OVER THE BORDER AND AWAY.
Cyril’s appearance at so late an hour caused some surprise at
Schloss Herzensruh, but his ostensible errand did not take long to
perform. After receiving a promise from the high functionary to whom
he delivered the jewels that they should be placed in the Princess’s
hands immediately, and declining alike the King’s invitation to come
in and rest and his offer of an escort through the forest, he was very
soon outside the grounds again. When he had gone far enough to be out
of sight of any one who might be looking after him from the porter’s
lodge, he turned aside from the path, and made his way to the little
door in the wall which Prince Alexis had described to him. It opened
immediately at his third knock, and in the shadow behind it he saw two
ladies standing, the taller of whom was unmistakably the Queen.
“I was not expecting you, Lord Cyril,” she said, but without any show
of surprise.
“The Prince of Dardania has intrusted me with the honour of escorting
Fräulein von Staubach over the frontier into his territory, your
Majesty,” said Cyril, while the other lady giggled hysterically.
“My Sophie, control yourself,” said the Queen, with an authoritative
touch on her shoulder. “You have met Lord Cyril Mortimer before, I
think? I will not keep you here, in case my absence should be
remarked. Lord Cyril, I may trust you?”
“I will do my best to justify the confidence which your Majesty and
the Prince are reposing in me,” said Cyril. “But if you will pardon my
hurrying you, I think that Fräulein von Staubach and I ought to start
at once. We have a fairly long ride before us.”
“Farewell, my child!” said the Queen, pressing what struck Cyril as a
very affectionate kiss on the girl’s forehead. “I shall expect to hear
from you to-morrow.”
Fräulein von Staubach’s reply was inaudible; but she threw her arms
round the Queen’s neck and kissed her vehemently, then, without
looking back, she took Cyril’s offered arm and walked quickly away
with him, the Queen locking the door after them. As they picked their
way among the tree-trunks--for Cyril thought it better not to keep to
the path--he stole a look once and again at his companion when they
came to a patch of moonlight. She was of middle height, and apparently
rather stout, although this might be the fault of her wraps, and her
fair hair was elaborately frizzed in front, and gathered into the
fashionable lump behind. Her eyes were concealed by her spectacles;
but Cyril could just distinguish that her eyebrows were so fair as to
be almost colourless under the long gauze veil which covered her face,
and was tied in a bow under her chin. So far as he could tell, she was
wearing a white evening dress, with the train carefully looped up, and
a heavy fur cloak over it. A less suitable costume for a midnight ride
in winter could scarcely be imagined, and he remarked that it might
have been wise to come in a riding-habit.
“Oh, but I could not be married in a habit. What a hideous idea!” she
exclaimed, in a high-pitched voice with a marked Low German accent,
such as after that night Cyril could never hear without a shudder.
“I fear you will find it difficult to ride in that dress,” he
persisted.
“It will be difficult for me to ride at all,” she said, with a giggle;
and Cyril restrained with difficulty an exclamation of disgust. It
began to be clear to him now why the Prince had so readily resigned to
him the honour of escorting his bride from her old to her new home.
They had reached the horses by this time, and Cyril prepared to assist
his charge to mount.
“Put your left hand on my shoulder, and hold the pommel with your
right,” he said; “and give me your left foot. Now, spring!”
He gave a mighty heave, and the lady sprang; but with such ill success
that she came down again in the same place. A second and a third
attempt failed in like manner, and Cyril lost patience.
“If I can’t mount you this time, Fräulein, I shall be obliged to take
you back to the castle. It won’t do to keep you poised in mid-air all
night.”
On this occasion, however, they were successful, thanks to a frantic
effort on the part of Fräulein von Staubach, and Cyril mounted his
own horse (the animals were fortunately quiet ones) and guided both
into the path.
“Try to sit a little straighter in your saddle,” he said to his
companion. “If the beast begins to trot, you will go off.”
“Oh no!” she giggled shrilly. “I shall hold round his neck.”
Cyril was silent in deep disgust, and resolved mentally that he would
not speak to her again; but when a disposition on the part of the
horses to break into a trot had been checked two or three times by
little screams from her, he remarked drily--
“We shall never reach the palace to-night at this rate.”
“Never mind me, then, _Mein Herr_, I will hold to the pommel,” she
responded valiantly, and Cyril set his teeth hard and urged the horses
on. In some wonderful way his companion managed to keep her seat, and,
with the help of a few directions from him, got on better than he had
expected, although he still muttered wrathfully to himself that he was
thankful there was no one about to see him giving riding-lessons to a
_sack_! Slowly the long miles were covered, and midnight had passed
when the riders entered the courtyard of the Prince of Dardania’s
palace, which Cyril had already visited with Caerleon. Here all was
bustle, servants bearing torches were ranged on either side of the
door, and Prince Alexis himself hastened anxiously forward to receive
his bride, who slipped from her horse into his arms with a hysterical
laugh.
“It has been almost too much!” Cyril heard her say, as the Prince led
her up the steps, and it struck him that she had visibly increased in
height since his first glimpse of her in the castle garden.
“I’ve heard of people who got two inches taller owing to the
consciousness of success, but I never saw it happen before,” he said
to himself, as he gave the horses into the charge of a servant, and
allowed himself to be conducted into the palace by a bowing official.
The door opened into a great hall, through which Prince Alexis had
just led his bride into a side room, where Cyril had a momentary view
of a number of Dardanian ladies, evidently of high rank, gathering
around their future Princess; but his guide conducted him through a
long passage into a chapel, where everything was in readiness for the
celebration of the Greek marriage-rite. The space on one side of the
aisle was filled with Dardanian chiefs and nobles, splendid-looking
men in gorgeous national costumes; and as Cyril was ushered to his
place among them, he wondered how long it would be before a similar
throng was gathered together for Caerleon’s wedding, and how many
different religious ceremonies it would take to marry him. He had
abundant opportunity for meditation, for the Lutheran rite was
proceeding in another room; but after a while the vacant seats on the
other side of the chapel were filled by the ladies of whom he had
caught a glimpse, and the bride and bridegroom entered, and advanced
up the aisle. The lady’s face was hidden by an elaborate lace veil,
and Cyril felt a momentary curiosity as to the means by which she had
managed to bring it with her; but his attention was soon distracted to
more important details. The half-married bride was undoubtedly taller
than she had appeared in the garden, and carried herself regally; and
as Cyril gazed at her by the flickering light of the lamps burning
before the sacred pictures and on the dais, it struck him that she was
otherwise altered. Fräulein von Staubach was fair, but he was almost
certain that this girl’s knot of hair was dark; and when she turned
her head for a moment, it seemed to him that her eyebrows also were
dark and strongly marked.
What had happened? What was the meaning of this enigma? Had he been
fooled? He listened eagerly to the words of the priest, trying to
discover some clue to the mystery; but he was unacquainted with the
service and with the language in which it was conducted, and he had no
prayer-book. He gathered that some question was being asked of the
bridegroom; but strain his ears as he would, he could not distinguish
in it the name of Sophie von Staubach, while for one awful instant he
was haunted by the dread that he had heard the words Ottilie Ivanovna.
A moment or two more, and his fear was confirmed, for the question
addressed to the bride was answered, not in the shrill Low German
accents of Fräulein von Staubach, but in the clear decided tones of
Princess Ottilie. Cyril was standing quietly by, while his brother’s
bride was married to another man before his eyes! He sprang forward,
but a hand laid upon his shoulder on either side held him back. He was
gripped by the two stalwart Dardanians between whom he was standing.
“Monsieur must not disturb the ceremony,” said one of them in bad
French; and Cyril, seeing that he was overmatched, resisted the
temptation to disturb the ceremony to some purpose by a shout
proclaiming the falseness of the bride, and remained mute and
motionless throughout the protracted rite, with its prayers and
incense, its presentation of the Common Cup, and its crowning and
marching round the dais, although during the whole time the thought
was forcing itself into his mind that Caerleon must have known of all
this. The fact that he had been looking forward to such a
_dénoûment_ explained both his willingness to enter into the
engagement at all, and his callousness with regard to his _fiancée_,
while his anxiety and misery throughout the past week were accounted
for by the uncertainty of his position. And Princess Ottilie! Cyril
ground his teeth as he remembered her tormenting doubts as to
Caerleon’s affection, and how he had comforted her, while all the time
she had been carrying on this complicated train of deception. But,
after all, her moral turpitude was nothing to that of Caerleon. Cyril,
the shrewd, the far-sighted, the diplomatist, had been duped, and by
the brother whom he had always regarded as an honest simpleton, whose
every thought he believed that he knew. It may seem a paradox to say
that when Cyril’s first rage had cooled, the effect of his discovery
was to heighten very considerably his respect for Caerleon, but so it
was. The man by whom he had been deceived in this way must be
possessed of a certain amount of brains.
Cyril had arrived at this point in his meditations when the ceremony
concluded, and the bridal company left the chapel to sign the
register. He was among the foremost who followed them into the room in
which the book was placed in readiness, and when she had written her
name, Princess Ottilie offered the pen to him with a mischievous
smile--
“Come, Lord Cyril; you will add your name as a witness?”
“I am much honoured, but your Royal Highness will not catch me twice,”
he replied; and she turned away with a laugh. He felt tempted to make
his escape at once; but pride forbade him to slink away and show
himself defeated, and he determined to face her again, and tell her
one or two home-truths. His opportunity came later, when the bridal
pair had proceeded to the throne-room to receive the congratulations
of those present, and his name was duly announced by the grand
chamberlain.
“Now, Lord Cyril,” said the Princess, when he had uttered the
requisite formula with just the shade of exaggeration which showed
that his good wishes were not wholly sincere, “confess that you were
completely deceived. Of course it would have been much more sensible
to wear a riding-habit; but I knew that the real Sophie von Staubach
would never consent to be married in one, and I felt that I must dress
the character consistently.”
“The illusion was perfect,” returned Cyril. “I can only congratulate
your Royal Highness on the skill with which you have rendered the
first act of your--tragedy.”
“Tragedy?” asked Prince Alexis, sharply. “Why tragedy?”
“If I wished to be unpleasant,” said Cyril, “I might quote
Shakespeare, and say, ‘She has deceived her father, and may thee.’ But
that would be impolite, and besides, the tragedy to which I refer is
not a domestic but a public one. It doesn’t require much foresight to
prophesy that the results of this night’s work will be
‘Sword and fire,
Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws,
The craft of kindred and the ruthless hosts
Of Scythia swarming o’er the Euxine sea.’
But you really must excuse me,” he broke off apologetically; “I seem
to be dealing in English literature specimens, adapted to suit present
circumstances, to-night. The fact is, that my mind is still so
completely under the spell of the superb acting of her Royal Highness,
that poetry comes to my tongue more readily than prose.”
The Prince frowned. “I fail to see why a European war should be the
consequence of our marriage, as you seem to imply.”
“Simply because Thracia has been induced to part with territory under
a misapprehension.”
“Ah, my price!” cried Princess Ottilie. “You see I am acquainted with
your little plans, Lord Cyril, and I have out-plotted you. You are
angry to-night, but to-morrow you will see that you have deserved it.
You have done all you could to make me believe that your brother was
deeply in love with me, when the whole time I knew from his own lips
that it was all he could do to endure the sight of me. It was I who
arranged with the Prince that you were to be brought here to-night. I
was determined to have my revenge on you, to show you that there were
others who could lay plots as well as yourself. Don’t talk about
misapprehensions. Your brother the King will be the first to tell you
that he has aided me throughout in this conspiracy of mine until
to-day.”
“That my brother was foolish enough to allow himself to be persuaded
to join you in playing a practical joke, in very doubtful taste, on
your father, will make no difference to the Thracians,” retorted
Cyril. “They will demand back the territory out of which they have
been cozened, and the great Powers will be drawn into the war.”
“I hope the consequences will not be so serious as you seem to
expect,” said Prince Alexis, breaking into the war of words. “I enjoy
some little influence at the Scythian Court, and I can promise you
that it shall be exerted on behalf of the independence of Thracia, and
in favour of your brother, to whom I shall always be grateful for the
part he has played during the last few days. And now, Lord Cyril, we
must not detain you longer, or King Carlino will be anxious about you.
Stefan here will take you to a room where there is refreshment
prepared, and after that you will find a fresh horse and an escort of
six of my guard to conduct you back to Thracia. I owe you many thanks
for the assistance you have given me to-night.”
“And remember,” added Princess Ottilie, as Cyril bowed, “that though I
can’t quite forgive King Carlino for the way in which he has treated
me, I am sorry I teased him so much. But I am not sorry that I hoaxed
you to-night.”
Thus dismissed, Cyril had no option but to take his leave of the royal
couple, and commit himself to the charge of Stefan, who brought him to
a buffet, where he made a hasty meal. He was conscious that it would
have been more in keeping with his tragic utterances to quit the
palace at once, refusing either to eat or drink within its walls, and
denouncing vengeance against its perjured mistress; but the night was
very cold, he was tired, and there was a long ride before him. And
after all, it could not be denied that the Princess had played her
part wonderfully well; there was no disgrace in having been deceived
by her. But it was inexcusable to have been taken in by Caerleon,
clumsy and unwilling actor as he was; and the only point Cyril could
allege in his own favour was that he might be pardoned for not
suspecting such an unprecedented event as his brother’s lending
himself to support a course of deception. The thought comforted him to
some extent, however, and as he mounted the horse prepared for him he
felt more at peace with himself. The ride home occupied a much shorter
space of time than the former one had done, and Cyril laughed angrily
to himself as he remembered the amount of trouble he had wasted in
giving a riding-lesson to the best rider in Mœsia. The thought
recalled to him his grudge against Caerleon, and when he had dismissed
his Dardanian escort a little way from the hunting-lodge, he made up
his mind to punish his brother by giving him one more night’s
suspense. He was bound to hear in the morning of what had happened;
but it would only be a richly deserved punishment for him not to be
relieved from his anxiety sooner. Accordingly, Cyril went straight to
bed as soon as he entered the house, although he heard the voices of
Caerleon and M. Drakovics still engaged in earnest discourse in the
dining-room.
Half an hour later footsteps paused outside his door, and Caerleon’s
voice said, “Asleep, old man?” to which he replied only by a sleepy
grunt.
“I’m glad I didn’t let the fellow come in and bemoan himself to me,”
he reflected, as the footsteps passed on. “I should have had to tell
him the whole thing in self-defence.”
Cyril slept late the next morning, and when he awoke he heard Caerleon
tramping moodily up and down outside his window, speaking a cheerless
word now and again to the dogs. He rose and dressed slowly, turning
over in his mind the various methods which occurred to him of
utilising this defeat of his as a stepping-stone to further victories.
Presently the sound of another voice in the garden arrested his
attention, and looking out, he saw one of the King of Mœsia’s
gorgeously attired jägers giving Caerleon a parcel, which he said he
had been commanded by the Queen to place in his own hands. As soon as
the man was gone, Caerleon, in some surprise, opened the packet, and
Cyril saw that it contained the case of rubies which he himself had
carried to Schloss Herzensruh the night before. Lying above the jewels
was a paper, which Caerleon unfolded, and read the contents.
“Oh, joy! she’s off!” he cried, infinite relief in his tones. “I’m rid
of her at last.”
“Chuck it in,” said Cyril, and his brother handed it to him, turning
to rearrange the glowing gems on their velvet bed, with fingers that
were not quite steady. The paper was in the Princess’s writing:--
“At last I am able to release your Majesty from a position which I
grieve to see you have found intolerably irksome. They say that we
women are willing to sell our very souls for jewels; but you will
believe me when I tell you that I had far rather see your rubies in
the possession of the person to whom they rightly belong, and to whom
you would prefer to give them. When this time of storm and stress is
over, and you meet Mdlle. Nadia again, present them to her with my
love. Tell her this also in all friendliness, that if she desires a
testimony to your character, she need only refer to me. You were right
in saying, when you scolded me so rudely two days ago, that I should
never have dared to go so far with any one else; but I felt that I
could trust you, and my trust was justified by the event. At any rate,
I will bear witness that you were softened by none of my overtures,
that you kept me at a distance--not gently, no, I cannot say
gently--but firmly, certainly, always firmly. Forgive me; this is the
last time I shall tease you. My husband and I pray for your happiness
and that of your bride.--From your friend,
“Ottilie, Princess of Dardania.
“I entreat you to give my remembrances to your brother, who will tell
you any particulars about my wedding that you may care to hear.”
“Then you are glad to be out of it?” said Cyril.
“Glad? Rather! If I wasn’t a middle-aged monarch, I should throw up my
cap and jump for joy. Give me the letter and I’ll tear it up. I
shouldn’t like Nadia ever to come upon the detestable thing. Fancy a
woman’s writing like that!”
“Then you intend to try your luck again with Miss O’Malachy?”
“How can I, so long as I am king? But to have got rid of this wretched
entanglement seems to bring me nearer to her at once.”
“What a selfish beast you are!” was Cyril’s remark. “Thinking only of
yourself, and nothing about Thracia, and what the breaking off of this
affair will involve.”
“I’m very sorry if it leads to trouble,” said Caerleon, trying to look
suitably serious, “and I’ll do all I can to set it right, short of
running into another engagement; but you can’t expect me to be sorry
that this one is over.”
“The wedding will lead to war, undoubtedly.”
“Why should it? If I don’t feel myself insulted by the Princess’s way
of leading up to it, I don’t see why any one else should.”
“Thracia won’t see things in the same light, though. The whole nation
has been insulted in your person, and, furthermore, cheated into
giving up territory without a return. Nothing but blood will wash out
the remembrance.”
“But I will explain the whole thing to everybody.”
“Do. Who do you think will believe you? No one will imagine that a
sane man could make such an utter and irretrievable idiot of himself.
It will simply be thought that you are trying to shield the girl. No;
all you can do is to keep your mouth shut. Look here,” Cyril was
struck by a sudden inspiration, “Will you leave Drakovics and me to
put things straight?”
“If you think you can do it better without me,” replied Caerleon
pacifically, overlooking his brother’s uncomplimentary language in
consideration of the provocation he had received. “But mind, on your
honour, there must be no more meddling with marriages and engagements.
If I hear so much as a whisper of such a thing, I will repudiate all
your negotiations, and take the management of affairs into my own
hands.”
“No fear. After this job has turned out so badly, I shall not take up
the matrimonial agency business again in a hurry. I only want to have
you out of the way, because I am afraid that King Johann will get
round you. Go and kill your were-wolf, can’t you? and be a benefit to
society.”
“I’d go like a shot, all the more that I shan’t have to bring _her_
the skin; but don’t you think it would look rather bad--rather
unfeeling, you know?”
“I think you are the most exasperating idiot I ever had to do with,”
returned Cyril, hopelessly. “Don’t you see that it will look worse for
you to be hanging about here with that face on? Go and be alone with
nature and your grief--or, in plain English, go and grin where no one
can see you.”
“All right,” said Caerleon, with a laugh. “May I have breakfast
first?”
“Yes, so long as you are well out of the way before they can send here
from the castle. Give your orders now, so that you can start as soon
as you have finished.”
“By the by,” said Caerleon, “what did the Princess mean by saying that
you could give me particulars of the wedding?”
“Well, if you particularly want to know, I was present at the
ceremony--not intentionally, as you can guess.”
“Last night? Queer that you should just have happened to drop in upon
them.”
This was all that passed between them on the subject, for Cyril was
resolved never to reveal the crowning deception of which he had been
the victim. He could only hope that Princess Ottilie would be equally
reticent.
The brothers breakfasted alone; and after the meal Cyril hurried
Caerleon off to the mountains, in dire fear lest an emissary from
Schloss Herzensruh should appear before he had arranged his plan of
action with M. Drakovics. As soon as his brother had left the house he
obtained admission to the Premier’s room, where M. Drakovics was
devouring a blue-book full of statistics simultaneously with his
breakfast. He looked up in some surprise as Cyril entered.
“You are early, milord.”
“Are you prepared to meet a great emergency, monsieur?”
M. Drakovics collected his thoughts, and was prepared immediately.
“You need not tell me what the emergency is, milord. The King refuses
to fulfil his engagement.”
“Not at all. The Princess has bolted.”
“Bolted?” inquired M. Drakovics, mildly.
“Yes, bolted--cut and run, eloped, with the Prince of Dardania.”
“But is it too late to stop them?”
“Quite. They were married last night.”
“But this is appalling, milord!”
“It is bad enough; but there is worse behind. My brother was in the
plot.”
“Impossible, milord! You cannot tell me that his Majesty would enter
into an agreement to make himself the laughing-stock of the world?”
“It is unfortunately too true that my brother only engaged himself to
the Princess that he might help her to carry out this design of hers.
Of course the Queen was in it as well. Between them they have made a
good deal of use of him. I am as much astonished as you can possibly
be that he should have listened to them for an instant.”
“Ah! that admission scarcely accords with the claim which you advanced
some time ago to a complete knowledge of his Majesty’s character,”
said M. Drakovics, looking up with a smile which was more like a
snarl.
“You have a right to make any remarks you please on the subject,” said
Cyril, quietly. “They cannot be more bitter than those I have been
making to myself. In fact, I have no doubt that we could pass an hour
or two very pleasantly in exchanging a series of mutual
recriminations. But if you are the man I think you, you will not waste
time in squabbling, but will join with me in using the few minutes we
have before us in taking measures which may yet turn this crushing
defeat into a triumph.”
“Milord, you are superb!” said M. Drakovics, looking at him with
heartfelt if somewhat reluctant admiration. “You have the true
diplomatic spirit. I accept your rebuke willingly, and rejoice that I
have such a colleague at my side in this crisis. What are the measures
you would propose?”
“There is one fatal flaw in our case,” said Cyril,--“Caerleon’s
connivance in the Princess’s plot. If that once comes out, nothing can
save us. But the happy couple are both animated by sentiments of such
deep gratitude towards him, that I don’t think they are likely to
split. If the Queen was on the opposite side, she would be dangerous;
but King Johann is not likely to ask her advice, and she will not feel
inclined to interfere uninvited. Therefore I think we may count upon
the facts not transpiring, unless Caerleon publishes it in one of
these unaccountable chivalrous fits of his. He is out of the way for
to-day, and we ought to be able to get things settled by the time he
comes back in such a way that it will not dawn upon him how we managed
it. Bounce is our only chance. Our business just now is to keep
Caerleon on the throne, not to give Europe lessons in morality gratis
at his expense. How soon can the First Army Corps be ready to
mobilise?”
“In twenty-four hours. We tried the experiment only a fortnight ago.”
“Good. Then telegraph to Sertchaieff to mass it on the Mœsian
frontier as soon as it can be got there. You see our game?”
“I do, milord. It is a bold, but not an impossible one to play. But
why not occupy the ceded territory at once?”
“Because we don’t wish to start the war if we can help it. We must
carry this business through without giving the Powers cause to
interfere, if possible. Pannonia will do our work if we make proper
use of the Schwarzwald-Molzau family influence; but for us to cross
the Mœsian frontier would be to defy her to do her worst. Still, you
might also telegraph to the commandant at Feodoratz, ordering him to
be ready to move out with his troops at a moment’s notice. They are
only ten miles away from the disputed strip, and could take possession
and hold it easily until they were relieved the day after to-morrow by
the First Army Corps. There is a horn! You had better be in the
drawing-room with me to receive the messenger.”
“One moment, milord. Where is the King?”
“I have sent him out shooting. He is better out of the way this
morning.”
“But if the King of Mœsia were to send after him and capture him, we
should be lost.”
“King Johann Casimir will not know where he is, if I can help it,”
said Cyril, “and the idea would scarcely occur to his mind, in any
case. If he were on good terms with the Queen, it is the kind of bold
measure that would suggest itself to her; but he isn’t, and therefore
he won’t have the benefit of her advice.”
They went into the drawing-room, the only part of the little house
that boasted of foreign furniture and decorations, and presently a
very high official of the Mœsian Court was ushered in. M. Drakovics
and Cyril received him with grave faces and in dead silence.
“My orders are to open my business to no one but the King himself,”
said the messenger.
“His Majesty cannot grant an audience to any one this morning,”
returned Cyril, coldly. “About an hour ago he received a letter from
her Royal Highness, the perusal of which has deeply affected him. I
will take charge of any message of which you may be the bearer.”
But this was not within the scope of the ambassador’s instructions,
and after a little more parleying, he took his departure, after which
M. Drakovics seized the opportunity of sending off his telegrams. It
was some time before another horn was heard; but now it was King
Johann Casimir himself who rode up to the shooting-box, and asked to
see King Carlino, only to receive the same answer as his
representative.
“It is absolutely impossible for me even to inform my brother of your
Majesty’s arrival,” said Cyril; “but if you can suggest any means by
which the gravity of the present crisis may be lessened, M. Drakovics
and I are empowered to consider the proposal, and to take any
preliminary measures that may be necessary.”
The King sat down, and Cyril saw that the battle was half won,
although his first words were full of dignity.
“I do not understand you, Lord Cyril. This is a most unfortunate and
disagreeable affair; but it does not seem to me to bring about a
crisis.”
“No?” said Cyril. “Will your Majesty consider for a moment how the
facts will strike the ears of Europe? A trustful young King, whose
advisers are above all things anxious to live in peace with their
nearest neighbours, is inveigled (I beg your Majesty’s pardon, but
that is the word that will be used) into ceding a portion of territory
in return for the promise of the hand of a certain lady. The
unimportant detail that the lady is determined to marry another person
is not communicated to him, although he himself insists, so delicate
is his sense of honour, on acquainting her with the facts of a past
and gone love-affair of his own before he will ask her to engage
herself to him. Then, when the territory has been ceded, she suddenly
elopes with the other man, and he is left in the lurch. I ask you
whether the position is likely to be accepted meekly, either by a man
of my brother’s character or by a high-spirited nation like Thracia?”
“But you cannot imagine that I had anything to do with my daughter’s
marriage?” cried the King.
“I bring no accusations, your Majesty. I have merely stated the case
as it will appear to Thracia and to Europe, although I grant there is
at present no proof that you were acquainted with the Princess’s
intention of eloping last night. Thracia gave up a portion of
territory in order to gain a certain alliance, which is now refused
her. It is impossible that you can have been ignorant of the mutual
affection that existed between her Royal Highness and the Prince of
Dardania; but you gave no hint of it either to my brother or to me,
and this serves to complicate the situation. M. Drakovics will tell
your Majesty what steps we have felt it necessary to take in order to
vindicate the dignity of the country.”
King Johann Casimir turned helplessly to the Premier.
“I fear that when the news once becomes known in Thracia, the popular
indignation there will be overwhelming,” said the latter, “and I have
therefore been the more anxious to conduct everything in the most
regular way possible. Unless your Majesty can suggest any means of
relieving the tension of the situation, I may remark that we shall be
forced to declare war this evening, and to proceed to occupy the
disputed territory immediately.”
“But there will be a revolution in Mœsia if that strip of land is
lost through the action of any member of my family,” cried the King.
A look of satisfaction flashed from M. Drakovics to Cyril over King
Johann’s head. “The possibility of such an occurrence can hardly be
expected to influence the action of Thracia, although it is doubtless
fraught with much interest to your Majesty’s advisers,” said the
Premier.
“Nothing could be further from our thoughts than to regard such a
disastrous event with indifference,” cried Cyril, warmly. “My brother
would be horrified by the very idea. Is there nothing that your
Majesty can suggest that would avert such a calamity, while at the
same time salving the wounded honour of Thracia?”
“We have no power of raising an indemnity,” said the King.
“The very suggestion is an insult, your Majesty!” cried M. Drakovics.
“We Thracians are striving for our national life, not for money. What
we desire is a place among the nations. Any assistance towards the
attainment of our ideal----” he broke off, watching the King narrowly.
“In what direction?”
“Our chief reason for congratulating ourselves on the alliance
proposed between King Carlino and your Majesty’s family was the
conviction that Thracia would thereby range herself on the side of
Pannonia and European peace. That hope is now lost, for what claim
have we upon the friendship of Pannonia? But if there were any means
by which she might be induced to support us still in obtaining our
recognition from the Grand Signior of Roum----”
“I see. You desire our understanding to remain in force, with the one
unfortunate exception?” said the King, obviously much relieved.
“Exactly. We desire that our alliance with your Majesty’s kingdom may
continue,” said M. Drakovics. “This object may appear a small
advantage in return for which to waive our claim to the ceded
territory; but it is of such importance to us that if it is assured,
I can answer for the tranquillity of Thracia.”
“My brother is also extremely anxious not to press hardly upon your
Majesty,” said Cyril. “It would not be like him not to feel keenly
such a slight as he has received; but out of consideration for you,
and for the sake of his kingdom, he will lay aside his own feeling in
the matter. Your Majesty will wish, no doubt, to consult your
Ministers--who were to arrive at the castle last night, I remember, in
order to be present at the ceremony so unhappily interrupted--before
signifying your adherence to the plan we suggest; and you will
probably also consider it advisable to communicate with the Emperor of
Pannonia. M. Drakovics will undertake that no active steps shall be
taken until this evening in the matter of the frontier; and I do not
doubt that your Majesty will think, on considering the circumstances,
that to give us the assurance we ask is merely a piece of
international courtesy.”
“It’s done!” said Cyril, meeting Caerleon that night on his return in
triumph with the were-wolf’s skin, “though I thought my hair would
have turned grey with anxiety while we waited. The treaty with Mœsia
is to stand, and Pannonia will continue to support us at Czarigrad.
These seem only little things; but they mean a good deal to us, and
they stave off the Great War for a little while longer. Everything is
quiet now.”
“Wait a minute,” said Caerleon. “There’s something I want to say. It
seems to me that neither of you,” glancing from Cyril to M. Drakovics,
“has quite understood hitherto my intentions about marrying. That
there may be no doubt about them in the future, I intend to declare
you my heir, Cyril, when we return to Bellaviste, and this must be
confirmed by the Legislative Assembly if I am to stay in Thracia. Miss
O’Malachy won’t marry me, and I won’t marry any one else; but this
plan will secure the succession to the throne.”
“I don’t quite appreciate being set up side by side with you for
Scythia to plot against,” said Cyril; “but never mind, I daresay I
shall get used to it in time.”
“And I cannot doubt that your Majesty’s choice will be most popular in
Thracia,” said M. Drakovics.
“Ah, very good,--and when I have time, Cyril, I will set about looking
for a wife for you,” said Caerleon, lazily.