One afternoon about four o'clock, as the Princess, leading little
Ignatia, who was daintily dressed in white, was crossing the great hall
of the Hotel Terminus on her way out to drive in the Bois, a rather
slim, dark-haired man, a little under forty, well dressed in a
blue-serge suit, by which it required no second glance to tell that he
was an Englishman, rose shyly from a chair and bowed deeply before her.
At that hour there were only two or three elderly persons in the great
hall, all absorbed in newspapers.
She glanced at the stranger quickly and drew back. At first she did not
recognise him, but an instant later his features became somehow
familiar, although she was puzzled to know where she had met him before.
Where he had bowed to her was at a safe distance from the few other
people in the hall; therefore, noticing her hesitation, the man
exclaimed in English with a smile,--
"I fear that your Imperial Highness does not recollect me, and I trust
that by paying my respects I am not intruding. May I be permitted to
introduce myself? My name is Bourne. We met once in Treysa. Do you
not recollect?"
In an instant the truth recurred to her, and she stood before him
open-mouthed.
"Why, of course!" she exclaimed. "Am I ever likely to forget? And yet
I saw so little of your face on that occasion that I failed now to
recognise you! I am most delighted to meet you again, Mr. Bourne, and
to thank you."
"Thanks are quite unnecessary, Princess," he declared; whereupon in a
low voice she explained that she was there incognito, under the title of
the Baroness Deitel, and urged him not to refer to her true station lest
some might overhear.
"I know quite well that you are here incognito," he said. "And this is
little Ignatia, is it?" and he patted the child's cheeks. Then he
added, "Do you know I have had a very great difficulty in finding you.
I have searched everywhere, and was only successful this morning, when I
saw you driving in the Rue Rivoli and followed you here."
Was this man a secret agent from Treysa, she wondered. In any case,
what did he want with her? She treated him with courtesy, but was at
the same time suspicious of his motive. At heart she was annoyed that
she had been recognised. And yet was she not very deeply indebted to
him?
"Well, Mr. Bourne," said the Princess, drawing herself up, and taking
the child's hand again to go out, "I am very pleased to embrace this
opportunity of thanking you for the great service you rendered me. You
must, however, pardon my failure to recognise you."
"It was only natural," the man exclaimed quickly. "It is I who have to
apologise, your Highness," he whispered. "I have sought you because I
have something of urgent importance to tell you. I beg of you to grant
me an interview somewhere, where we are not seen and where we cannot be
overheard."
She looked at him in surprise. The Englishman's request was a strange
one, yet from his manner she saw that he was in earnest. Why, she
wondered, did he fear being seen with her?
"Cannot you speak here?" she inquired.
"Not in this room, among these people. Are there not any smaller salons
upstairs? they would be empty at this hour. If I recollect aright,
there is a small writing-room at the top of the stairs yonder. I would
beg of your Highness to allow me to speak to you there."
"But what is this secret you have to tell me?" she inquired curiously.
"It surely cannot be of such a nature that you may not explain it in an
undertone here?"
"I must not be seen with you, Princess," he exclaimed quickly. "I run
great risk in speaking with you here in public. I will explain all if
you will only allow me to accompany you to that room."
She hesitated. So ingenious had been the plots formed against her that
she had now grown suspicious of every one. Yet this man was after all a
mystery, and mystery always attracted her, as it always attracts both
women and men equally.
So with some reluctance she turned upon her heel and ascended the
stairs, he following her at a respectful distance.
Their previous meeting had indeed been a strange one.
Fond of horses from her girlhood, she had in Treysa made a point of
driving daily in her high English dogcart, sometimes a single cob, and
sometimes tandem. She was an excellent whip, one of the best in all
Germany, and had even driven her husband's coach on many occasions. On
the summer's afternoon in question, however, she was driving a cob in
one of the main thoroughfares of Treysa, when of a sudden a motor car
had darted past, and the animal, taking fright, had rushed away into the
line of smart carriages approaching on the opposite side of the road.
She saw her peril, but was helpless. The groom sprang out, but so
hurriedly that he fell upon his head, severely injuring himself; while
at that moment, when within an ace of disaster, a man in a grey flannel
suit sprang out from nowhere and seized the bridle, without, however, at
once stopping the horse, which reared, and turning, pinned the stranger
against a tree with the end of one of the shafts.
In an instant a dozen men, recognising who was driving, were upon the
animal, and held it; but the next moment she saw that the man who had
saved her had fallen terribly injured, the shaft having penetrated his
chest, and he was lying unconscious.
Descending, she gazed upon the white face, from the mouth of which blood
was oozing; and having given directions for his immediate conveyance to
the hospital and for report to be made to her as soon as possible, she
returned to the palace in a cab, and telephoned herself to the Court
surgeon, commanding him to do all in his power to aid the sufferer.
Next day she asked permission of the surgeon that she might see the
patient, to thank him and express her sympathy. But over the telephone
came back the reply that the patient was not yet fit to see any one,
and, moreover, had expressed a desire that nobody should come near him
until he had quite recovered.
In the fortnight that went by she inquired after him time after time,
but all that she was able to gather was that his name was Guy Bourne,
and that he was an English banker's clerk from London, spending his
summer holiday in Treysa. She sent him beautiful flowers from the royal
hothouses, and in reply received his thanks for her anxious inquiries.
He told the doctor that he hoped the Princess would not visit him until
he had quite recovered. And this wish of his she had of course
respected. His gallant action had, without a doubt, saved her from a
very serious accident, or she might even have lost her life.
Gradually he recovered from his injuries, which were so severe that for
several days his life was despaired of, and then when convalescent a
curious thing happened.
He one day got up, and without a word of thanks or farewell to doctors,
staff, or to the Crown Princess herself, he went out, and from that
moment all trace had been lost of him.
Her Highness, when she heard of this, was amazed. It seemed to her as
though for some unexplained reason he had no wish to receive her thanks;
or else he was intent on concealing his real identity with some
mysterious motive or other.
She had given orders for inquiry to be made as to who the gallant
Englishman was; but although the secret agents of the Government had
made inquiry in London, their efforts had been futile.
It happened over two years ago. The accident had slipped from her
memory, though more than once she had wondered who might be the man who
had risked his life to save hers, and had then escaped from Treysa
rather than be presented to her.
And now at the moment when she was in sore need of a friend he had
suddenly recognised her, and come forward to reveal himself!
Naturally she had not recognised in the dark, rather handsome face of
the well-dressed Englishman the white, bloodless countenance of the
insensible man with a brass-tipped cart-shaft through his chest. And he
wanted to speak to her in secret? What had he, a perfect stranger, to
tell her?
The small writing-room at the top of the stairs was fortunately empty,
and a moment later he followed her into it, and closed the door.
Little Ignatia looked with big, wondering eyes at the stranger. The
Princess seated herself in a chair, and invited the Englishman to take
one.
"Princess," he said in a refined voice, "I desire most humbly to
apologise for making myself known to you, but it is unfortunately
necessary."
"Unfortunately?" she echoed. "Why unfortunately, Mr. Bourne, when you
risked your life for mine? At that moment you only saw a woman in grave
peril; you were not aware of my station."
"That is perfectly true," he said quietly. "When they told me at the
hospital who you were, and when you sent me those lovely flowers and
fruit, I was filled with--well, with shame."
"Why with shame?" she asked. "You surely had no need to be ashamed of
your action? On the contrary, the King's intention was to decorate you
on account of your brave action, and had already given orders for a
letter to be sent to your own King in London, asking his Majesty to
allow you as a British subject to receive and wear the insignia of the
Order of the Crown and Sword."
"And I escaped from Treysa just in time," he laughed. Then he added,
"To tell you the truth, Princess, it is very fortunate that I left
before--well, before you could see me, and before his Majesty could
confer the decoration."
"But why?" she asked. "I must confess that your action in escaping as
you did entirely mystified me."
"You were annoyed that I was ungentlemanly enough to run away without
thanking your Highness for all your solicitude on my behalf, and for
sending the surgeon of the royal household to attend to my injuries.
But, believe me, I am most deeply and sincerely grateful. It was not
ingratitude which caused me to leave Treysa in secret as I did, but my
flight was necessary."
"Necessary? I don't understand you."
"Well, I had a motive in leaving without telling any one."
"Ah, a private motive!" she said--"something concerning your own private
affairs, I suppose?"
He nodded in the affirmative. How could he tell her the truth?
His disinclination to explain the reason puzzled her sorely. That he
was a gallant man who had saved a woman without thought of praise or of
reward was proved beyond doubt, yet there was something curiously
mysterious about him which attracted her. Other men would have at least
been proud to receive the thanks and decoration of a reigning sovereign,
while he had utterly ignored them. Was he an anarchist?
"Princess," he said at last, rising from his chair and flushing
slightly, "the reason I have sought you to-day is not because of the
past, but is on account of the present."
"The present! why?"
"I--I hardly know what to say, Princess," he said confusedly. "Two
years ago I fled from you because you should not know the truth--because
I was in fear. And now Fate brings me again in your path in a manner
which condemns me."
"Mr. Bourne, why don't you speak more plainly? These enigmas I really
cannot understand. You saved my life, or at least saved me from a very
serious accident, and yet you escaped before I could thank you
personally. To-day you have met me, and you tell me that you escaped
because you feared to meet me."
"It is the truth, your Highness. I feared to meet you," he said, "and,
believe me, I should not have sought you to-day were it not of most
urgent necessity."
"But why did you fear to meet me?"
"I did not wish you to discover what I really am," he said, his face
flushing with shame.
"Are you so very timid?" she asked with a light laugh.
But in an instant she grew serious. She saw that she had approached
some sore subject, and regretted. The Englishman was a strange person,
to say the least, she thought.
"I have nothing to say in self-defence, Princess," he said very simply.
"The trammels of our narrow world are so hypocritical, our laws so
farcical and full of incongruities, and our civilisation so fraught with
the snortings of Mother Grundy, that I can only tell you the truth and
offer no defence. I know from the newspapers of your present perilous
position, and of what is said against you. If you will permit me to say
so, you have all my sympathy." And he paused and looked straight into
her face, while little Ignatia gazed at him in wonder.
"I wonder if your Highness will forgive me if I tell you the truth?" he
went on, as though speaking to himself.
"Forgive you? Why, of course," she laughed. "What is there to
forgive?"
"Very much, Princess," he said gravely. "I--I'm ashamed to stand here
before you and confess; yet I beg of you to forgive me, and to accept my
declaration that the fault is not entirely my own."
"The fault of what?" she inquired, not understanding him.
"I will speak plainly, because I know that your good nature and your
self-avowed indebtedness to me--little as that indebtedness is--will not
allow you to betray me," he said in a low, earnest tone. "You will
recollect that on your Highness's arrival at the Gare de l'Est your
dressing-bag was stolen, and within it were your jewels--your most
precious possession at this critical moment of your life?"
"Yes," she said in a hard voice of surprise, her brows contracting, for
she was not yet satisfied as to the stranger's _bona fides_. "My bag
was stolen."
"Princess," he continued, "let me, in all humility, speak the truth.
The reason of my escape from Treysa was because your police held a
photograph of me, and I feared that I might be identified. I am a
thief--one of an international gang. And--and I pray you to forgive me,
and to preserve my secret," he faltered, his cheeks again colouring.
"Your jewels are intact, and in my possession. You can now realise
quite plainly why--why I escaped from Treysa!"
She held her breath, staring at him utterly stupefied. This man who had
saved her, and so nearly lost his own life in the attempt, was a thief!