IN THE ORIENT EXPRESS
After some haggling, Alec wrung four thousand five hundred francs out of
Dumont. Then, at five minutes past six, he jumped into a cab and was
driven to the Place de la Sorbonne.
Of course he had ascertained Joan's address easily. He made no secret of
the fact that he had seen her on her way to the Louvre nearly every day
of the twenty that had elapsed since their first meeting. His knowledge
of the route she followed advanced quickly until he found out where she
lived. He would not have dared to call on her now, if it had not been
for the tremendous thing that had happened in his life; for he was sure
he would become King of Kosnovia. The art that conceals art is good; but
the art that is unconscious of artifice is better, and never had
soothsayer arranged more effective preliminaries for astounding
prediction than sibyl Joan herself.
Paris, too, might well witness the rising of his star. What other city
stages such memorials to inspire ambition? Behind him, as his cab sped
down the Champs Elysees, rose the splendid pile of the Arch of Triumph;
in front, beyond the Place de la Concorde, the setting sun gilded a
smoke blackened fragment that marked the site of the Tuileries; while
near at hand the statue of France, grief stricken yet defiant, gazed
ever and longingly in the direction of her lost Provinces. Here, within
a short mile, stood the silent records of three Empires, founded, as
time counts, within a few years. Two were already crumbled to the dust.
The survivor, consolidated on the ruins of France, flourished beyond the
Rhine.
Perhaps, if read aright, these portents were not wholly favorable to one
about to try his luck in that imperial game. But Alec, though a good
deal of a democrat at heart, was cheered by the knowledge that so long
as the world recognizes the divine right of Kings, no monarch by descent
could lay better claim to a throne than he. And he was young, and in
love, and ready to believe that youth and love can level mountains, make
firm the morass, bridge the ocean.
He wondered how Joan would take his great news. He thought he could
guess her attitude. At first she would urge him to forget that such a
person as Joan Vernon existed. Then he would plead that she was asking
that which was not only impossible but utterly unheroic. And the minutes
were flying. He would remind her that time does not wait even for Kings,
nor would the Orient Express delay its departure by a single second to
oblige such a fledgling potentate as he.
"We must part now, my sweet," he would say. "I am going to demand my
birthright. When I am admittedly a King, I shall send for you. If you do
not answer, I shall become my own envoy. You will make a beautiful
Queen, Joan. You and I together will raise Kosnovia from the mire of
centuries."
Somewhat stilted lovemaking this; but what was a poor fellow to do who
had been taken from the Rue Boissiere and plunged into empire making,
all in the course of a summer's evening?
He crossed the Pont Neuf without ever a look at Henri Quatre. That was a
pity. The sarcastic Bearnais grin might have revealed some of the
pitfalls that lay ahead. At any rate, the King of Navarre could have
given him many instances of a woman's fickleness--and fickleness was the
ugly word that leaped into Alec's puzzled brain when an ancient dame at
Joan's lodgings told him that Mademoiselle and her maid had gone away
that afternoon.
"Gone! Gone where?" he asked blankly.
"It is necessary to write," said Madame, and shut the door in his face,
since it is forbidden in the Quartier for good looking and unknown young
men to make such urgent inquiries concerning the whereabouts of discreet
young women like Mademoiselle Joan.
Leontine, still scrubbing, came to the rescue. Never had she seen any
one so distinguished as this Monsieur. _Mon Dieu!_ but it was a pity
that the belle Americaine should have packed her boxes that very day!
And diminutive Leontine was romantic to the tips of her stubby fingers.
"M'sieu'? wishes to know where he will find the young lady who lives
there?" said she archly, jerking her head and a broom handle toward the
neighboring house.
"But yes, my pretty one," cried Alec.
"Well, Pauline said--Pauline is her domestic, see you--said they were
going to the forest to paint."
"To Fontainebleau?"
"Perhaps, m'sieu'--to the forest, that was it."
"No name? Barbizon?"
"It might be. I have no head for those big words, m'sieu'."
Alec gave her a five-franc piece. It was the first coin he found in his
pocket, and the sight of it caused a frown. Confound those Montmartre
playwrights! Why was their stupid travesty constantly recurring to his
mind? He frowned again, this time at Auguste Comte's smugness, and
looked at his watch. Twenty-five minutes to seven! It was too late now
to do other than write--if he succeeded. If not--ah, well! "Some of them
are slain in the flower of their youth." At least, she would remember,
and those glorious eyes of hers would glisten with tears, and the belief
helped to console him. Still, he was saddened, disappointed, almost
dulled. Doubt came darkly with the dispelling of the dream that he might
commence his Odyssey with Joan's first and farewell kiss on his lips.
Love and ambition seemed to be at variance; but love had flown, whereas
ambition remained.
Back, then, to the Rue Boissiere, to an uproar of visitors, sightseers,
journalists. Prince Michael had become Monseigneur again. He was holding
a reception. Alec, pressing through the throng, was waylaid by a
servant.
"This way, monsieur," whispered the man, drawing him into a passage and
thence to the room of Princess Delgrado. Alec was soothing his mother's
grief when his father entered secretly on tiptoe with the hushed voice
and stealthy air of a conspirator. He carried a parcel, long and narrow,
wrapped in brown paper.
"I have been consumed with anxiety," said he. "Julius came and warned me
that your departure from Paris ought to be incognito. This is wise; so I
remain King-elect till you reach Delgratz. The newspapers are pestering
me to declare a program. They all expect that I shall leave Paris
to-night or early to-morrow. Indeed, an impudent fellow representing
'_Le Soir_' says that if I don't bestir myself I shall be christened the
Sluggard King. But I shall humbug them finely. Leave that to me. Your
portmanteaus have been smuggled out by way of the servants' quarters,
and you must vanish unseen. Buy a ticket for Vienna, ignore Stampoff
during the journey, accept my blessing, and take this." He held out the
parcel.
"What is it?" inquired Alec.
"My father's sword, your grandfather's sword. I have kept it bright for
you."
Alec squirmed. He knew the weapon, a curved simitar inlaid with gold,
and reposing in a scabbard of gilt metal and purple velvet. In its
wrapping of brown paper and twine it suspiciously resembled a child's
toy, and Prince Michael's grandiloquent manner added a touch of
buffoonery to a farewell scene made poignant by a woman's tears.
"I shall use it only on the skulls of eminent personages," said Alec
gravely. In truth, this Parisian kingship was rapidly becoming farcical.
What a line, what a situation, for that review!
But there was worse to come. Checked in his outburst of family pride,
Monseigneur became practical. "What of Dumont?" said he.
"He was touched; but he knocked off five hundred francs."
"Ah, bah! I rather hoped--well, I must return to the salon and play my
part. Remember, you will see no one except a servant at the Gare de
l'Est. Julius has arranged passports, everything."
"He is taking an extraordinary interest in me. Of course, if I pull
through, he becomes heir presumptive."
"Parbleu! That is so. But--you will marry. Bide your time, though.
Choose a Queen who--" his shifty eyes fell on the trembling form of his
wife, who had remained strangely silent during this somewhat strained
interview,--"who will be as good a wife to you as your mother has been
to me. Farewell! may God guard you!"
Twice in one day had the pompous little man been betrayed into an avowal
of honest sentiment. But he soon recovered. Once reestablished on the
hearthrug, with his eyeglass properly adjusted, his hands tucked under
his coattails when they were not emphasizing some well turned phrase,
Prince Michael enjoyed himself hugely.
And then Alec clasped his mother in his arms. She was almost incoherent
with terror. Bid him remain she dare not; she lacked the force of
character that such a step demanded. She had given too many years to
this chimera of royalty now suddenly grown into a monster to be sated
only by the sacrifice of her son! But she mourned as if he was already
dead, and a lump rose in Alec's throat. He had always loved his mother;
his father had ever been remote, a dignified trifler, a poser. The three
held nothing in common. It could hardly be doubted that every good
quality of mind and body the boy possessed was a debt to the
brokenhearted woman now clinging to him in a very frenzy of lamentation.
Small wonder if his eyes were misty and his voice choked. Ah! if Joan
but knew of this sorrowing mother's plight, surely she would come to
her!
At last he tore himself away. Grasping that ridiculous parcel, he
hurriedly descended a back staircase. Owing to the paternal watchfulness
that the French Government exercises over its subjects, he was obliged
to pass the concierge; but none paid heed to him. If it came to that,
all Paris would guffaw at the notion of dear Alec becoming a filibuster.
He hailed a passing cab. If he would catch his train, they must drive
furiously, which is nothing new in Paris. Climbing the Rue La Fayette,
he passed Count Julius Marulitch and Constantine Beliani coming the
other way in an open victoria. They were so deeply engaged in
conversation that they did not see him. Julius was talking and the Greek
listening. It flashed into Alec's mind that the presence in Paris of the
Greek on the very day of the Delgratz regicide offered a most remarkable
coincidence. Beliani was no stranger to him, since he and General
Stampoff, the one as Finance Minister and the other as Commander in
Chief, were exiled from Kosnovia after an abortive revolution ten years
ago.
But Beliani usually lived in Vienna, indeed, he was sometimes regarded
as an active agent in Austria's steady advance on Salonica,--whereas
dear old Paul Stampoff hated Austria, was a frequent visitor to the
Delgrado receptions, and it was largely to his constant urging and
tuition that Alec owed his familiarity with the Slav language. The
Greek, it was evident, heard of the murders at the earliest possible
moment; Julius too was singularly well informed, though his interest in
Kosnovian affairs had long seemed dormant; even the fiery Stampoff was
no laggard once the news was bruited. Alec went so far as to fix the
exact time at which Julius appeared in the Rue Boissiere. He knew
something of the ways of newspapers, and was well aware that no private
person could hope to obtain such important intelligence before the
press. He himself had unwittingly heard the first public announcement of
the tragedy, and the three men had certainly lost no time in hurrying to
greet their new sovereign.
What a madly inconsequent jumble it all was! Little more than two hours
ago he was driving through the Bois with no other notion in his brain
than to seek a means of earning a livelihood; yet here he was at the
Gare de l'Est carrying a sword as a symbol of kingship. A sword, wrapped
in brown paper, tied with string! Suppose, by some lucky chance, Joan
met him now, would she sympathize, or laugh?
He found his father's valet waiting with his luggage near the ticket
office. The man gave him an envelop. It contained a passport, vised by
the Turkish Embassy, and a few scribbled words:
Note the name. It is the nearest to your initials B. could procure.
I shall come to you on the train. Destroy this. S.
The name was that on the passport, "Alexandre George Delyanni;
nationality, Greek; business, carpet merchant; destination,
Constantinople."
Alec smiled. The humor of it was steeling him against the canker of
Joan's untimely disappearance. "I don't look much like a Greek," he said
to himself; "but the 'Alexandre' sounds well as an omen. I'm not so
sorry now. This business would tickle Joan to death."
So, on the whole, it was a resigned if not light-hearted adventurer who
disposed himself and his belongings in the Orient Express, after
experiencing the singular good luck of securing a section in the
sleeping car returned by a Viennese banker at the last moment. He went
about the business of buying his ticket and passing the barrier with a
careless ease that would have excited the envy of a Russian Terrorist.
Sharp eyes attend the departure of every international train from Paris;
but never a spy gave more than casual scrutiny to this broad shouldered
youth strolling down the platform, the latest passenger to arrive, and
the least flurried.
He neither saw nor looked for Stampoff. Having a minute to spare, he
obtained a newspaper, took a seat voucher for the first dinner, lighted
a cigarette, entered his reserved compartment, arranged his luggage, and
burnt General Stampoff's scrawl just as the train moved out of the
station.
Then he read an account of the Delgratz crime,--for it was only a crime,
a brutal and callous murder, not worthy to be dignified by the mantle of
political hate. The unhappy King and Queen of Kosnovia were dining in
company with the Queen's brother and the Minister of Ways and
Communications when the regiment on duty in the palace burst in on them.
King Theodore was shot down while endeavoring to protect the Queen. She
too fell riddled with bullets, and both corpses were flung into a
courtyard. The unhappy guests were wounded, and still remained prisoners
in the hands of the regicides, who vaunted that they had "saved" the
country, and meant to restore the ancient sovereignty.
Beliani's summary of subsequent events was accurate; but it struck Alec
at once that he had said nothing of the minister nor of Sergius
Vottisch, Queen Helena's brother, who was mainly instrumental in
defeating Beliani's half-forgotten revolt. Did he know of their
presence? How peculiar that he should utter no word of triumph
concerning Vottisch!
Alec threw aside the paper. He was sick at heart. He loathed the thought
that the first step toward his throne lay across the body of a woman.
"Nice guards, the noble Seventh Regiment!" he muttered. "Now, when I am
King----"
Then he realized that during the few minutes that had elapsed since the
train started, the whole aspect of the adventure had changed completely.
It was no longer a snatch of opera bouffe, a fantastic conceit
engendered in the brain of that elderly beau whom he had left in the Rue
Boissiere, a bit of stage trifling happily typified by the property
sword. It had become real, grim, menacing. It reeked of blood. Its first
battle was there, recorded in the newspaper. He pictured those brutal
soldiers mauling the warm bodies, thrusting them through an open window
and proclaiming their loyalty--to him!
The train was rushing through an estate noted for its game, and he had
been one of a party of guns in its coverts last October. He remembered
shooting a pheasant of glorious plumage, and saying: "Ah! What a pity! I
ought to have spared him, if only on account of his coat of many
colors."
"When birds are flying fast, even you, Alec, have to shoot _passim_,"
said a witty Hebrew, and Delgrado did not appreciate the _mot_ until
some one told him that _passeem_ in Hebrew meant "patchwork," and that
Jacob's offense to Joseph's brethren lay in the gift of a Prince's robe
to his favorite son.
The quip came to mind now with sinister significance; he wished most
heartily he had missed that pheasant. It was quite a relief when dinner
was announced, and he made his way to the dining car, where a polyglot
gathering showed that although the Orient Express had not quitted Paris
fifteen minutes it had already crossed many frontiers. There were few
French or English on board, and not one American. A couple of Turks, a
Bulgarian, a sprinkling of Russians and Levantines, and a crowd of
Teutons, either German or Austrian, made up the company. Stampoff
remained invisible, and Alec shared a table with an Armenian, who
insisted on speaking execrable English, though he understood French far
better.
Then this newest of all Kings felt very lonely, and he began to
understand something of the isolation that would surround him in that
Black Castle of his daydream, where, if all went well with him, he
alone would be the "foreigner." A longing for companionship came upon
him. He wanted some one who would laugh and talk airy nonsense, some one
whose mind would not be running everlastingly in the political groove,
and an irresistible impulse urged him to ask for a telegraph form and
write:
BEAUMANOIR, Villa Turquoise, Chantilly.
Come and join in the revel. ALEC.
He gave the message to an attendant, bidding him despatch it from
Chalons. He reasoned that Beaumanoir would be puzzled, would call at the
Rue Boissiere, see his father, and solve the mystery. In all likelihood,
Lord Adalbert, who cheerfully answered to the obvious nickname--would
accept the invitation, and by the time he reached Delgratz the
succession to the throne of Kosnovia would be in a fair way toward
settlement. Moreover, by depriving the Chantilly team of their crack
Number One, Alec would equalize matters for the Wanderers, and the love
of sport is ever the ruling passion in healthy and vigorous youth.
"By gad!" he said to himself, "I'm showing craft already. That is a
Machiavellian wire!"
It was, as it happened, a stroke worthy of the wily Florentine himself;
but neither he nor his latest pupil could possibly have estimated its
true bearing on events.
After dinner Stampoff found him. Delgrado was astounded at first.
Stampoff, shorn of his immense mustache, ceased to be a General. In
fact, the wizened, keen faced old man bore a striking resemblance to a
certain famous actor of the Comedie Francaise; but he was not seated in
Alec's compartment ten seconds with the door closed ere he showed that
the loss of his warrior aspect had in no way tamed his heart.
"Yes," he said, passing a lean hand over his blue-black upper lip, "it
was necessary to disguise myself. Ten years are not so long, and I am
known on the Danube. You see, we must get through to Delgratz and the
Schwarzburg. Once there, with three thousand bayonets behind us, we can
do things. Leave the fighting to me, your----"
He stopped, and glanced at a fat Turk lumbering along the corridor.
"Exactly, my dear old friend," said Alec. "Drop titles, please, until we
have a right to use them. Even then they can be left to gentlemen ushers
and court chamberlains. Alec and Paul sound better, anyhow. But you were
outlining a scheme. I go with you as far as Delgratz; but those bayonets
in the Schwarzburg will not be behind me, I hope. Some of them may come
within measurable distance of my manly chest; but even that is
improbable, for I have always noticed that vulgar assassins are
cowards."
Stampoff's bushy eyebrows had been spared, and they formed a hairy seam
now straight across eyes and nose. "You forget, perhaps you do not
know, that these men alone have actually declared for you--for a
Delgrado," he growled.
"And a pretty gang of cutthroats they must be! I read the details after
leaving Paris. That poor woman, Paul! She was pretty and vivacious, I
have been told. Just picture the scene in the dining hall. One woman,
three unarmed men, the King leaping up and endeavoring to shield
her--and the gallant Seventh firing volleys at them. Then, when the last
sob is uttered, the last groan stilled, husband and wife are pitched to
the dogs. Oh, it makes my blood boil! By the Lord! when I am King I
shall hang the whole crew!"
He spoke very quietly. Any one looking through the window in the upper
half of the door would have seen a young man seemingly telling an older
one something of ordinary import. But the words were crisp and hot. They
came like drops of molten steel from the furnace of his heart.
Stampoff's thin face grew swarthier. He bent forward, his hands on his
knees. "Will you tell me why you are going to Delgratz?" he asked with a
curious huskiness in his voice.
"To occupy a throne--or a tomb. In either event, I am only copying the
example of the vast majority of my revered ancestors."
"The throne is yours by right. Theodore has fallen almost precisely as
your grandfather fell. Ferdinand was shot, and escaped with his life
only because there was a struggle and a few faithful followers carried
him into safety."
"If I depended on the fealty of the Seventh Regiment, I should not
expect to find even the faithful few. Poor Theodore may have looked for
them; but they did not exist."
"Then we had better leave the train at Chalons and return to Paris."
"Certainly, if the butchers of the Schwarzburg are to form my cohort."
"God's bones! never have I been so mistaken in a man! Your father,
now,--one feared he might have lost his nerve,--but you, Alec! The devil
take it! I thought better of you. I suppose then, it will have to be
Marulitch."
"Julius! Is he a candidate--or a rival?"
Stampoff paused, irresolute. He was deeply troubled, and his fierce eyes
searched Delgrado's face. "I had real hope of you," he muttered. "You
would appeal to the women, and they are ever half the battle. Why are
you so squeamish? You needn't embrace the men of the Seventh. You can
use them, and kick them aside. That is the fate of ladders that lead to
thrones. I know it. I am old enough not to care."
"I am not thinking of ladders as yet, Paul. Sufficient for the day is
the foundation thereof, and I refuse to build my Kingdom on the broken
vows of traitors."
"Ha! Stupid words! The ravings of cheap philosophers! By your own
showing, I am a traitor."
"Yes, but an honest one. You fought fairly and were beaten. Were it
otherwise, Theodore would never have tried so often to tempt you to his
service."
The General flung himself back in the carriage and folded his arms. The
steel spring was relaxed. He was baffled, and the weariness of life had
suddenly enveloped him in its chilling fog. "Very well, then. We descend
at Chalons," he said, with a sigh that was a tribute to adverse fate.
"Having paid for your ticket, you may as well come on to Vienna," said
Alec with irritating composure.
"Curse Vienna! Why should I take that long journey for nothing?"
"To oblige me."
"You'll drive me crazy. How will it oblige you?"
"Because I am going to Delgratz, General, and there is a whole lot of
things I want to ask you."
Stampoff bounced up again. "Will you be so kind as to explain what you
mean?" he cried indignantly.
"Oh, yes. We are going to talk far into the night, and it is only fair
that you should know my intentions. Otherwise, the valuable counsel you
will give me might be misdirected, as it is, for instance, at the
present moment, when you are heatedly advising me to throw in my lot
with a set of rascals who, when I fail to satisfy their demands, would
turn and rend me just as they have rended Theodore. Be sure that their
object was selfish, Stampoff. Not one of these men has ever seen Prince
Michael or myself. Even their leaders must have been mere boys when
Ferdinand VII. was attacked--probably by their fathers. Well, I shall
have none of them. They and their like are the curse of Kosnovia. Who
will pay taxes to keep me in the state that becomes a King? Not they.
Who will benefit by good government and honest administration of the
laws? Assuredly not they, for they batten on corruption; they are the
maggots not the bees of industry. Over whom, then, shall I reign?
"I am young, Paul; but I have read and thought,--not very deeply,
perhaps, but I have looked at things in that strong, clear light of
Paris, which is heady at times, like its good wine, but which enables
men to view art and politics and social needs in their nakedness. And I
am half an American, too, which accounts for certain elements in my
composition that detract from French ideals. A Frenchman cannot
understand, Paul, why some of my excellent kith and kin across the
Atlantic should condemn studies of the nude. But somehow I have a
glimmering sense of the moral purpose that teaches us to avoid that
which is not wholly decent. So I am a blend of French realism and
American level headedness, and both sides of my nature warn me that a
King should trust his people. Sometimes the people are slow to learn
that vital fact. Well, they must be taught, and the first lesson in a
State like Kosnovia might well be given by trying those felons of the
Schwarzburg before a duly constituted court of law."
"Fine talk, Alec. Fine talk! You do not know our Serbs," yet Stampoff
was moved, and his Slavonic sympathies were touched.
"Well, 'A King should die standing,' said one poor monarch, who thought
he did know Frenchmen. I ask only for a few hours in my boots once I
reach Delgratz. I shall say things that will not be forgotten for a day
or two. Come, now, my old war-horse, join me in this new campaign! It
may well prove your last as it is my first; but we shall fall honorably,
you and I."
There were tears in Stampoff's eyes when Alec made an end. "Perhaps you
are right," he said. "I have always given my mind to the military
element. It seemed to me that the common folk require to be driven, not
led, into the path they should tread. I am growing old, Alec; yours is a
new creed to me. I never thought to hear it from a Delgrado, and it will
make a rare stir in more places than Kosnovia; but by Heaven it is worth
a trial!"
So Alec had won a convert, and that is the first essential of a
reformer. Long and earnestly did they discuss the men and manners of
Kosnovia and its chief city, and ever the Danube drew nearer; but not a
word did Alec say of his telegram to Beaumanoir until a man met him in
the Western Station at Vienna, wrung his hand, and rushed away again
with the words:
"Beaumanoir leaves Paris to-night. He understands. So do I. Good luck,
old chap! If you have to hit, hit hard and quickly."
Stampoff did not speak English. He was greatly distressed that Alec
should have been recognized the instant he alighted from the train,
though Paris was then twenty-two hours distant. "Who is that?" he asked
anxiously.
"A friend from the British Embassy."
"From an Embassy! Then we are lost."
"It seemed to me that I was found, rather."
"But if the Embassies know----"
"They are invariably the worst informed centers in any country. The
facts of which they profess total ignorance would fill many interesting
volumes. Have no fear, General. I said 'a friend.' He gave me a pleasant
message."
"Ah, from a woman, of course?"
"No. But----"
Delgrado wheeled round to face a tall burly man standing stiffly at his
side as though awaiting orders. Stampoff, who had been following the
vanishing figure of Beaumanoir's emissary with suspicious eyes, turned
and looked at the newcomer.
"Oh, that is Bosko," he said, "my servant--yours, too, for that matter.
You can trust Bosko with your life. Can't he, you dog?"
"_Oui, m'sieur!_" said Bosko.