PLAIN TALK
That it was chiefly the stunning unexpectedness of my stroke which
overwhelmed Count Gustav was proved by the promptness with which he
rallied. Had I given him even a hint of my information or prepared him
in any way for the thrust, I am sure he would have met it with outward
equanimity.
My probe had pierced the flesh, however, before he had had a moment to
guard himself; and he had flinched and winced at the unexpected pain of
it. But he soon recovered self-possession.
"You have a dramatic instinct, Miss Gilmore, and considerable inventive
power. You should write for the stage. The essence of melodrama is
surprise."
"I could not hope always to carry my audience away so completely,
Count."
He laughed. "I am afraid I have not done you justice hitherto. I have
not taken you seriously enough. I think you are right in another
thing--I had better not go yet. Our chat promises to be interesting.
I should very much like a cigar. I wonder if Madame would object." He
spoke lightly and took out his cigar case.
"It would be very appropriate," I said. "There is one character in a
melodrama who always smokes."
"You mean the villain?"
"The hero rarely has time--after the first act, at any rate. He is
generally being arrested, or hunted, or imprisoned, or ruined in some
way--sometimes drugged."
He had struck the match and at my last word paused to look at me. He
favoured me with such a stare that the match burnt his fingers, and he
dropped it with a muttered oath which I affected not to hear. It was a
very trifling incident; but he was so unusually careful in such matters
as a rule that it offered another proof of his ill balance.
"I burnt my fingers and forgot my manners," he said lightly. "I beg
your pardon, Miss Gilmore."
"You mean that you wish to have time to recover from the surprise.
Pray wait as long as you please--and think. I have no wish to take any
fresh advantage over you--at present."
"Oh no, thank you," he cried, airily. "We will talk. Now, we must
know where we stand, you and I?"
"At the moment we are in the salon of Madame d'Artelle, who was your
instrument and tool."
"That 'was' sounds interesting. Is that your number one?"
"Yes."
"Very well, then, we'll take her as finished with. I don't care much
about her. She has disappointed me. She is pretty; beautiful even:
but no brains. She has let you guess too much. I'd rather deal with
you direct. What is number two? And how many numbers are there?"
He was so light in hand, took defeat so easily, was so apparently ready
for a complete change of front, and spoke with such an admirable
assumption of raillery that I had difficulty in repressing an
inclination to smile.
"You admit your defeat, then?"
He spread out his hands, waving one of them toward Gareth's drawing,
and shrugged his shoulders.
"I am not a fool, Miss Gilmore."
I had expected anything except this instant surrender; and it caught me
unready to state my terms. I could not go into the question of my
father's wrongs, because I did not know enough of the matter.
"The terms will be heavy," I said, slowly.
"One must pay a price for folly; and I shall at least have the
compensation of pleasing you."
"You will make Gareth your legal wife?"
He drew two whiffs of his cigar, took it from his lips, and looked at
it thoughtfully.
"I would much rather marry you," he said with sudden smiling insolence.
"Do you agree?" I asked, curtly.
"That's number two, is it? Is the list much longer?"
"You will abandon the attempt to ruin your brother?"
"That's number three--number four?"
"There is no number four at present."
"What, nothing for yourself? Then you are a most remarkable young
lady. Oh, but there must be."
"You are wasting time, Count Gustav, and Colonel Katona may grow
impatient," I answered.
"Give me time. I am lost in amazement at such altruism--such
philanthropy. You come to Pesth to push your fortunes; chance and your
clever little wits put a fortune in your grasp, and--you want nothing
for yourself." He shot at me a glance of sly mockery. "Perhaps Miss
von Dreschler seeks something? The other Christabel, you know."
"I have stated my terms, Count Gustav."
"My answer is that I accept all of them--except the last two;" and the
laugh at his insolence was one of genuine enjoyment.
"Then there is no more to be said," I declared, rising.
"But indeed there is. Pray sit down again. We are going to talk this
over frankly. There is always an alternative course in such
affairs--that was why I was anxious to know your motive. Will you sit
down?"
"No. I have said all I wish."
"Well, you gave me a surprise. I will give you one. You are Miss
Christabel von Dreschler; or at all events you were, until you
inherited your uncle's money and took his name with it. He was John P.
Gilmore, of Jefferson City, Missouri. Now, allow me;" and he placed a
chair for me with elaborate courtesy, while he regarded me with an
expression of great satisfaction and triumph.
I sat down and he resumed his seat.
"By the way," he said, as if casually, "we are likely to be engaged
some time, hadn't we better let Colonel Katona go?"
"I may still have to speak to him," I answered, drily.
"I don't think so, when he knows that you are Colonel von Dreschler's
daughter--if I should have to tell him, that is--he will not be very
friendly toward you. He will not, really. He is a very singular old
man." The art with which he conveyed this threat was inimitably
excellent.
"The truth when he knows it, will tell with him, no matter from whom it
comes."
"Yes, but he may not have to know it. You may persuade me to marry
Gareth--in reality, you see. Besides, your object in bringing him here
has already been achieved; you made your coup, and it was successful.
Why keep him? You can just as easily tell him all another time--if you
have to; while if I agree to do now what you wish, you will only have
to put him off and send him away. I really think he may go. I have
very little doubt we shall come to an understanding."
I thought a moment. "Yes, he may go. I will tell him so."
"I will go with you to him. He has a great regard for my family. We
will tell him you are indisposed, or anything you please. I can
satisfy him more easily than you can, perhaps."
"I will go alone."
He shook his head and smiled. "Do you think that quite fair to me
under the peculiar circumstances? I wish to be quite sure that what
you say is discreet. I must make a point of it that we go together,
really I must."
But I recalled my impersonation of the giggling miss, and was not
willing that the Count should know of that.
"I will go alone to him, or he must remain," I said.
"I will go to him alone, then. You may be sure I shall not betray
myself."
I let him go. I saw no risk in so simple a step, and was glad to be
relieved from the interview. I read his act to be a confirmation of
his words--that we were likely to come to an understanding, and in that
case there would be no need for Colonel Katona ever to know that Gareth
had been betrayed.
I was a little uneasy, however, when some minutes passed and the Count
did not return, but he explained the delay by saying that the Colonel
was a peculiar man, and had plagued him with many questions difficult
to answer.
"I told him you were not well, and would find means to see him as soon
as necessary. And now, to resume our conversation, Miss--von
Dreschler."
He spoke as airily as if it were a game of cards which had been
interrupted.
"You take that for granted; but it scarcely helps matters."
"Permit me to indulge in the rudeness of a contradiction. I think it
does. It gives me the clue to your motive--an essential matter to me.
You are an American, young, wealthy, very pretty, and undoubtedly
clever. Why then do you masquerade as an adventuress? You may have
one of two motives--and there is a very improbable third. As Miss von
Dreschler, my brother paid you great attentions in New York; the matter
being broken off suddenly, in obedience to the protest of one of the
friends with him, who reminded Karl that what was going to happen here
made it impossible for him to marry a private individual."
He was very quick to see the surprise with which I heard this, and
paused to emphasize it.
"You are surprised. I always have thought that Karl's conduct was
indefensible. You ought to have been told the real reason; and it was
only a flight of romantic fancy for him to prefer to pose as a mean
fellow, willing to win your affections and then run away. That was his
deliberate decision, however. He believed you would get over the
affair all the more easily if you thought him a scoundrel."
He glanced up again to judge the effect of his words as he paused to
pull at his cigar; but I was on guard and gave no sign at all. It was,
however, an unpleasant experience to have the other side of my chief
life's story revealed by a man whom I knew to be false; and told with a
purpose, in a tone of half sardonic raillery, and as a carefully
calculated bid for my silence about himself. Heart dissection is a
trying process under such conditions.
"You will see from this that Karl was--excuse me if I put it plainly;
it is all necessary--was intensely devoted to you. He returned home
profoundly unhappy and very love-sick--his is a nature which takes such
things seriously--and to this hour he has never recovered. To forget
you and the way he had treated you, he plunged into wild excesses which
in a couple of years gravely impaired his health; heavy drinking was
followed by the present passion for opium. In a word, you have seen
for yourself what love has done for my brother."
"You have helped him downwards," I put in.
"He needed no help from me, but----" he waved his cigar expressively
and jerked his shoulders. "And that brings us to chapter the second.
For our purposes here, a dipsomaniac with a love craze and the opium
habit is no use. You are Colonel von Dreschler's daughter, and may
know something of the Patriotic Hungarian cause----" he paused to give
me a chance to speak.
"The movement in favour of independence, you mean?"
"I thought you would know it;" and he nodded as if it were of the most
trifling consequence. "Well, then, you will know that Karl became
impossible. Yet he is the elder son and my father's heir; and some of
us Hungarians are almost fanatics on the subject of succession.
Everything was in danger; and as he has always refused to be set aside
in my favour, there was nothing to do except to make him legally
impossible. Another surprise for you now"--he spoke as indulgently as
if he had been throwing me a candy. "The marriage with you became
desirable; so Fate turns her wheel, you see; and I sent to New York to
search for you, and we took infinite trouble in the vain endeavour to
trace you. It was very unfortunate;" and he spread out his hands again.
I made no comment, but just kept my eyes on him, waiting for him to
continue.
"Pardon me if I am personal again. You would have suited our purpose
admirably. I suspected you were the daughter of Colonel von Dreschler;
and as your father's reputation was--was what it was and is--Karl's
marriage with you would have been absolutely fatal to his chances here."
"My father's reputation was the result of vile treachery," I cried
indignantly. And I saw my blunder instantly in the start of
satisfaction he gave, but instantly repressed. He smoked a couple of
moments in silence.
"We will deal with that presently--but I thank you for that admission,
although I am surprised you did not see the trap I laid to obtain it.
Your natural indignation, no doubt. Well, as we could not find you, we
had to obtain an understudy--Madame d'Artelle." His tone was
contemptuous here. "And I think, now, you understand chapter two. You
must admit I have been frank; and my frankness is a tribute to your
perspicacity."
"You have no comments," he said, still lightly and airily, when I did
not speak. "Very well, then, we'll go to chapter three. That concerns
the future--and your part in it. What do you mean to do, or, in other
words, why did you come here? You are an interesting problem. You may
have come to try and clear your father's name; or to punish in some way
the man who treated you so badly: clever and pretty women have done
that before, you know. Or--and this I referred to as the really
improbable motive--you may still wish to marry my brother. But
whatever your motive and object, I pledge you my honour--the honour of
the son of the Duke Ladislas and future King of Hungary--that I will
help you to the utmost of my power. But you must also help me; and for
your first object you must be content to wait a year or two, until my
father's death."
"And Gareth?" I asked, after a pause.
A frown darkened his face and his eyes clouded. He rose and took a
couple of turns across the room.
"Would to God I could undo that business!" he cried, either with deep
feeling or an excellent simulation of it. "You can't understand what
this is to me! I am not a man capable of deep love, but I care for
Gareth beyond all women. It was a midsummer madness; and if I could
repair the injury to her, I would. But the prospect of the throne is
between us--and shall I give that up and wreck the whole of this great
national movement for her? I would do anything else on God's earth for
her--but that I cannot. It is impossible."
"And her father?"
"I know what you mean. He would plunge a knife in my heart or send a
bullet crashing into my brain, if he knew. He is desperate enough for
anything. But he must not know. You must never tell him."
"You have the hardihood to do the wrong but lack the courage to face
the consequences," I exclaimed, bitterly.
"I was not thinking of that. I am not afraid of mere death, I hope,"
he cried contemptuously. "I am thinking of the millions of Czechs,
men, women and children, whose hopes of liberty are centred in my life.
Beside that, all else is as nothing."
"It is a pity you did not think of this before."
"A man is a man and will act as a man at times. I have done a wrong I
cannot undo; and it only remains to limit its mischief."
"A convenient code."
"Where is Gareth?" he broke off.
"Not where you intended those miscreants of yours to place her."
"Oh, so that was you also, was it?" he said, understanding. "You are
making yourself very dangerous. Do you persist in threatening me?"
"What if I do?"
He paused as if to give emphasis to his reply.
"Those who oppose a national movement, Miss von Dreschler, must not be
surprised if they are crushed under its wheels. As the daughter of
your father, your mere presence here might be a danger to you."
"You threaten me?"
"I warn you--and that is the same thing. But a way is open to you.
Marry Karl and take him away."
"You are a coward!" I cried, the burning red of anger flushing my face
as I remembered his former taunt that such a marriage would degrade his
brother sufficiently for his purpose.
"Cold facts not hot words will alone serve here," he replied. "What do
you mean to do?"
"You can let your brother marry Madame d'Artelle. He is nothing to me."
He bent a sharp, piercing look upon me. "You mean that?"
"If I had influence with him it would be used to thwart your schemes.
Keep him away from me, therefore, lest I tell him who I am and pit that
influence against yours."
He paused and his brows knitted in thought. "What you mean is that you
are willing to use Madame d'Artelle to revenge your own wrongs upon
him. Then the third motive, the improbable one for your presence here,
is the real one."
"If he will marry her, let him," I cried indignantly.
"You mean they are to carry out to-morrow's plan?"
"Yes."
"You amaze me. But then one never can understand a woman. And as for
the rest?"
"I must think. It is a tangle. I shall probably tell Colonel Katona."
"It will be his death warrant. A hint that my life is in peril from
him and a hundred knives will be out of their sheaths in my defence.
And those who would defend me against him would be ugly enemies of
Colonel von Dreschler's daughter. You do not understand us Magyars.
You are raising a storm whose violence may overwhelm you."
"I will say no more now. But you shall do Gareth justice."
"Do you set that before the clearing of your father's name? That is
the problem for you, and it is so searching that I can be sure you will
not act in a hurry. But in any case, I do not fear you, Miss von
Dreschler, nor anything you can do. I shall see you to-morrow, and by
then you will have decided whether my brother is to marry Madame
d'Artelle."
"I have decided. That is what I wish," I answered, firmly.
In his perplexity he stared hard at me and then bowed. As he was
leaving the room he turned.
"I don't understand you; but I shall be sorry if you make yourself my
enemy and drive me to any extremes. I respect you; and repeat, I shall
be sorry."
I made no answer; leaving him to think I had spoken my last word as to
Karl.