbed her. But she
knew that before daylight dawned Berwick and Roger would, as they had
said, be at the palace of Monplaisir.
The balls at this lovely palace were noisily gay, and when, shortly
after midnight, Berwick and Roger, in riding-dress, drew rein before
the palace doors, the throbbing of the music, the shrieks of laughter,
the rhythm of dancing feet were loud in their ears.
Count Bernstein, who received them, looked infinitely surprised, the
more so when Berwick demanded to see the Prince immediately on urgent
affairs.
“It is impossible,” cried Bernstein. “His Highness is this moment at
supper with a choice party of his friends, and cannot be disturbed. He
will see you early to-morrow morning.”
“Count Bernstein,” said Berwick, going up close to him, “tell your
master that the Duke of Berwick wishes to see him immediately, or it
will be the worse for you.”
Bernstein, highly offended, turned away, but he dared not disobey; he,
too, got his share of the two hundred thousand livres.
Berwick and Roger walked about restlessly in the entrance hall. The
dancers saw them, and peered curiously at them. Once, through an open
door, they caught sight of Michelle, a vision in white and pearls and
diamonds, sitting in her chair of state, without a soul near her except
a solitary lady-in-waiting, who yawned behind her fan. The rest, men
and women, were flocking about the Countess Bertha, who held her court
with the Prince at the other end of the saloon.
After a long, long wait, Bernstein came back to say that the Prince
would see them in his closet in an hour.
“It must be a short hour,” was Berwick’s comment on this. They
were shown into the Prince’s closet, the same room where they had
encountered the Countess Bertha three days before. An hour passed. The
clock struck two. There was no lull in the crash of music and the beat
of the dancers’ feet upon the floor.
At half-past two Berwick had just risen to go in person to the Saloon
of the Swans, when the Prince entered. And leaning on his arm was a
masked lady laughing very much at something the Prince was just saying.
It was the Countess Bertha.
“I beg you a thousand pardons, my lord Duke, and you, Mr. Egremont,”
began the Prince, airily, “but the ladies--the ladies bewitched me and
kept me beyond my time.”
“It is nothing, so you are here at last,” was Berwick’s reply.
Countess Bertha sank upon a chair, and removing her mask, fanned
herself with it She had determined to make a stand to be present at the
interview; but apparently no stand was required, as neither Berwick
nor Roger took the least notice of her.
“Sir,” began Berwick, without any circumlocution. “I and Mr. Egremont,
in whose judgment as a military man I have confidence, have visited
within the last two days, Mondberg and Arnheim.”
At this, Prince Karl grew visibly paler; he was naturally of a
cadaverous complexion.
“We find the fortifications in complete order, as you agreed with his
Most Christian Majesty; but instead of the twenty-four bronze guns, of
the latest pattern of ordnance, we found twenty-four dummies, guns made
of some species of composition, painted over to resemble bronze, and
calculated to deceive any one who did not minutely examine them.”
The Prince was quite pale now, and bowed his head on his hand weakly.
“And,” continued Berwick, “we find that they have been removed within
ten days, and they cannot yet have been shipped to England; for that is
their destination. I have come to require of you to replace those guns
where they belong within thirty days, and to dismiss at once Hugo Stein
who acted as agent for the Prince of Orange in this affair.”
The Prince attempted to bluster. “You take a tone with me, my lord
Duke, which a reigning Prince is not accustomed to, and,” rising, “will
not bear. How are you to enforce your demands, sir?”
“By at once notifying the King of France, who will withhold the pension
of two hundred thousand livres which he allows you in the form of a
dowry for the Princess.”
The Prince sat down again.
“And I must desire you,” continued Berwick, “to send immediately for
Hugo Stein, as I wish my interview with him to be in your presence.”
The Prince made no move, and Roger Egremont after waiting a moment rose
and touched the bell. Bernstein appeared so quickly at the door that he
seemed to have been listening outside.
“The Prince desires to see Hugo Stein immediately,” said Roger.
Bernstein looked at the Prince for confirmation, and a faint nod was
enough.
Countess Bertha, ambitious to play the part of a Maintenon, then spoke.
“My advice has not been asked,” she began.
“And will not be, dear lady,” replied Roger promptly. “And if you wish
to remain and hear and see all that passes, you must be very good and
still, else the Duke of Berwick will request to see the Prince in
private, and you will miss a very interesting scene.”
Countess Bertha looked at the Prince, who scowled, and at Berwick, who
smiled, and concluded to hold her tongue.
In a few moments more Hugo Stein walked in. He saluted the Prince
respectfully, and kissed the hand of the Countess Bertha, and then
looking about him, asked suavely,--
“May I ask your Highness’s pleasure?”
His Highness shuffled uneasily in his chair, and mumbled something
indistinctly. Berwick spoke for him in a very cool, calm voice.
“Hugo Stein, the affair of the twenty-four guns is discovered. His
Highness has precisely thirty days in which to replace them, for they
are probably now in the Low Countries, and he has exactly thirty
minutes to get rid of you, intriguer and falsifier that you are.”
Hugo Stein was not deficient in personal courage, when driven to the
wall. But he was so absolutely wedded to his own interest that he
seldom allowed himself the luxury of honest indignation.
“Thirty minutes, have I?” he said. “Are you, James Fitzjames, the ruler
of Orlamunde, or is Prince Karl?”
Berwick turned such a look upon the Prince that he was galvanized into
action.
“I--I--am extremely sorry, Sir Hugo,” he faltered. “As you know, I am
under a very strict agreement,--obligation, one may say,--to His Most
Christian Majesty. The Duke of Berwick has made the demand--I mean the
request--for your dismissal.”
Hugo Stein looked about him at the three men before whom he stood. He
was an inborn time-server, but he was not devoid of sense, nor was
this bastard Egremont devoid of courage. He knew all about the Duke of
Berwick, and knowing the man, he felt a perfect certainty that he would
have to leave Orlamunde. Nevertheless, he would make a fight for it. He
turned to the craven Prince and said, with a low bow,--
“Is your Highness willing to take the responsibility of dismissing the
accredited agent of the King of England at the bidding of the King of
France? I beg an answer.”
This opened a loophole for the poor stupid princeling. He tried to
bluster.
“My lord Duke,” he said, turning to Berwick; “what Sir Hugo Egremont
says is of moment. It will be a very gross affront to the King of
England.”
“No, it will not,” replied Berwick. “Your Highness must be aware that
the King of England dwells at St. Germains, and the Stadtholder of
Holland reigns in England. But that is neither here nor there. If
your Highness does not dismiss this man, you will hear from the King
of France. His message will be brought by a couple of regiments of
tall, stout fellows, who will remain at Orlamunde, to be fed at your
expense, until this man, Hugo Stein, goes. And the soldiers of His Most
Christian Majesty have enormous appetites! They will eat up the palace
of Monplaisir, the schloss in the town, all your Highness’s carriages
and horses, pictures and statues, jewels and money,--everything, in
short, and possibly end by devouring your Highness.”
The Prince wiped his face, which was sicklier, more cadaverous, than
ever. He got up from his chair and sat down again. He looked into Hugo
Stein’s handsome eyes, and saw there the promise of the vengeance of a
desperate man. He looked into Berwick’s, and saw there the promise of
the vengeance of the King of France.
He said no articulate word; but a sound, a motion, conveyed to Hugo
Stein that he was beaten. Countess Bertha sat, inwardly raging, but
afraid to speak. Roger stood, enjoying himself hugely, and feeling
little thrills of happiness run up and down his legs and his back at
the discomfiture of his enemy. Roger could not say, however, that Hugo
showed any discomfiture in his eye. He stood, a smile breaking over his
handsome face, his hand gently tapping his new sword, and had the air
of a man with a card in hand yet.
“So I must go, at the order of the Duke of Berwick? Well, before I pack
my portmanteau to report to his Majesty of England, I desire to see her
Highness the Princess of Orlamunde, in your Highness’s presence; for I
plainly perceive that it is that illustrious lady who is at the bottom
of this. It is she who has kept the French King advised of affairs at
Orlamunde; and it is she who told me, some months ago, that should I
succeed in securing the guns, she would see that I suffered for it.”
Bernstein, who was still hovering about the door, disappeared. There
was deep silence in the little room. Every heart listened to its own
beating. Roger thought that his would break through his ribs, so hard
did it pound them. Through the open door came the echo of dancing and
revelling. And after a pause which seemed interminable, the sweep of
satin garments was heard on the marble floor, and in another moment
Michelle walked into the room. Her face was full of color, and her eyes
sparkled like the diadem she wore. Roger was reminded of her unearthly
beauty on that day when she entered Orlamunde, and on that next, most
ill-fated morning, when she had married the creature before them. She
wore a rich white mantle, and casting it off her bare shoulders, she
said, in her usual sweet and composed voice,--
“I am here at the request of your Highness.”
As she entered, Berwick and Roger Egremont rose and bowed profoundly.
Hugo Stein was already standing, and he did not bow at all; he only
looked at Michelle with an unrelenting smile. The Prince did not budge
at all, nor the Countess Bertha, until she was moved by Roger Egremont,
who, taking her elbow firmly in one hand, gently brought her to her
feet, while with the other hand he tipped her head forward until she
executed a very humble bow.
Michelle flashed a smile at him,--a smile so bright, so full of light
and grace and feeling, that it almost turned him dizzy.
There was a deep, deep, pause. The Prince had not answered Michelle’s
question, and the first voice that spoke was Hugo Stein’s,--cool,
measured, and ineffably wicked.
“Madam,” he said, “his Highness has seen fit to order me from Orlamunde
for alleged political reasons. I foresee that the truth will soon be
out. He has, no doubt, information concerning our attachment. I shall
be compelled to leave you to face the storm alone. But I wish to bear
testimony that I am solely to blame. It was I who sought you out; who,
charmed by your wit, and enchanted by your beauty, gave rein to the
passion you inspired within me. Had the Prince been a more attentive
husband, he would not now be lamenting his own shame. I offer, in his
presence and that of the persons who are now here, to take you away
with me, and to make you my wife as soon as a divorce can be obtained.”
Had the sky above them parted, and the earth beneath them opened, and
the whole world fallen into chaos and old night, there could not have
been more overpowering amazement. It was some minutes before any one
recovered sufficiently to speak, or even to think. Hugo Stein alone
stood in perfect possession of his faculties, looking coolly about
him with an affected humility which could not conceal a sly smile.
What delicious revenge was his! How simple, how comprehensive! How
many did he pay back! That wretched Prince, who, bought by him, could
be frightened by Berwick; that haughty Princess, who had scorned and
humiliated him; and that half-brother, who had so grossly insulted him,
and against whom he had that fierce and vivid hatred which a man always
feels towards one whom he has injured. Hugo Stein had, indeed,--what
the bad in this life, as well as the good, seldom have,--one moment of
perfect and entrancing joy, when everything goes exactly as one wishes.
Roger Egremont was the first to recover his senses. Without a word, but
with a cry like a tiger, he sprang at Hugo’s throat. Berwick, catching
him in a powerful grasp, forced him back into a chair, and held him
there.
The Prince lay back in his chair, livid and panting. He was a very
foolish prince, was this Karl whom Michelle had married, weak of will,
as he was of understanding, and open to suspicion. He had enough that
was human in him to wish to kill the man who asserted that he had
dishonored the Princess, and Hugo, looking back and forth, saw two
pairs of eyes fixed on him with murder in them.
As for Michelle, she stood as if she were turned to stone. One hand she
had partly raised, and she held it unconsciously in the same position,
only a few inches from the top of the carved chair on which she had
been about to place it. Her gaze sought Hugo Stein’s with a look of
wide-eyed horror that was eloquent. Although she spoke not one single
word, that look was accusation enough to condemn him a thousand times
over. She actually appeared to grow taller as she contemplated him, and
the indignation that brought the blood surging to her face, and even to
her white throat, seemed as visible in her fair body as the rising of
the mercury in a glass tube.
There was now no retreat for Hugo Stein, nor did he wish any. He had
this woman--his enemy--in his hand, as he thought, and he had no mercy
on her. He advanced a step, with a hypocritical gesture of deprecation,
and cried,--
“Ah, Michelle, have I not made all the reparation in my power to you?
If it was my fault, as I freely admit, that we had those sweet, stolen
hours together, when we saw into each other’s hearts, and each read the
other like an open book, have I not said, at the very moment of our
detection, that I am ready to marry you the instant the Prince secures
a divorce? And you may yet be Lady Egremont. Look not on me so, love;
remember it was not always that you so regarded me.”
No one interrupted Hugo Stein, as he made this speech, which seemed in
every word the direct inspiration of the Evil One. Berwick was holding
Roger Egremont by main force, or Hugo Stein would never have lived to
finish it. The Prince still cowered in his chair, breathing heavily,
and wiping the cold sweat from his brow.
Suddenly Michelle seemed to come out of the dreadful trance in which
Hugo Stein’s words had cast her. The deep, red color still remained
in her cheeks, and she could not quite restrain the trembling of her
hands, but she relaxed her stony attitude, and, advancing to her
husband, said in a quiet, natural voice,--
“This creature is perfectly sane and responsible, and as such, your
Highness must now and here, this moment, take steps to punish him. I do
not ask his life, although he has forfeited it a thousand times by what
he has said; but I do ask--demand--his immediate arrest, and the most
rigid imprisonment until he recants. After that, it will be time enough
to determine what shall be done with him.”
The Prince sunk farther back into his chair, and looked at Michelle
with hatred and suspicion in his eyes. She waited a moment or two, and
then repeated, word for word, what she had just said.
The Prince still remaining perfectly inert and speechless, Michelle
moved a step nearer to him. She had no more words to waste on him, but
her gaze of concentrated scorn and loathing pierced the armor of his
dulness and wickedness, and he quailed under it.
Hugo Stein smiled, and approaching her, knelt at her feet. He meant to
take her hand and kiss it, but when he was fairly down on his knee,
although her hand was within reach of him, he dared not touch it, and
scrambled foolishly to his feet. It suddenly came over him that, if he
attempted it, he might never get out of that room alive.
There was a perfect silence, except for the faint whisper of music
which floated through the open door from the ball-room of the Saloon of
the Swans. The celestial thrilling of the violins vibrated so softly in
the air that it might have come from another world.
Michelle, after contemplating her husband, turned toward Berwick and
Roger Egremont, and instantly both of them rose to their feet.
“Madam, madam,” cried Roger, almost sobbing, “we will defend you!” He
ran forward and knelt at her feet. Berwick, making a low obeisance to
her, spoke in his usual calm and measured voice.
“Madam,” he said, “Captain Egremont speaks for me as well as for
himself, and I speak for the King of France. His Majesty will wreak
a dreadful vengeance on those who have so deeply injured you. I make
no apology for telling your Highness that you must leave this den of
thieves within the hour. I and Captain Egremont, acting for His Most
Christian Majesty, will take your Highness away; and trust to us to
punish every man and woman at Orlamunde who has injured you!”
At this, he looked menacingly at the Countess Bertha, whom everybody
had forgotten.
“I thank you, my lord Duke, and Captain Egremont,” said Michelle,
making them a sweeping and splendid curtsey. “I leave this place, as
you say, within the hour.”
“How, madam?” feebly demanded the Prince, having at last found his
tongue.
“Like a princess, as I came--in a coach and six,” replied Michelle,
with the utmost coolness.
“But--but--you cannot go, madam. I will not furnish you with a coach
and six.”
At this the Countess Bertha laughed, and Michelle smiled.
“The coach and six are mine,--the gift of my aunt, the Duchess of
Beaumanoir, on my marriage.”
“I will forbid my servants to attend you,” cried the Prince, suddenly
becoming violent.
“Let your Highness be at ease about that,” said Roger Egremont,
respectfully, to the Princess. “I am an excellent coachman, and will
drive your Highness’s coach and six to Paris with pleasure.”
“And I will be your Highness’s footman on this journey,” added Berwick.
“I would recommend your Highness to make ready for your departure, for
it is now near daybreak, and we should leave with the dawn. I will
remain with you, to protect you, while you make your preparations
for leaving--and Mr. Egremont will see that the coach is made ready
immediately.”
“I go to order the coach,” said Roger. “Luckily, we are here as
we arrived from Mondberg, and my horse-pistol is in the holster
of my saddle. A horse-pistol is a powerful persuader under some
circumstances. I beg your Highness will excuse me.”
The Princess nodded graciously, and Roger went out backward. As he
reached the door, he paused, and shaking his fist at the Prince, at
Sir Hugo, and at the Countess Bertha, he bawled,--
“O generation of vipers! infernal scoundrels that you are! As for
you, Hugo Stein, remember your life is forfeit to me a thousand times
over--and prepare you to defend it!”
“I will,” replied Hugo. He was not quite so happy as he had been five
minutes before,--his scheme was not working out so well; but he said
boldly, “And make you ready, Roger Egremont, to defend your own life;
for by God! you will need to.”
“I shall,” replied Roger, “and know you, I fear you not by night or
day, with arms or without, on foot or on horseback. And I say to all of
you--may God’s vengeance alight on you, and may He in His goodness make
me the instrument of it!”
And as he shouted out the words in his rich, full, resonant voice, came
through the open door a burst of triumphant music, louder than any that
had gone before, as if in applause of Roger Egremont’s words.
He ran at full speed out of the palace, on to the terrace, where
a sleepy groom was walking Merrylegs and Berwick’s horse up and
down. The air was keen and fresh; the sky was like a great dome of
mother-of-pearl, with glints of color radiating from the east where a
rosy flush heralded the dawn. Through the open windows came still the
long, drawn sweetness of the violins, and the candles flickered palely
in the coming of the new day.
Roger jumped on Merrylegs, and giving him the spur galloped off to the
palace stables, half a mile away. He roused the sleeping people by
beating with his pistol-butt on the great carved doors of the stables.
Some faint protest was made when he ordered the state equipage of the
Princess.
“Where is your order?” impudently asked the head-groom.
“Here,” replied Roger, clapping his pistol to the man’s head, “and your
order too.”
Three men then jumped to do his bidding. Quickly the horses, six
handsome chestnuts fresh and eager for the road, were harnessed; Roger
stepped upon the lofty box, with its crimson velvet hammer-cloth
embroidered in gold, and followed by Merrylegs, his bridle hooked to
the footman’s strap behind, took the reins, and laying the whip upon
the leaders, the coach lurched forward at a tremendous pace.
When at the palace doors, he brought the horses down from a gallop.
Michelle and Berwick were standing on the marble steps. A great crowd
was assembled, for it had flashed through the palace like lightning
that the Princess was about to leave.
Men, pale after their night’s revelry, women, painted, patched, and
powdered, stood in groups, the cruel light of morning showing them off
hideously. Even the musicians, with their instruments in their arms,
hovered near the doorways, and servants flocked upon the terrace. Some
of these latter were weeping.
The Prince walked up and down the terrace, his sickly face working with
passion; tears even dropped down his sallow cheeks. And from a huge
bull’s-eye over the doorway, Sir Hugo surveyed the scene. He thought
himself quite safe until he noted the pistol lying in the box seat of
the coach beside Roger, who, catching sight of his half-brother, raised
the pistol, and aiming straight at the bull’s-eye, fired. Sir Hugo
dodged just in time--the glass being shattered with a loud noise.
Michelle wore a black hat, and a large black mantle lined with fur
covered her travelling-dress, and in her hand was a box with the jewels
she had brought to Orlamunde. Berwick in one hand carried a small
portmanteau, while with the other he gracefully assisted Michelle. When
she reached the coach, the door of which Berwick respectfully held open
for her, some of the servants--those who were weeping--assembled around
the coach-door. To them, Michelle said in a gentle voice,--
“I thank you for your faithful service. You alone at Monplaisir deserve
that I should say farewell to you. All of my wardrobe, except a few
necessaries, I leave behind for you. The division will be made by any
one of you whom all may agree in selecting. And say to the poor French
artisans in the town that I grieve to leave them unprotected, but if
they have any injuries to complain of after I am gone, bid them write
to me in the care of His Most Christian Majesty of France. Good-bye,
and God bless you.”
The servants bowed low and murmurs arose of--
“Good-bye, your Highness. God preserve your Highness.”
Michelle stepped into the coach, and Berwick shutting the door sprang
up behind in the footman’s place, throwing at the same time the bridle
of Merrylegs and his own horse to two of the men-servants who had been
among those at the coach-door. They mounted and followed.
And thus in her coach and six, with an English gentleman of a great and
ancient family, for her coachman, and an English duke with royal blood
in his veins for her footman, did Michelle, like a princess as she
truly said, leave Orlamunde.
[Illustration: ROGER RAISED THE PISTOL AND FIRED]