"I trust there is no question of defiance," Louis de Soyecourt equably
returned. "Yet I regret you should have been at pains to follow me, since I
still claim the privilege of living out my life in my own fashion."
"You claim a right which never existed, my little son. It is not demanded
of any man that he be happy, whereas it is manifestly necessary for a
gentleman to obey his God, his King, and his own conscience without
swerving. If he also find time for happiness, well and good; otherwise, he
must be unhappy. But, above all, he must intrepidly play out his allotted
part in the good God's scheme of things, and must with due humbleness
recognize that the happiness or the unhappiness of any man alive is a
trivial consideration as against the fulfilment of this scheme."
"You and Nelchen are much at one there," the Marquis lightly replied; "yet,
for my part, I fancy that Providence is not particularly interested in who
happens to be the next Grand Duke of Noumaria."
The Prince struck with his hand upon the arm of his chair. "You dare to
jest! Louis, your levity is incorrigible. France is beaten, discredited
among nations, naked to her enemies. She lies here, between England and
Prussia, as in a vise. God summons you, a Frenchman, to reign in Noumaria,
and in addition affords you a chance to marry that weathercock of
Badenburg's daughter. Ah, He never spoke more clearly, Louis. And you would
reply with a shallow jest! Why, Badenburg and Noumaria just bridge that
awkward space between France and Austria. Your accession would confirm the
Empress,--Gaston de Puysange has it in her own hand, yonder at Versailles!
I tell you it is all planned that France and Austria will combine, Louis!
Think of it,--our France on her feet again, mistress of Europe, and every
whit of it your doing, Louis,--ah, my boy, my boy, you cannot refuse!"
Thus he ran on in a high, disordered voice, pleading, clutching at his son
with a strange new eagerness which now possessed the Prince de Gâtinais.
He was remembering the France which he had known; not the ignoble, tawdry
France of the moment, misruled by women, rakes, confessors, and valets, but
the France of his dead Sun King; and it seemed to Louis de Soyecourt that
the memory had brought back with it the youth of his father for an instant.
Just for a heart-beat, the lank man towered erect, his cheeks pink, and
every muscle tense.
Then Louis de Soyecourt shook his head. In England's interest, as he now
knew, Ormskirk had played upon de Soyecourt's ignorance and his love of
pleasure, as an adept plays upon the strings of a violin; but de Soyecourt
had his reason, a gigantic reason, for harboring no grudge against the
Englishman.
"Frankly, my father, I would not give up Nelchen though all Europe depended
upon it. I am a coward, perhaps; but I have my chance of happiness, and
I mean to take it. So Cousin Otto is welcome to the duchy. I infinitely
prefer Nelchen."
"Otto! a general in the Prussian army, Frederick's property, Frederick's
idolater!" The old Prince now passed from an apex of horror to his former
pleading tones. "But, then, it is not necessary you give up Nelchen. Ah,
no, a certain latitude is permissible in these matters, you understand. She
could be made a countess, a marquise,--anything you choose to demand, my
Louis. And you could marry Princess Victoria just the same--"
"Were you any other man, monsieur," said Louis de Soyecourt, "I would,
of course, challenge you. As it is, I can only ask you to respect my
helplessness. It is very actual helplessness, sir, for Nelchen has been
bred in such uncourtly circles as to entertain the most provincial notions
about becoming anybody's whore."
Now the Prince de Gâtinais sank back into the chair. He seemed incredibly
old now. "You are right," he mumbled,--"yes, you are right, Louis. I have
talked with her. With her that would be impossible. These bourgeois do not
understand the claims of noble birth."
The younger man had touched him upon the shoulder. "My father,--" he began.
"Yes, I am your father," said the other, dully, "and it is that which
puzzles me. You are my own son, and yet you prefer your happiness to
the welfare of France, to the very preservation of France. Never in six
centuries has there been a de Soyecourt to do that. God and the King we
served ... six centuries ... and to-day my own son prefers an innkeeper's
daughter..." His voice trailed and slurred like that of one speaking in his
sleep, for he was an old man, and by this the flare of his excitement had
quite burned out, and weariness clung about his senses like a drug. "I will
go back to Beaujolais ... to my retorts and my bees ... and forget there
was never a de Soyecourt in six centuries, save my own son...."
"My father!" Louis de Soyecourt cried, and shook him gently. "Ah, I dare
say you are right, in theory. But in practice I cannot give her up. Surely
you understand--why, they tell me there was never a more ardent lover than
you. They tell me--And you would actually have me relinquish Nelchen, even
after you have seen her! Yet remember, monsieur, I love her much as you
loved my mother,--that mettlesome little princess whom you stole from the
very heart of her court.[Footnote: The curious may find further details of
the then Marquis de Soyecourt's abduction of the Princess Clotilda in the
voluminous pages of Hulot, under the year 1708.] Ah, I have heard tales of
you, you conceive. And Nelchen means as much to me as once my mother meant
to you, remember--She means youth, and happiness, and a tiny space of
laughter before I, too, am worm's-meat, and means a proper appreciation of
God's love for us all, and means everything a man's mind clutches at when
he wakens from some forgotten dream that leaves him weeping with sheer
adoration of its beauty. Ho, never was there a kinder father than you,
monsieur. You have spoiled me most atrociously, I concede; and after so
many years you cannot in decency whip about like this and deny me my very
life. Why, my father it is your little Louis who is pleading with you,--and
you have never denied me anything! See, now, how I presume upon your
weakness. I am actually bullying you into submission--bullying you through
your love for me. Eh, we love greatly, we de Soyecourts, and give all for
love. Your own life attests that, monsieur. Now, then, let us recognize the
fact we are de Soyecourts, you and I. Ah, my father,--"
Thus he babbled on, for the sudden languor of the Prince had alarmed him,
and Louis de Soyecourt, to afford him justice, loved his father with a
heartier intensity than falls to the portion of most parents. To arouse the
semi-conscious man was his one thought. And now he got his reward, for the
Prince de Gâtinais opened his keen old eyes, a trifle dazedly, and drew a
deep breath which shook his large frail body through and through.
"Let us recognize that we are de Soyecourts, you and I," he repeated, in a
new voice. "After all, I cannot drag you to Noumaria by the scruff of your
neck like a truant school-boy. Yes, let us recognize the fact that we are
de Soyecourts, you and I."
"Heh, in that event," said the Marquis, "we must both fall upon our knees
forthwith. For look, my father!"
Nelchen Thorn was midway in her descent of the stairs. She wore her simple
best. All white it was, and yet the plump shoulders it displayed were not
put to shame. Rather must April clouds and the snows of December retire
abashed, as lamentably inefficient analogues, the Marquis meditated; and as
she paused starry-eyed and a thought afraid, it seemed to him improbable
that even the Prince de Gâtinais could find it in his heart greatly to
blame his son.
"I begin to suspect," said the Prince, "that I am Jacob of old, and that
you are a very young cherub venturing out of Paradise through motives of
curiosity. Eh, my dear, let us see what entertainment we can afford you
during your visit to earth." He took her hand and led her to the table.