“Yes—was! was! but is not now! When did you look in it last?”
“At the Council.”
“Exactly—so did I—and Adolph brought it to us, lid down and ‘locked,’ she
said. Oh, I see it all now:—it wasn’t locked, and he put the Book back in
it, and told Lotzen, and Lotzen killed him—and then, when he came for the
Book, he found the combination changed—you did it, you know—and as long
as Moore was in the suite he could not break the vault; so he lures us
all away: if he can kill you, he will be King and can get the Book at his
leisure; if he fail, as he has done, then it’s the Laws before we
return.” She flung her arms around his neck. “Don’t tell me I’m mistaken,
Armand! don’t tell me I’m mistaken!”
He held her off, and looked at her in wondering admiration.
“Oh woman!” he said, “oh faith, and intuition, and loyalty beyond the
stars! No, Dehra, I will not say you are mistaken; I do not know; we will
test it. We will go straight to the Palace—you and I, without a word as
to our purpose—and we will open the vault, and the box—and if the Laws
are in it, yours be the glory.”
“And yours the Crown!” she cried, and kissed his hand.
Then the train ran into the station and stopped, and the Archduke stepped
out and gave his hand to the Princess. The platform was empty save for
Count Epping.
“Your Royal Highness will pardon the informality of your reception,” the
Prime Minister said, when the greetings were over; “I assumed you did not
want Lotzen to know of your coming; I even waited until nine o’clock to
call the Council;—and I did not notify him, and so warn him that we had
penetrated his disguise.”
“Where is he now?” the Princess asked.
“At Ferida Palace—he went there last night and has not left it since.”
“I think I want him at the Council,” she said; “Colonel Moore, will you
and Colonel Bernheim please go and summon him; then follow us at once;
and do you, my dear Count, come to me as soon as the Ministers have
assembled.”
The brougham flashed away, and the Archduke drew down the blinds.
Dehra gave a satisfied little sigh and sank back in the corner.
“We seem to have beaten him,” she said; “we shall have the first look
into the box.”
Armand put his arm around her, and drew the fair head to his shoulder.
“I have already beaten him,” he said—“we fought first, for you, little
girl. A fig for the box, and the Book and the Crown!”
At the gate of the Park the Princess signaled to halt, and raised the
blind.
“Who of the Royal Council have arrived?” she asked the officer on duty.
“His Royal Highness the Duke of Lotzen, General Du——” he got no further.
“To my private entrance! quick, quick!” she called, and the carriage shot
away....
“What does it mean?” she demanded; “Epping said Lotzen had not left the
Ferida.”
“It means that you have solved the riddle. Lotzen has not come to the
Council, he does not even know of it; he has come for the Book.”
They drew up at the door, the Archduke opened it with Dehra’s key, and
they dashed up stairs. She snatched a master-key from a drawer of her
writing table, and they crossed the corridor and entered the King’s suite
through the small reception room, between which and the library lay a
cabinet and a bedroom.
As they entered the latter, treading cautiously, they heard the Duke of
Lotzen’s voice in the library, the door of which stood ajar.
“It’s a pity to break it,” he was saying, “but——” and there was a snap
and crack.
Under the Archduke’s hand the door opened noiselessly, and through the
narrow rift, between the hangings, they could see within.
The Duke, no longer disguised but wearing the undress uniform of his
rank, was standing at the large desk; beside him an officer in a long
cape and a Cuirassier helmet; and before him the big, black box of the
Laws. He had just forced the lock; now he laid back the lid, and took out
the Book.
“We win, Duchess!” he said, “we win! thanks to your marvellous fingers
and quick brain,” and lifting the helmet from Madeline Spencer’s high
piled hair, he kissed her ardently.
“Not so, cousin!” said the Princess, flinging aside the curtain, “you
lose—it is we who win.”
For a moment the Duke stood staring, too amazed to speak, and Mrs.
Spencer, with a sharp cry, fled to his side; then, as he saw the end of
his dream, the passing of his hopes, the fierce and fiery spirit, that
was always burning deep in his soul, burst through the gyves of studied
equanimity his stern will had imposed.
“Not yet!” he cried, “not yet!” and turning quickly he tossed the Book
into the big chimney behind him where a wood fire burned.
“Come on!” he taunted, flashing out his sword, “come on, cousin
Armand!—there’s your crown, come get it!”
“Look to the Book, Dehra!” the Archduke called, and sprang at Lotzen,
with a joyful smile. “At last!” he said, and the fight began.
“Push the Book farther into the fire, Madeline!” the Duke ordered, the
words timed to the beat of the steel.
Dropping her cape Mrs. Spencer, with the easy hand of a practiced fencer,
whipped out the sword she was wearing, in her disguise as an officer, and
was speeding to obey, when Dehra caught up one of Colonel Moore’s swords
from the corner and rushed upon her.
“Guard yourself, Duchess!” Lotzen cried; and she swung around just in
time to throw herself between the Princess and the fireplace. Instantly
their blades rang together.
The Archduke heard, and out of the side of his eye he saw, and his brow
wrinkled in anxiety. Spencer was no novice; she, too, he knew, had
learned the gentle art of the foils in her youth, and under French
maîtres, and she was not to be despised even by one so skilful as the
Regent. He had little doubt that he could kill the Duke, but what profit
in it if Dehra died. He hesitated to speak, it might disconcert her, and
yet he must warn her.
“Watch her play in tierce,” he said, in the most casual tone; and almost
shouted for joy, when he heard Dehra’s little laugh, and her voice calm
and easy.
“Thank you, Armand!”
But it very nearly cost him his own life, for in trying to catch a
glimpse of her he had loosed his eye-grip, and Lotzen’s point shot out
viciously, and only a lucky swing aside sent it scraping along the skin
instead of through the neck.
“Rather close, cousin!” he remarked.
“The next will be closer,” said the Duke softly. “Meanwhile, the Book
burns.”
But the Archduke did not fall into the trap, and loose the eye-grip a
second time.
“Let it burn!” he answered, “I’d rather kill you than save it—but I will
do both.”
“If you can, cousin! if you can—” and the swords rang on.
And the Duke was right—the Book was burning, slowly, but burning none the
less. His throw had been a trifle short, and instead of being in the
heart of the fire it was on the outer edge, where the coals were not so
glowing. There the leather and metal cover had protected it for a short
while, but now the tiny flames were crawling along the edges, shooting up
quick pencils of light that flared ever higher and more frequent.
And Dehra caught the gleam when it flashed the brightest, and in a fury
of desire she drove at Madeline Spencer. Hitherto she had aimed only to
disarm her, now it was the Book at any price.
But the American woman’s defense was still impenetrable; defence was her
forte—trick, feint, attack, she knew every one, and always her sword
blocked them or turned them aside. But there she had stopped; never once
had she herself assumed the offensive. She would take no chance of
killing the Regent; and she had soon discovered the Regent was not aiming
to kill her. But now she felt the change, and she knew that it was a
matter of only a little while until she would have to yield or be sped.
She could hear Lotzen and the Archduke, at the other end of the room,
still fighting as fiercely as at the beginning;—the taunting laugh; the
quip given, and returned; the crash of a chair as one of them kicked it
away; but all she saw was the flitting steel before her, and the
Princess’ glowing eyes.
Of a sudden there came a burst of voices, the door toward the Council
Chamber was dashed open, and Count Epping rushed in, and all the
Ministers behind him.
Madeline Spencer drew back and lowered her sword; the Princess sprang to
the fire-place and rescued the Book, smothering the flames with the
hearth rug; but Lotzen ground out an oath and flung himself with fresh
fierceness at the Archduke.
At first even the imperturbable Prime Minister had been too astonished to
act; now he came slowly forward, his old, lean face aglow with the joy of
the combat and the music of the steel. Then he stopped and stood,
watching, head slightly forward, lips half parted, eyes shining, fingers
playing lovingly over his own hilt. Ah! it was a good fight to look upon;
a noble fight, indeed; such masterly sword play he had never seen, nor
was ever like to see again; the swift attacks, the fierce rallies, the
marvellous agility, the steady eye, the steel wrist. And then, the nerve
of him who was losing, and must know it; for Lotzen was losing—surely
losing. Twice the Archduke had driven him around the table; now he forced
him slowly back ... back ... back ... to the wall ... against it ...
tight against it.
“Yield, cousin!” he said; “it’s your last chance.”
But the Duke only smiled mockingly and fought on.
With an appealing cry Madeline Spencer darted toward them.
“Spare him, Armand!” she pleaded, “spare him!”
The Archduke stepped out of distance, but with point still advanced.
“Take him!” he said, “take him, and joy with him!”
Ferdinand of Lotzen slowly raised his sword in salute.
“My thanks, cousin!” he said, “I can accept from her what I could not
from you. You have bested me—the game is over. I shall not be needed at
the reading of the decree.—Your Royal Highness—Messieurs of the Council—I
bid you fare-well.” He held out his hand to Madeline Spencer. “Come, my
Duchess, we will to your Paris and the Rue Royale.—Monsieur le Comte, the
door!”—and with all the stately grace and courteous deference of a minuet
he led her down the room, and bowed her out, and himself after.
There was a moment of silence; then the Archduke spoke.
“My lords, the Book of Laws is found, or so much of it as the fire has
spared. How we chanced to come upon it here will best be told another
time; enough now that but for the daring and quick wit of Her Royal
Highness, it would have been forever lost.” He glanced at the clock. “The
hour for the Council has already passed. Your Excellency, the Laws are
before you, will you do us the favor to read the decree?”
The Count stepped forward and lifted the Book from the rug; of the heavy
cover little remained but the brass hinges; the first few pages were
scorched and half consumed, and all the edges charred and split and eaten
into by the flames; but otherwise it seemed to be without hurt.
Yet Dehra’s hand went to her heart, and her breath came sharply, as
slowly and carefully Epping turned the leaves, holding them together the
while, lest they break apart. Was the decree there! Might Lotzen have
destroyed it—torn it from the Book, before they came upon him!
Then the Count stopped, and bending down read for a moment. When he
looked up there was a strange expression on his face; he did not speak at
once; and when he did his voice was repressed and almost trembling.
“It is here,” he said; “executed the day before King Frederick died. I
read it:
“‘Section one hundred thirty-first.—It is hereby decreed that His Royal
Highness the Archduke Armand shall be eligible to the Crown of Valeria,
and he is herewith restored to his proper place in the Line of
Succession, as the right heir male of Hugo, second son of Henry the
Third.’”
For an instant Armand’s brain whirled—then he awoke to Dehra’s hands in
his, and her voice in his ear, and the shouts and waving blades of the
Ministers.
“The ritual, Epping! the ritual!” the Princess cried, and caught up the
sword she had tossed aside to rescue the Book—then gasped in wondering
fear, as the old Count raised his hand and shook his head.
“Wait!” he said; “there is another decree that comes before the ritual.
Attend!—
“‘Section one hundred thirty-second.—Whereas, for the first time in a
thousand years the Dalberg has no son: It is hereby decreed that the
succession as Head of the House of Dalberg, and, ipso facto, to the
Crown of Valeria, together with all their hereditary titles, powers,
possessions and privileges, shall be vested in our only child and
daughter, Dehra, Princess Royal of Valeria. And all and every decree
conflicting therewith is hereby specifically revoked and annulled.’”
And now the swords were up again, and the Archduke’s with them, and the
wild huzza roared through the Palace and far into the Park; and Bernheim
and Moore, coming down the corridor, dashed into the library and stopped,
amazed; then joined in, knowing that it must mean victory.
But Dehra, herself, pale-faced, tear-eyed and trembling, turned and flung
her arms around Armand’s neck.
“It’s wrong, dear! it’s wrong!” she cried; “you are the King!—you are the
Dalberg!”
“No, sweetheart, it is right!” he said, releasing her arms, and bowing
over her hand until his lips touched it. “Praise God! it is right.”
Then he stepped back and flashed his sword above her head; and all the
others sprang to meet it, and locked there, a canopy of steel.
“Valeria hails the Head of the House of Dalberg as the Queen!” he cried.
And from every throat came back the answer:
“We hail the Dalberg Queen!”
And now the trembling had passed; she looked up at the swords proudly,
and stretching out her hand she touched them one by one; but touching
Armand’s last—and her eyes sought his, and over her face broke the
adorable smile, and she drew down his blade, and kissed it.
“Hail, also, to the King!” she said; “your King and mine, my lords!—the
King that is to be.”
The End
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
THE COLONEL OF THE
RED HUZZARS
A dashing romance, in which appear the same characters as in “The
Princess Dehra.”
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With three full-page illustrations in color
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BEATRIX OF CLARE
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THE DASHING NOVEL
THE COLONEL OF THE RED HUZZARS
By JOHN REED SCOTT
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Valeria. Strangely enough, Dalberg proves to be of the blood royal of
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encounter between American pluck and unscrupulous cleverness.
“There’s not a dull page in it.”—The Index, Pittsburg.
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Illustrations in Colors by CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD
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BEATRIX OF CLARE
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BEAU BROCADE
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BY THE BARONESS ORCZY
“I WILL REPAY”
A Romance of the French Revolution
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The Affair at Pine Court
By NELSON RUST GILBERT
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By WILLIAM WALLACE WHITELOCK
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THE SMUGGLER
By ELLA MIDDLETON TYBOUT
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ILLUSTRATED IN COLOR BY HOWARD EVERETT SMITH.
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Transcriber’s Notes
--Silently corrected a few typos and misplaced or missing quotes.
--Moved illustrations near the illustrated paragraph.
--Moved all advertisements to the end, and simplified their layout.
--This book is public domain in the U.S.; no DOD is available for the
author.