hour a working-man came and sat on the other end of the bench. Grafton
scowled at him, but he sat placidly smoking his pipe. At last he said:
“Ernestine, my sister, did not dare come. She sent me by the back way.
She says nothing can be done. I waited to be sure it was you.”
At this moment Grafton saw Moltzahn coming towards him. “Wait,” he said
to Ernestine’s brother. “Don’t move until I’ve spoken to you again.”
Moltzahn advanced towards him and bowed politely, much to Grafton’s
surprise. “I know that you are watched,” he said to Grafton. “As I
have something to communicate to you, we must seem to meet as friendly
acquaintances and to be talking on indifferent subjects. Will you walk
with me a few minutes, please?”
There was a thinly veiled contempt in Moltzahn’s tone which made
Grafton feel like kicking him. But in the circumstances he would have
been civil to Aloyse himself in the hope of laying hold of something
that would bring him nearer Erica. He rose, and they began a slow
promenade.
“His Royal Highness, the Inheriting Grand Duke, has made me the
reluctant bearer of a challenge to you. I have tried to dissuade him,
but he is determined to punish you for your insults. He waives the
difference in rank, the fact that he has no right to send a challenge
to such as you.”
“It will be a great pleasure,” said Grafton, with grim joy. “I, too,
will waive the difference of rank--the fact that he is not a gentleman.”
“It is impossible for me to answer you as you deserve--”
“You couldn’t say anything that would disturb the friendly feeling I
have for you,” said Grafton. “You don’t know how grateful I am to you
for bringing me this--this opportunity. I could almost--yes, I think I
could--shake hands with you.”
“What weapons?” said Moltzahn. “But have you a second?”
“I shall have one--and I choose pistols.”
“I suggest that the meeting be at a little town on the Swiss
border--Zoltenau. Do you know it?”
“Yes; I shall be there.”
“The circumstances make it impossible to follow the formalities and
arrange through your second. When can you be there?”
“Whenever you say.”
“Then at three to-morrow morning. We shall be on the main road about a
hundred yards from the last house--the inn--at the eastern end of the
village. But will you be able to evade the police?”
“Easily; I shall be there.”
They bowed, Moltzahn went his way, Grafton returned to the bench. With
his face concealed, he said to the working-man: “In case I should wish
to send a message to Ernestine for her mistress, is there an address
that would be safe?”
“Johann Windmuller, 41 Duke Albrecht Street,” he answered.
“Very well. And if there should be any news for me, send a letter or
telegram to Victor Brandt, care the American Consul, Schaffhausen. Can
you remember that?”
“Yes,” said the man, and he repeated it twice.
Grafton sent him away; he felt that the police could not have
suspected. He went to the hotel and in the smoking-room, near the
entrance, found the American youth. Grafton dropped into a seat beside
him. “Thank you,” he said. “May I ask who has done me this great
service?”
“My name is Burroughs; I come from San Francisco.”
They discovered that they had many acquaintances and a few friends in
common, and both belonged to the same club in New York. Burroughs, who
was seven or eight years younger than Grafton, and just out of college,
had often heard of him.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Grafton. “Since I saw you I’ve engaged to fight a duel
at three to-morrow morning, and I need a second.”
“I’d be pleased if you’d accept me, though I’ve had no experience.”
“But I warn you that it may be an ugly business before it’s ended,
though I think I can arrange to get you out of it. I mean to kill my
man and his death’ll make a row in this part of the world.”
“I’ll see you through,” said Burroughs.
Grafton took him to his rooms, and, having tested him thoroughly, gave
him his entire confidence. When he had finished the story, Burroughs
said: “I feel that you’re going to win out.” His eyes were sparkling
with excitement. “But don’t kill him; remember, he’s her cousin. She
might balk at marrying you if you’d killed her cousin.”
Grafton thought for a few minutes. “That gives me an idea--that remark
of yours. We’ll talk it over to-night.”
As Zoltenau was about midway between the town of Zweitenbourg and
Bâle--a score of miles from each--they decided to evade the Grand
Duke’s spies by going to Bâle. Burroughs went on the seven-o’clock
train to arrange for a doctor and a carriage. Grafton, leaving on the
nine-o’clock express, bought places in the bed-car for Venice. At
Bâle he dropped from the car as the train was passing out at the end
of the station. His servant went on with the baggage, to return by a
roundabout route to Schaffhausen and there await the arrival of Victor
Brandt.
IX
The Crown Prince is Decorated
As the road from Zweitenbourg to Zoltenau is almost level, except the
last four miles, Aloyse, Moltzahn, and Dr. Kirschner did not set out
until nearly one o’clock. Aloyse and Moltzahn had deceived the doctor;
he thought he was going to a friend of theirs who had been desperately
wounded in a duel. Aloyse was thus unable to boast of what he was about
to do to the “American pig-dog.” As he could think of nothing else, the
drive passed in silence, broken only by feeble attempts on the part of
the doctor to improve his good fortune of being in such distinguished
company. They reached the inn at a quarter before the hour. As they
walked up the road the doctor was undeceived by Moltzahn.
He stopped and fell to weeping and wringing his hands with fright. “A
duel--my Crown Prince a principal--my God, Highness, I shall be ruined!
I refuse to go.”
Moltzahn caught him by the arm. “Come on, imbecile!” he said, roughly.
“There is no turning back now. You will be protected. But if anything
should happen, think of my fate.”
Aloyse was a few yards in advance. He was strutting along with his
chest out. He was confident that the “American upstart” would give
him little trouble. “A physical bully,” he said to himself. “Only a
gentleman can be brave in a duel.” He turned. “How does the doctor take
it?” he asked.
“My Crown Prince!” exclaimed the doctor. “I beg you--I implore you--”
He fell on his knees before Aloyse.
“Get up! Get up!” Aloyse spoke in a kindly, condescending tone. It
always delighted him to receive ocular proof of his superiority; some
of his father’s remarks were most disquieting. “No harm shall come to
you, my good man.”
The doctor, still weeping and in such mental turmoil that he forgot to
dust the knees of his trousers and the tails of his long, black coat,
kept pace with Moltzahn. Aloyse was whistling and brandishing a small
cane. His round face, empty of all save appetites, was gay--it became
a prince thus to go to the duel. And, in fact, he was not a coward,
except before his father; and he longed to punish the low creature who
had dared to lift his eyes to a princess of the house of Traubenheim,
had dared to lay hands in anger upon a royal person.
“I can hardly wait to get at the dog, Moltzahn,” he said. “I’m afraid
he won’t come.”
Moltzahn replied, “Yes, Your Royal Highness,” absently. The nearer he
got to the field the gloomier he became. He had taken many risks, had
done many degrading things in furthering the ambition of his life,
to be the man next the throne in Zweitenbourg. But this risk was a
senseless fly straight into the face of fate.
It was almost broad day when Grafton, Burroughs, and a doctor from Bâle
arrived. They lifted their hats to the first-comers. Dr. Kirschner
lifted his hat in return; Moltzahn gave a slight salute to Burroughs.
Aloyse stared insolently at Grafton and made no salutation whatever.
Grafton turned to Burroughs. “You see, Burroughs, what kind of cattle
they are. I apologize again for bringing you.”
Burroughs was white and nervous. “Which one do I deal with?” he asked,
in an undertone.
Grafton pointed at Moltzahn. “And keep your eyes on him. He’s a
blackguard through and through, capable of anything.”
Aloyse continued to stare at Grafton, a cruel smile on his lips, and
the vindictive hate of the brainless in his eyes. Grafton did not like
that smile. “I am taking long chances,” he muttered, “but--I must!”
He turned his face towards the north, towards Zweitenbourg, and forgot
Aloyse.
Moltzahn and Burroughs found a level well back from the road and
private. To this the party went. The snow on the peaks was rosy red,
and the birds were awakening to full song, and from the earth rose the
fresh, living gladness of welcome to the new day. The lot decided that
Aloyse should face the south and Grafton the north--“a good omen,”
thought Grafton, and the look in his face showed how far murder was
from his heart.
As they were about to take their places he said to Aloyse, “I wish a
few words with you in private.”
“Absurd--impossible!” interrupted Moltzahn. “Such conduct is
intolerable!”
Grafton looked at Aloyse as if Moltzahn had not spoken.
Aloyse hesitated. “Don’t!” pleaded Moltzahn, in a whisper. “He may say
something that will unsettle your nerves.”
Aloyse drew himself up haughtily. “Stand aside,” he ordered, “all of
you. The fellow may wish to apologize. If so, I may let him off with a
sound caning.”
Grafton went close to him. “It may be,” he said, in an even voice,
“that you will kill me, so I take the precaution of speaking
beforehand. I could easily kill you, because I happen to be a dead shot
with the pistol. But I shall spare your life. I shall only shatter
your right hand. I do it that you may wear, as long as your body holds
together, the badge of my mercy to you--for her sake.”
“How dare you speak of her!” fumed Aloyse. “Yes; I shall kill you for
your insolence to our house.”
“It amuses me to see you rage,” said Grafton. “It makes me realize what
I rescued her from.”
Aloyse was in a paroxysm of anger. “My cousin and I will marry the day
after to-morrow. It is all arranged--”
“All--except her consent,” answered Grafton, with a mocking smile. “I
love her. I know her. I trust her. However this may fall out, she will
never marry you.”
He returned to his place. “I think I’ve put a shake into his hand,” he
said to Burroughs, in an undertone. “I don’t mind admitting I tried to,
as this is a farce so far as I am concerned. I’m not anxious to die if
I can help it.”
Moltzahn, holding the pistols, was standing midway between Aloyse and
Grafton, and a little to one side. He looked from Grafton to Aloyse.
“Walk towards me,” he said, “and when you are face to face turn your
backs each to the other. I will hand each of you a pistol. Walk towards
your places again, and when you reach them stand without turning
until Mr. Burroughs begins to count. At three turn and fire at your
convenience. Are you ready, gentlemen?”
Aloyse and Grafton bowed.
“Advance!”
They walked slowly and steadily, each towards the other. Grafton seemed
dreamy and abstracted, Aloyse’s little brown eyes were angry and his
brows were drawn in an exaggerated frown. When they were about two feet
apart, Moltzahn, standing as near to one as to the other, said: “Turn!”
They wheeled, and he handed each a cocked pistol. “To your places,
gentlemen,” he said. They began the slow return. Burroughs, his hands
trembling, was trying to moisten his lips for the giving of the signal.
The two doctors, all in black and with long brown beards, stood apart,
the Swiss doctor interested but calm, the Zweitenbourgian with his
knees knocking together and his hands sliding nervously one over the
other. The sun, clearing the crest of a ridge, sent an enormous billow
of light to burst through the mists and flood the dense, dew-showered
foliage of the western front of the valley.
“Now, Mr. Burroughs,” said Moltzahn, in a low tone.
“One!” said Burroughs, and his voice was thin and shrill; the sound of
it made him shiver. “Oh, God!” he thought, “I may be giving the signal
for a murder.”
“Two!” His voice was hoarse.
“Three!” wrenched itself from his tightening throat in a gasp. He hid
his face in his arms. “What have I done? What have I done?” he groaned.
It seemed an eternity; why did they not shoot and have it over with? He
dropped his arm and looked; they had had barely time to come round face
to face.
Aloyse fired first by an instant; then Grafton. Grafton stood
motionless. Aloyse gave an exclamation of pain; his pistol dropped to
the ground and the blood spurted over his shattered hand until it was
red and raining red from every finger.
Grafton, his feet together, began slowly to fall forward, his eyes
closing. Burroughs cried out and rushed to him and caught him.
“Where is it?” he whispered.
“A mere trifle--a scratch on the arm,” whispered Grafton. “Sh! Be
careful!” And he closed his eyes and lay motionless.
“Quick, Dr. Berners!” exclaimed Burroughs, starting up wildly from
beside his friend. “I think he’s been killed.”
Berners was already there, was tearing open Grafton’s coat, waistcoat,
shirt, and undershirt. Dr. Kirschner, his face beaming and his hands
rubbing, bustled up. “His Royal Highness has been graciously pleased
to send me to render what aid I can. His Royal Highness’s own wound is
slight--”
“Back to your master!” exclaimed Burroughs, apparently beside himself
with rage and grief, and standing between Kirschner and Grafton. “My
friend is dead--shot down by that assassin!”
Dr. Kirschner put on the death-bed look. “Let us hope not so bad as
that.”
“Yes--dead,” said Berners, looking round at his colleague and shielding
Grafton so that Kirschner could not see his chest. “He is shot through
the heart.”
Kirschner rushed to Aloyse and Moltzahn. Aloyse was ruefully regarding
the bandage Kirschner had hastily wrapped round his hand before going
on Aloyse’s magnanimous mission. “I regret to inform Your Royal
Highness that Mr. Grafton’s wound is most serious.”
“Is that all?” Aloyse scowled. “I aimed for his heart.”
Dr. Kirschner lowered his eyes; even his humble soul revolted. “Your
Royal Highness,” he said, in a low voice, “Mr. Grafton is dead.”
“Dead!” Aloyse’s lips shrivelled and he staggered slightly.
“Your Royal Highness shot him through the heart,” said Moltzahn, in a
congratulatory tone.
“Dead!” Aloyse’s voice was hoarse. “Let us go,” he said.
“But I must dress Your Royal Highness’s wound,” urged Kirschner.
“In the carriage,” Aloyse answered, impatiently. He cast a hasty glance
towards the group on the grass--the prostrate man, the two kneeling
beside him. “Let us go,” he said, and led the way.
X
The Grand Duke Prepares to Celebrate
On the drive back to Zweitenbourg Aloyse’s spirits gradually rose. He
ceased to see that group with such painful distinctness; Moltzahn and
presently Dr. Kirschner flattered him on his marksmanship. Pshaw! it
had been a mere coincidence that Grafton had shot him precisely as he
said he would. He forced himself to remember more and more vividly
Grafton’s impudence--and impudence to a Traubenheim! And impudence to a
Traubenheim in an affair of the heart!--and that affair one in which
the lady was also a Traubenheim. He had but meted out just punishment
for an assault upon his own honor, the honor of his wife-to-be, the
honor of his house.
In the last two or three miles he was hilarious, boasting
boisterously--he had had something to drink and nothing to eat--of his
prowess and of how all Traubenheims always thus served the impudent
enemies of their house. And Moltzahn, concealing his contempt and
disgust, and Dr. Kirschner, full of the loyalty of a devoted subject,
urged him on. He set the doctor down at his house and Moltzahn at his
club--Moltzahn did not dare show himself at The Castle. Then he drove
on with a growing appetite. He reached The Castle at seven o’clock,
just in time for his regular breakfast with his father.
The Grand Duke was invariably in a vile humor in the morning; he ate
so much and exercised so little that he slept badly. He insisted on
his son always breakfasting alone with him, and, under the pretence of
training him for the throne, wreaked his ill-humor upon him. Aloyse
hurriedly changed from the plain clothes in which he had fought to
an undress uniform, and flew to the breakfast-room. He was in high
spirits; at last he had done something which his father would applaud.
As he entered, Casimir looked at him sourly. He brought his heels
together and saluted. Then he advanced, as usual, bent his knee, but
put his left hand, instead of his right, under his father’s right hand
extended for him to kiss.
“What is the matter with your right hand?” screamed the Grand Duke.
Aloyse jumped and shivered like a guilty child and his wits scattered.
He held out his right hand in its sling, stupidly staring at it.
“Speak--and no lies!”
“In a duel,” he stammered.
The Grand Duke pushed back his chair from the table. His look was so
frightful that terror gave speed to Aloyse’s tongue. “I challenged
the American, father--and killed him,” he said, the last phrase
explosively. “I shot him through the heart.”
Casimir brought his chair close to the table again, lifted his cup of
coffee, and drew in several draughts, each with a loud, sucking sound.
“Eat your breakfast!” he said, in a sharp but not unkindly tone. “You
must be hungry; have one of my peaches.”
Casimir’s peaches were his especial dish. They were grown at great
expense under his own eye, and no one else was permitted to have them.
In all his life Aloyse could remember only one occasion on which his
father had offered to share his peaches; it was twenty years before,
when Aloyse, seated in a high-chair at that table, had seen the Prime
Minister take one at Casimir’s request; the reason, as Aloyse learned
long afterwards, was that the Prime Minister had saved the Traubenheims
their title of “Royal Highness,” which was gravely threatened. Though
he detested peaches, Aloyse ate the peach greedily, swelling with pride
and importance.
Prudence bade him say no more of his achievement; but vanity and a
loose tongue impelled him to seek further flatteries from his father.
He looked at the old man’s sardonic, yellow face several times before
he ventured to speak.
“I ask to be permitted to tell Erica myself,” he said.
His father stopped eating and raised his head from his plate. He seemed
to have concentrated all the acidity of his nature in his face. The
color rose in Aloyse’s cheeks and mounted his brow until his features
were all ablaze and a sweat was standing on his forehead.
“You propose to tell the woman you wish to marry, and whose consent you
must get--you propose to tell her that you have murdered her lover.”
Casimir said the words slowly, without accent, quietly. Then he put his
face down until it was again hovering within a few inches of his plate.
There was a long pause, and Casimir spoke again. “Every day you
remind me more and more of your grand-uncle.” Aloyse remembered his
grand-uncle--the Grand Duke Wilhelm, a jibbering idiot, who sat all day
on the floor in a corner gnawing his nails and his great whiskers.
Another long pause, and Casimir spoke again. “Go to your apartments,
and don’t leave them until I summon you. And never permit a syllable
about your duel to escape your lips. Deny it; if necessary, _swear_ you
know nothing about it. If possible, she must never know how he died or
that he’s dead. Be off!”
Later in the morning Casimir read the report of the chief of his secret
police on Grafton’s last hours in Zweitenbourg. His secret agents
said that Grafton had communicated with no one except an American
tourist--an obviously casual acquaintance and talk; that Ernestine had
not moved from her home over the bake-shop in Emperor Ferdinand Second
Street. And when the chief came to him and in great confusion confessed
that his men had lost Grafton between Zweitenbourg and Venice, the
Grand Duke was sarcastic but not angry. “Drop the matter,” he said.
He sent Baron Zeppstein to inquire how Her Serene Highness did, and
whether she would permit His Royal Highness to do himself the honor
of waiting upon her. As the answer was favorable, Casimir put on his
most paternal face and went to Erica’s apartments. She was all fire and
indignation.
“First,” she said, “I demand that Your Royal Highness send away that
woman and that soldier.”
“Certainly, my child.” And he went to the door and himself ordered
them away. As the woman was leaving he called her back. He returned to
Erica. “Shall I send for your own maid?” he said. “This woman can fetch
her. Yes?” And he told the woman to bring Ernestine forthwith.
“The peril is past,” he said, standing beside Erica and laying his hand
on her shoulder. “I know what youth and hot blood are; I, too, have
dreamed of happiness. But our rank means duty; to you it means Aloyse
and the future of our ancient house. You think I’m harsh, child, but it
is the kindness of experience.”
Erica looked scorn at him. “The grand-ducal house of Traubenheim,” she
said, “has the throne. The ducal house has the private wealth. Yes,
my dear uncle, you are, indeed, kind--to yourself and Aloyse. You
know--none better--that your son is an ignorant, brutish fool. You know
that this life here is dull and repellent--a hell on earth, a mockery
of a life, a torture-pen of yawning and meaningless routine. Don’t
flatter my intelligence, my dear uncle, by talking of your kindness and
my duty.” She started up. “And sooner or later I shall go where love
and life call me,” she exclaimed, passionately.
A ghost of a sardonic smile flitted over the yellow old face at this
reference to Grafton. Then he said, sternly, but without harshness:
“We shall send the heralds into the town this afternoon to proclaim
the marriage for Monday. We shall announce in the _Gazette_ that the
Inheriting Grand Duke is ill, and that, because of your great love for
him and his for you, the marriage has been hastened. And on Monday you
will be married.”
The old man spoke with much dignity--the dignity of one all his life
accustomed to being implicitly obeyed, of one descended from a long
line of arbitrary rulers. And although Erica denounced and denied his
command with all the strength of her soul, his words sounded to her
like clods upon a coffin.
“As I said,” he went on, in a gentler voice, “the peril is past. That
young adventurer, that young picture dealer from across the water”--he
laughed--“his impudence was refreshing! I admire audacity; he almost
deserved to win; I’m not surprised that you were almost swept off your
feet. But he will not annoy you further. He’s gone, my child; he took
himself away last night. So, feeling that you were no longer in danger
of being annoyed and humiliated by his impertinences, I have removed
the guards.”
“Then I am free?”
“It would be well,” said Casimir, with faint emphasis, “for you to keep
within The Castle for the present; of course, you must have your walks
under proper protection.”
He extended his hand for her to kiss it. For the first time in her life
the act seemed not a ceremony but a degradation. “I begin anew here,”
she said to herself. She pretended not to see his hand. He slipped away
with his soft, sliding shuffle. When he walked in that fashion those
who knew him feared him.
XI
An Overwhelming Defeat
There was no time to be lost, as it was now noon, Saturday, and the
wedding was to be on Monday. As soon as Ernestine came Erica began to
act.
“You must go back home at once,” she said to her. “You have forgotten
your clothes; that will do as a pretext. Send your brother to
Schaffhausen on the first train. He must see Mr. Brandt and tell him to
meet me to-night at the first cross-road beyond the park gates. I shall
try to be there at one. If I can come at all, it will not be later
than three. If he cannot come, he will find me at the Hotel Rhein
to-morrow, or next day, under the name of Madam von Briesen.”
As Ernestine left The Castle a soldier joined her, saying: “My orders
are to go with you and let no one speak to you except in my presence.”
Ernestine took this news with a seeming of great cheerfulness, and
jested with her guard all the way to town. Her family lived in three
rooms, and with a little diplomacy she easily delivered her message to
her brother in the rear room while the soldier sat in the front room
drinking beer with her youngest sister. But she did not venture to call
at Windmuller’s, in Duke Albrecht Street.