TO OBLIGE A LADY.
The next day was that appointed for the fateful hunting-party, and
when Caerleon and Cyril bade farewell to Prince Alexis, who was
returning for a few days to his capital of Bashi Konak, they were both
conscious of concealing a good deal of excitement under a veil of
calmness. Cyril fancied that there was a twinkle in the Prince’s eye
as he wished them good sport, and he was roused again to wonder
whether their guest knew anything of the affair in hand. However this
might be, he departed without making any allusion to it, and Cyril
awoke to the fact that Caerleon, who now realised for the first time
the full falseness of his position, was in a state of misery and
nervousness only to be described as pitiable. When Cyril recognised
this fact he was appalled, for it seemed to him that the mere sight of
his brother’s face was enough to betray to King Johann the artifice
which had been employed against him; but presently he reflected that
Caerleon’s disquietude and evident unhappiness fitted in exactly with
the story he had told the King, and his mind was at ease as they rode
through the forest together. At Schloss Herzensruh every one was
waiting to start for the forest, and the lawn in front of the windows
was occupied by a confused group of jägers, dogs, and beaters. The
Queen did not appear on this occasion, but the King hurried to greet
the brothers, and presented Caerleon at once to Princess Ottilie, who
was looking sportsmanlike and ready for business in a French _costume
de chasse_, with leather-faced skirt and many-pocketed jacket all
complete, while a jäger behind her was holding her neat little rifle.
“I know how fond of sport you English are, and therefore I gave my
daughter directions to wear this dress to-day in compliment to your
brother,” said the King, complacently, to Cyril, when they had
withdrawn a step or two from the pair, leaving Caerleon to devise and
utter incoherent remarks on the weather, which were received by the
Princess with demure politeness.
“And Caerleon bars a shooting woman above all things!” was Cyril’s
agonised mental comment, even while he was assuring the King that
although the Princess would look charming in anything, she was
absolutely irresistible in hunting costume. But as he spoke, his
thoughts were wandering, for it struck him that Princess Ottilie
appeared to be very favourably inclined towards Caerleon. There was a
hint of pleased excitement in her manner, which even the delight of
wearing the most _chic_ and becoming of new dresses seemed inadequate
to produce; and when, in response to one of her companion’s laboured
remarks, she raised her eyes smilingly and scanned his face, it
appeared to Cyril that the expression in them was more than friendly.
The thought almost made him giddy. What if the whim of a
strong-willed, fickle girl should succeed in doing what he and M.
Drakovics, with all their statesmanship, had failed to achieve, and
bring about Caerleon’s marriage with her? Although he had suggested
the possibility of such a thing in order to comfort the Premier, he
had never regarded it seriously himself; but now it struck him as by
no means unlikely that Princess Ottilie might refuse to grant her
unwilling suitor the dismissal he craved, in which case, Cyril
decided, his brother would feel himself compelled to marry her. At
this point the voice of King Johann broke in on his meditations.
“I am about to desire my daughter to show his Majesty the path through
the forest which leads to the withered pine, a familiar landmark
here,” said the King. “You and I will then lead the hunt in the
opposite direction.”
“Excuse me,” said Cyril, hastily, “but I am afraid that such evident
assistance would simply render my brother incapable of addressing
himself to her Royal Highness at all. If we keep to our present order,
your Majesty and I and the servants can easily turn into a fresh path
when we are once in the wood.”
The King agreed to this plan, although not without some hesitation,
and Cyril manœuvred the army of beaters so adroitly that before they
had been ten minutes in the forest Caerleon and the Princess found
themselves alone. The result of the discovery was absolutely to
deprive Caerleon of the power of speech, and he walked on in silence
beside his companion, who was firing off nervous little sentences at
intervals. We are told, by those who should be well qualified to speak
on the subject, that words are apt to fail him who desires to offer
his hand and heart to the girl of his choice; but what is his
difficulty compared with that of the man who finds it his duty to
explain to an expectant lady why he does _not_ propose? The cold sweat
stood on Caerleon’s brow as the Princess ceased her spasmodic remarks
abruptly, and appeared from her silence to be expecting him to speak;
but after an awful five minutes, in the course of which he twice
cleared his throat and made a vain attempt to say something--it did
not matter what--she herself, to his astonishment, broke the ice.
“I--I have something to say to your Majesty,” she began. “You have
come here with the intention of--of marrying me----”
This was more and more terrible. It rushed into Caerleon’s tortured
mind that Princess Ottilie must belong to a German variety of the New
Woman, and that she was going to propose to him. How was he to manage
to refuse her? She must be stopped at any cost.
“On the contrary,” he interrupted, floundering desperately into what
he had to say--“your Highness is mistaken. I have no desire--no
intention--no--no hope of marrying you.”
“Indeed!” cried Princess Ottilie, facing him with crimson cheeks and
flashing eyes. “Then pray understand that your feelings are entirely
reciprocated. I have no desire--no intention of marrying your
Majesty,” and she made him an elaborate curtsey, which was rather
incongruous when taken in conjunction with her gaiters and short
skirts. But Caerleon was far too deeply impressed with the conviction
that he had blundered horribly in beginning his delicate task to
notice anything of the kind.
“I assure you,” he said, earnestly, “that nothing could be further
from my mind than to wish to insult your Royal Highness. I can only
ask you to pardon my bungling way of expressing myself. I came here
intending to throw myself upon your mercy, and beg you to release me
from an engagement which was entered into without my consent.”
Princess Ottilie still stood angry and irresolute, darting distrustful
glances at him, but it seemed to Caerleon that she was more disposed
to listen than at first. He hurried on--
“I will speak to you freely, Princess--not that I am ashamed of what I
have to say; quite the contrary. There is a lady whom I love, and whom
I would give anything to marry. But she has refused me--she is not of
royal blood, and she considers that it would be prejudicial to the
interests of Thracia were she to marry me. I have no hope of getting
her to change her mind so long as I remain on the throne, but I will
never marry any one else. It would be perjury. When I heard that
Drakovics had set on foot negotiations for my marriage with you I was
horror-struck, and tried to break them off at once. But it was pointed
out to me that this might seem to cast a slur on you, and so--I didn’t
do it. I think you will see that if I acted wrongly it was because I
was desirous of doing nothing to hurt your feelings. I am truly sorry
if what I said at first sounded rude, but I was anxious to get you to
refuse me. You see that I could not possibly marry you, since I love
Nadia.”
“Nadia--is that her name?” asked the Princess, sharply. She had been
standing motionless, biting her glove, during Caerleon’s laboured and
stammering harangue, her brows contracted into an anxious frown, but
now her face relaxed. “I like to hear you say it. Your voice sounds as
if you loved her. If I wished to tease you, I might insist on holding
you to your engagement, but I don’t, for”--and she mimicked the words
he had uttered some minutes before--“I also came here intending to
throw myself on your mercy, and beg you to release me from an
engagement which was entered into without my consent. Only,” and her
voice took a tone of entreaty, “I have more to ask than you.”
“If I can help you in any way, pray command me,” said Caerleon,
inexpressibly relieved to find himself transformed from a suppliant
into a possible benefactor.
Princess Ottilie smiled anxiously. “You don’t know what you are
promising, but I shall hold you to your offer. I am going to confide
to you something that no one knows except my mother. It is she who has
advised me to consult you, for she has the greatest confidence in your
honour and discretion.”
This was spoken very quickly, as if it was a lesson, and Caerleon
could only say that, in so far as it rested with him, the Queen and
Princess should have no cause to repent of the honour they were doing
him.
Almost before the words were out of his mouth, the girl went on
speaking hurriedly, walking fast with her face turned away from him,
and her hands twisting themselves nervously together: “I also have a
romance, your Majesty--a love-story, you call it. After I had visited
England with my parents two years ago, we spent some weeks at
Pavelsburg, and there I met some one--a distant relation of my
mother’s. All these political troubles had not happened then”--she
looked up at him piteously--“and I might follow the dictates of my own
heart. My father and mother were delighted; the Emperor was pleased.
We could not help loving one another; but what happened afterwards
would not have seemed so hard if all had not been so bright at first.
He had spoken to my mother; she had told my father; but our engagement
was not to be announced until we returned home, and the betrothal
could take place publicly. But when we reached Eusebia, everything was
changed. Your revolution--the Thracian revolution--had taken place;
Scythia and Pannonia had quarrelled; the statesmen were playing chess
on the map of Europe, and he and I were two of the pawns. He is
related to the imperial family of Scythia, and Pannonia could not
allow Scythian influence in the Balkans to be strengthened by his
marriage with me. They did not tell us plainly that our duty compelled
us to part,--they worked underground, through the Grand Duke, my
father’s uncle; they sowed dissension between my father and mother;
they made our home miserable; they have parted my Prince and me. That
is my story, and no one has any pity for us.”
She paused and wrung her hands, her dark eyes searching Caerleon’s
face, her lips quivering painfully.
“Don’t cry,” he said in alarm. “If I can help you I will. What is it
that you want me to do?”
“There is no one I can trust, no one who will help me. My father
orders me to marry you, and Pannonia and the whole of our own family
are behind him. I could not escape; they would track me all over the
world. My only hope is to divert their attention altogether for a
time--for a few days, and so to obtain the chance of marrying my
Prince.”
“But who is he--this happy man?” asked Caerleon.
“Alexis Alexievitch,” she replied, with a vivid blush.
“The Prince of Dardania!” cried Caerleon. “Why, we have been hunting
together for a week, and he has never said a word about this.”
“He was to leave it all to me, unless he found some unexpected
opportunity,” said the Princess. “He is making all the preparations.
It is a difficult matter, because we must be married both by Greek and
Lutheran rites, and he has found it best to bring a pastor from
Weldart, from my mother’s people. The pastor cannot arrive for a week,
and we must bridge over that time until I can escape into Dardanian
territory, and be married. Now, do you see what I want you to do?”
“I really don’t,” said Caerleon, the wildest ideas of personation,
elopement, and abduction chasing one another through his brain.
“I should have thought it was simple enough,” said the Princess, with
a certain amount of contempt. “That week must be filled up, and
therefore I want you to engage yourself to me for that time.”
“Oh!” said Caerleon, stupidly. “But I thought you made a very solemn
ceremony of your betrothals here?”
“And you think your Mdlle. Nadia might object? Well, I will promise
you by anything you like that I will not hold you to the engagement.”
“It’s not that,” he said, gruffly. “I am not going to tell a pack of
lies.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the Princess in her turn. “But I’m afraid I can’t tell
them for you. Do you really mind going through the form of betrothal,
knowing that neither of us means it? You can say the words without
intention, or with a mental reservation, you know. No? Well, I see
what we must do. The betrothal must be put off for a week. I have sent
for a new dress from Paris, and I will not appear at the ceremony
until I have it to wear. My father will allow that plea. Have you not
noticed that men who will calmly break a woman’s heart in a great
matter, will let her have her way without difficulty in a little one,
especially if it has anything to do with dress? It will be generally
understood that we are engaged, and that will put the
Schwarzwald-Molzaus off the scent.”
“But I can’t say that I want to marry you when I don’t,” objected
Caerleon.
“Did they teach your Majesty that story about George Washington very
carefully when you were a little boy? I have toiled through his
history often, but it never left such a deep impression on me. Very
well, you must say that you will marry me if I am willing, and I will
say the same about you. That will make us both safe.”
“But, excuse me,” said Caerleon, “is all this really necessary? Don’t
you think that if I spoke to your father, and told him what your
feelings were, and interceded with him on behalf of Prince Alexis, he
might relent?”
Princess Ottilie’s eyes flashed. “Your Majesty,” she said, “my mother
went down on her knees to my father to entreat his pity for me, his
only child, and without avail. Do you think that a stranger’s
intercessions would have more effect on him?”
“But have you tried telling him that your happiness depends on this
marriage, and refusing to have anything to say to any one but the
Prince?”
“No; I have not done so lately,” said the Princess, in a peculiar
tone. “I did at first; but do you know what the consequence would have
been if I had persisted? They would have banished my mother from the
kingdom, or imprisoned her in a fortress, and what could I have done
then? Therefore I said no more. Of late we have endeavoured to appear
resigned to our fate, confiding in your honour and generosity.”
“But would it not put things right if I were to withdraw from my
proposal at once?”
“So far right that my father would oblige me to marry one of my
cousins, the Schwarzwald-Molzaus, instead of you, and I could look for
no mercy from him. You must help me. You cannot leave me to my misery,
when I have trusted you in this way. Help me for the sake of your own
Nadia, as you would wish another man to help her if she were in my
place. Oh, your Majesty, you cannot refuse me!”
“Very well. I’ll do what I can,” said Caerleon, rather grudgingly, as
it seemed even to himself, but the idea of the suggested deception was
hateful to him.
“And you will tell no one what has passed between us?”
“Of course I won’t repeat your confidences without your permission.”
“Not even to your brother?”
“Not even to him, if you would rather not, though I don’t think I have
ever kept anything secret from him before.”
“Your brother above all,” repeated the Princess, emphatically. “On
your honour?”
“You don’t seem to trust him,” said Caerleon, feeling hurt.
“Not at all. It is simply that I owe him a little grudge. You know
that he visited my father here nearly three weeks ago? I want to play
him a trick in return for some things he did then. You understand, it
is a whim of mine?”
“Yes,” returned Caerleon, only half satisfied.
“Ah! well, your Majesty, we are engaged--for a week. It will be
necessary for us to appear in public together, but I will do my best
not to be a very exacting companion. I know that you English do not
make as much of betrothal as we Molzäuers do. Still, one must keep up
appearances. I look to you to play your part.”
“In this way?” asked Caerleon, provoked by her mischievous tone, as he
raised her hand to his lips.
“Ah, that is your custom? We in Germany should think it a little cold.
If anything more is requisite, pray do the proper thing, without
considering my feelings.”
“If my brother was here he would make a pretty speech about the
honour’s being too great for safety,” said Caerleon. “I am not a good
hand at compliments, and so, Princess, I must simply ask you not to
tempt me.”
“Which is a polite way of saying that you decline the honour,” said
the Princess, pouting slightly, and trying to withdraw her hand. At
this interesting moment King Johann and Cyril, followed by the
jägers, appeared at the end of the path. Cyril and the servants drew
back hastily, but the King advanced with much dignity, and approached
the pair.
“Is it possible that the dearest wish of my heart is granted me?” he
asked in a voice broken by emotion. “You have arrived at an
understanding?”
“If the Princess will take me, I hope--er--er--I am ready--er--I will
marry her,” stammered Caerleon.
“And if his Majesty will have me, I shall welcome the honour of
marrying him,” said Princess Ottilie boldly, a mischievous light in
her black eyes.
“Then you really are engaged to her?” asked Cyril, incredulously, when
the brothers next found themselves alone together.
“I suppose so,” returned Caerleon, gruffly enough.
“Well I am most extraordinarily delighted to hear it, of course.
Congrats, and all that sort of thing, old man. I suppose she wouldn’t
let you off?”
“That’s about it.”
“You ought to feel flattered by that, at any rate. She’s an awfully
good-looking girl,--any amount of go in her. I shouldn’t wonder if you
find her rather overpowering though, just at first. I’ll take her off
your hands now and then if you do. She’ll think a heap more of you if
you are busy sometimes.”
“I should have thought you would have recommended me to try and get
used to her if I have got to marry her,” growled Caerleon.
Cyril laughed.
“What, in these progressive days?” he asked. “You are behind the age,
old man. You will contrive to exist very happily together by making
sure of never finding yourselves in the same place at the same time.”
And he went away to draw up an official announcement to be sent to M.
Drakovics for insertion in a special Gazette, stigmatising the
circumstantial reports which had appeared of late on the subject of
the King’s approaching marriage as absurdly premature, since the date
even of the betrothal was not yet fixed. As for Caerleon, he prepared
with a failing heart for his interview with the Queen, who had
expressed a desire to see her daughter’s _fiancé_. The King himself
led him into the boudoir where the Queen sat knitting, and was much
relieved to see her kiss him on the forehead when he stooped to kiss
her hand. He had feared that although Princess Ottilie had proved
unexpectedly pliable, her mother would be more difficult to persuade;
and he ascribed the gratifying reality partly to the Queen’s sense of
his own masterful personality, and partly to the liking she had
already expressed for her future son-in-law. Pitying the young man’s
evident shyness and misery, King Johann volunteered to leave him alone
with the Queen for a time lest his presence should prove a restraint
on their mutual confidences, and the moment that he had left the room
the Queen dropped her knitting and sat upright.
“I can never thank you sufficiently for what you have done to-day,”
she said, in a quick sharp whisper. “You have helped me to save my
child.”
“I am very glad if I have been so fortunate as to please you,” said
Caerleon, lamely.
“My daughter has told me your story,” the Queen went on. “Your
confidence in her has touched us both extremely. If ever I can in any
way serve or befriend the young lady whom you love, I rely upon you to
turn to me without hesitation.”
“Your Majesty is too good,” stammered Caerleon.
“There is one thing I wish to say while we are alone,” continued the
Queen, rapidly. “It is uncertain when Prince Alexis will be able to
complete the arrangements for the wedding, and even when I know the
day I will not tell you. You are to be completely ignorant. The news
must surprise you as much as any one. I am afraid that your engagement
must last at least eight days; but you know that it is not now
proposed to celebrate the betrothal until ten days hence. I hope you
will not find the time very irksome, but my child is a little wayward
occasionally. Here comes the King.”
When Caerleon went out from the Queen’s boudoir, with the King’s arm
in his, it was to begin the most horrible fortnight of his life. If he
had done wrong in yielding to Princess Ottilie’s entreaties, he was
amply punished for it as the days went on. He loathed the idea of
deceiving the King, tyrannical and weak-minded though he was; he
loathed the delighted congratulations which came pouring in through M.
Drakovics from all Thracia as soon as it became known that the date of
the betrothal was actually fixed. He was deceiving the man whose bread
he was eating, for on the return from the hunt the King had insisted
that the brothers should take up their quarters at Schloss Herzensruh;
he was deceiving Cyril, who had never, so he fondly believed,
concealed a thought from him; he was deceiving his simple-minded
subjects, and he was laying up a store of self-loathing which became
in course of time almost unbearable. And, worst of all, he was turning
his back on Nadia, forsaking her, and, so far as the world could see,
preparing to marry another girl, exactly as she had begged him to do,
and prophesied that he would do. This last aspect of the case would
have made the situation intolerable to a woman, but Caerleon was
possessed of a dogged patience which forced him to go on to the bitter
end, having once given his promise to Princess Ottilie. But he
discovered very soon that, although it had been easy enough to offer
her his help in the forest, with her tearful eyes fixed upon him and
her indignant voice ringing in his ears, it was much more difficult to
carry out his promise gracefully.
He did his best, although it must be confessed that that best was but
poor. When Cyril suggested mildly that it was usual to send presents
to the lady in the course of an engagement, he followed his advice,
and telegraphed to Paris and Vienna orders for jewellery and objects
of art; but he did so with the bitter recollection that he had never
given Nadia so much as a keepsake, while here he was showering costly
gifts upon a girl for whom he did not care a straw. It was the same
with the rides, on which it was the Princess’s will and pleasure that
he should accompany her at least once a-day. He had never had the
chance of riding with Nadia; but he had little opportunity of
forgetting that Princess Ottilie had a splendid seat, and rode like an
Englishwoman, as Cyril told her once, assuring her at the same time
that it was the highest compliment he could pay her. At first, indeed,
Caerleon welcomed the prospect of the rides, as likely to restrict his
intercourse with his _fiancée_ to the polite and friendly terms on
which he felt it was both right and reasonable they should meet. But
he had reckoned without Princess Ottilie, even as he had left out of
his calculations the enterprising photographers who travelled from
Bellaviste and Eusebia, and arranged cameras in ambush by the side of
the road along which the riders were to pass, and the enthusiastic
amateurs who took snap-shots at them with kodaks. The Princess had
eyes like a hawk, and could detect the most artfully concealed camera
some minutes before she came abreast of it, and distinguish a
photographic maniac at any distance, and at the crucial moment she
would begin a confidential low-toned conversation, which obliged
Caerleon to lean politely towards her in order to hear what she said;
or she would drop her riding-whip. It was against his principles, she
had discovered, to allow the groom to pick it up, and thus she had the
pleasure of seeing him dismount and rescue it himself, while the
lurking enemy gloated over the negative he had secured, which was
destined to appear after the lapse of a week or two, in a more or less
appalling guise, in one of the Continental illustrated journals.
“It isn’t the riding I mind, but I do bar her tricks,” Caerleon
bemoaned himself one day to Cyril, who had witnessed an incident of
this kind.
“Never mind,” said Cyril. “She only wants to show you off.”
“If she carries on much more, I shall cut,” said the victim, gloomily.
“Beastly mean, if you do,” said Cyril. “The girl’s awfully gone on
you. When I get her alone sometimes, and sing your praises to her, you
should see how pleased she is. Don’t be a fool, old man. Any other
chap would think himself in clover to have a smart, good-looking girl,
and a princess too, in love with him to such an extent.”
“Well, I shall get thrown, then. That will stop the rides, at any
rate.”
“Don’t, if you take my advice. She will insist on nursing you--rather
like it than otherwise. As to your finding it a bore to go out with
her----”
“I shouldn’t, if I wasn’t engaged to her,” groaned Caerleon.
“Oh, Lothario!” laughed Cyril, but he forbore to pursue the subject
further. He was so highly delighted by the unexpected success of his
diplomacy that he could afford to be generous. How the Princess had
managed to draw Caerleon into the engagement he could not guess, but
he was the last man in the world to quarrel with the accomplished
fact. He could stand a good deal from Caerleon in these days, he told
himself, taking credit for extraordinary forbearance towards a fellow
who was as bad as a bear with a sore head. Why couldn’t he put a good
face on it, as the Princess did? She had been obliged to discard her
old love, but she didn’t let the fact spoil all her enjoyment of
life--not she.
As will have been observed, Caerleon’s task was not made easier by his
_fiancée_. Princess Ottilie saw the full comedy of the situation,
where he perceived only its tragic irony, and she took a lively
pleasure in emphasising the details of the plot. A born actress, no
mere tame acceptance of facts would content her, and she played
shamelessly to the gallery. Ordinary love-making was poor,--everything
for her must be intense, and surcharged with meaning. She never left
Caerleon alone. Loving epithets flowed from her lips in a way that
made him feel that he must be blushing scarlet a dozen times a-day.
She claimed his time and attention as a right, obliged him to assist
her in the most incongruous tasks, made him turn over the pages of her
music for her during what seemed interminable hours (she was a most
accomplished musician), and appealed in an injured tone to Cyril, or
the Queen, or the ladies-in-waiting, if he showed signs of fatigue or
preoccupation. The general effect produced was that of a modern and
substantial Titania wooing a singularly unresponsive clown, to the
great edification of the beholders.