The King was anxious, worried, obviously unwell; his voice trembled as

he read aloud his son's letter. It was brief but dutiful, and even

affectionate. After a slight reproach that he should have been kept in

ignorance of the apprehensions entertained about the King's health, the

Prince requested an audience within the next two days; he had

considerations which it was his duty to lay before his Majesty, and he

firmly but respectfully claimed the right of confidential communication

with his father; that was essential to his Majesty's obtaining a true

appreciation of his views. The hit at Stenovics was plain enough, and

the Prince did not labor it. The letter ended there, with an expression

of earnest concern for the King's health. There was no word in it about

starting on his journey.

Then Markart told his story--not that he had much to tell. In essence he

added only that the Prince proposed to await the King's answer at

Praslok. Neither to him had the Prince said a word about starting on his

journey.

On this point Stenovics seized, pursuant, no doubt, to the plan devised

in that preliminary discussion with the other two members of the little

_coterie_.

"It is remarkable, sir--even more than remarkable--that his Royal

Highness makes no reference at all to the direct command which your

Majesty was pleased to issue to him," he observed.

The King listened, puzzled and rather distressed. "Yes, it isn't proper,

it isn't respectful. But now that my son knows of the state of my

health, I think I must see him. It seems unnatural to refuse. After all,

it may be the last time--since he's going on this journey."

"But is the Prince going on his journey, sir?" asked Stenovics. "Does

the studied silence of his letter augur well for his obedience? Doesn't

he seek an interview in order to persuade your Majesty against your

better judgment? I must be pardoned freedom of speech. Great interests

are at stake." The last words were true enough, though not in the sense

in which the King was meant to understand them.

"My son knows how near this matter is to my heart. I shall be able to

persuade him to do his duty," said the King.

The first round of the fight was going against the _coterie_. They did

not want the King to see his son. Danger lay there. The Prince's was the

stronger character; it might well prevail; and they were no longer

certain that the Prince knew or guessed nothing of their hopes and

intentions; how much news had Zerkovitch carried to Praslok the night

before? Stenovics addressed the King again.

"Captain Markart gathered that the Prince was reluctant to interrupt the

military training on which he is engaged at Volseni, sir."

"A very excellent thing, that; but the other matter is more urgent. I

shouldn't change my mind on account of that."

"A personal interview might be trying to your Majesty."

The King looked annoyed, possibly a little suspicious. "You've no other

objection than that to urge, General Stenovics?"

Stenovics had none other which he could produce. "No, sir," he said.

"While I'm here I must do my duty--and I shall induce my son to do his.

I'll receive the Prince of Slavna in private audience to-morrow or next

day. I'll fix the precise time later, and I'll write the letter myself."

The decision was final--and it was defeat so far. There was a moment's

silence. Markart saw Colonel Stafnitz nod his head, almost

imperceptibly, towards Countess Ellenburg. The need and the moment for

reinforcements had come; the Colonel was calling them up. The order of

battle had been well considered in Countess Ellenburg's apartments! The

second line came into action. The Countess began with a question, put

with a sneer:

"Did no other reason for the Prince's unwillingness to set out on his

journey suggest itself to Captain Markart from what he saw at Praslok?"

The King turned sharply round to her, then to Markart. "Well?" he asked

the latter.

Markart was sadly embarrassed.

"Who was at Praslok?" asked the Countess.

"Madame Zerkovitch, and her husband for one night, and Baroness

Dobrava."

"Yes, Baroness Dobrava!"

"She's still there?" asked the King. He looked perplexed, even vexed,

but again he smiled. He looked at Stenovics and Stafnitz, but this time

he found no responsive smiles. Their faces were deadly serious. "Oh,

come, well--well, that's not serious. Natural, perhaps, but--the Prince

has a sense of duty. He'll see that that won't do. And we'll send the

Baroness a hint--we'll tell her how much we miss her at Slavna." He

tried to make them answer his smile and accept his smoothing away of the

difficulty. It was all a failure.

"I'm bound to say, sir, that I consider Baroness Dobrava a serious

obstacle to his Royal Highness's obeying your wishes--a serious

obstacle," said Stenovics.

"Then we must get her away, General."

"Will he let her go?" snapped the Countess.

"I must order it, if it comes to that," said the King. "These

little--er--affairs--these--what?--holiday flirtations--"

The Countess lost--or appeared to lose--control of herself suddenly.

"Little affairs! Holiday flirtations! If it were only that, it would be

beneath your notice, sir, and beneath mine. It's more than that!"

The King started and leaned forward, looking at her. She rose to her

feet, crying: "More than that! While we sit talking here, he may be

marrying that woman!"

"Marrying her?" cried the King; his face turned red, and then, as the

blood ebbed again, became very pale.

"That's what she means--yes, and what he means, too!"

The King was aghast. The second assault struck home--struck at his

dearest hopes and wounded his most intimate ambitions. But he was still

incredulous. He spread out trembling hands, turning from the vehement

woman to his two counsellors.

"Gentlemen!" he said, imploringly, with out-stretched hands.

They were silent--grave and silent.

"Captain Markart, you--you saw anything to suggest this--this terrible

idea?"

The fire was hot on poor Markart again. He stammered and stuttered.

"The--the Baroness seemed to have much influence, sir; to--to hold a

very high position in the Prince's regard; to--to be in his

confidence--"

"Yes!" struck in the Countess. "She wears the uniform of his artillery!

Isn't that a compliment usually reserved for ladies of royal rank? I

appeal to you, Colonel Stafnitz!"

"In most services it is so, I believe, Countess," the Colonel answered

gravely.

"But I should never allow it--and without my consent--"

"It might be invalid, sir, though there's some doubt about that. But it

would be a fatal bar to our German project. Even an influence short of

actual marriage--"

"She means marriage, I say, marriage!" The Countess was quite rudely

impatient of her ally--which was very artistic. "An ambitious and

dangerous woman! She has taken advantage of the favor the King showed

her."

"And if I died?" asked the King.

Stenovics shrugged his shoulders. "Of course, there would be no control

then," said he.

The King looked round. "We must get her away from Praslok."

"Will she come?" jeered the Countess. "Not she! Will he let her go? Not

he!"

The King passed his hand weakly across his brow. Then he rang a bell on

the table. Lepage entered, and the King bade him bring him the draught

which Natcheff had prescribed for his nerves. Well might the unfortunate

man feel the need of it, between the Countess's open eruption and the

not less formidable calm of Stenovics and Stafnitz! And all his favorite

dreams in danger!

"She won't leave him--or he'll follow her. The woman has infatuated

him!" the Countess persisted.

"Pray, madame, let me think," said the harassed and sick King. "We must

open communications with Baroness Dobrava."

"May I suggest that the matter might prove urgent, sir?" said Stenovics.

"Every hour is full of danger," declared the Countess.

The King held up his hand for silence. Then he took paper and pen, and

wrote with his own hand some lines. He signed the document and folded

it. His face was now firm and calmer. The peril to his greatest

hopes--perhaps a sense of the precarious tenure of his power--seemed to

impart to him a new promptness, a decision alien to his normal

character. "Colonel Stafnitz!" he said in a tone of command.

The Colonel rose to his feet and saluted. From an adviser in council he

became in a moment a soldier on duty.

"I am about to entrust to you a duty of great delicacy. I choose you

because, short of General Stenovics himself, there is no man in whom I

have such confidence. To-morrow morning you will go to Praslok and

inform his Royal Highness that you have a communication from me for

Baroness Dobrava. If the Prince is absent, you will see the Baroness

herself. If she is absent, you will follow her and find her. The matter

is urgent. You will tell her that it is my request that she at once

accompany you back here to the Palace, where I shall receive her and

acquaint her with my further wishes. If she asks of these, say that you

are not empowered to tell her anything; she must learn them from myself.

If she makes any demur about accompanying you immediately, or if demur

is made or delay suggested from any quarter, you will say that my

request is a command. If that is not sufficient, you will produce this

paper. It is an order under my hand, addressed to you and directing you

to arrest Baroness Dobrava and escort her here to my presence,

notwithstanding any objection or resistance, which any person whatever

will offer at his peril. You will be back here by to-morrow evening,

with the Baroness in your charge. Do it without employing the order for

arrest if possible, but do it anyhow and at all costs. Do you

understand?"

"Perfectly, sir. Am I to take an escort?"

The answer to that question was anxiously considered--and awaited

anxiously.

"Yes," said the King, "you will. The precise force I leave to your

discretion. It should be large enough to make you secure from

hinderance by any act short of open and armed resistance to my

commands."

Stafnitz saluted again, and at a sign from the King resumed his seat.

The King's manner relaxed as he turned to Stenovics. "When we've got her

here, we'll reason with her--she'll hear reason--and persuade her that

her health will benefit by a foreign trip. If necessary, I shall cause

her to be deported. She must be out of Kravonia in three days unless she

can clear herself from all suspicion. I'll arrange that the Prince

sha'n't come for his audience until she is well out of Slavna. It is, of

course, absolutely essential that no word of this should pass the walls

of this room. If once a hint of it reached Praslok, the task of laying

our hands on the Baroness might become infinitely more difficult."

The three were well pleased. They had come to fear Sophy, and on that

score alone would be right glad to see the last of her. And when she had

gone, there was a fairer chance that the Prince, too, would go on his

travels; whether he went after her or not they cared little, so that he

went, and the recruiting and training at Volseni were interrupted.

Again, she was to go before the audience. That was another point. The

peril of the audience remained, but they had improved their chances.

Perhaps Stafnitz's brain was already busy with the possibilities of his

mission and his escort. The latter was to be large enough to make him

secure from hinderance by any act short of open and armed resistance to

the King's commands. If it were impossible (as his Majesty obviously

considered) to contemplate such resistance, it was evidently no less

impossible to reckon what might happen as a consequence of it.

The King rang his bell impatiently. "I want my draught again. I'm very

tired. Is there anything else which need detain us to-day?"

As he spoke, before Stenovics could answer, Lepage came in with the

draught. The valet wore an even unusually demure and uninterested

expression.

"There is one other matter, sir," said Stenovics.

The King paused in the act of drinking and listened with his glass in

his hand, Lepage standing beside him.

"Your Majesty just now impressed on us the need of secrecy as to what

passes between these walls. I think, sir, you would insist on the same

thing with all who serve you confidentially. You haven't asked, sir, how

the Prince became aware of the state of your Majesty's health."

The King started a little. "No, I forgot that. It was against my direct

orders. How was it?"

Stenovics kept his eyes on the King; Markart and Stafnitz allowed

themselves to study Lepage's features; he stood the scrutiny well.

"The news, sir, was betrayed by a man within these walls--a man in close

touch with your Majesty."

"Natcheff!" exclaimed the King.

"Certainly not, sir. Another. This man, of whom I had suspicions, and

whom I caused to be watched, went by night to the house of Monsieur

Zerkovitch, who is, as you are aware, a close friend and (if I may use

the word) an adherent of the Prince of Slavna. Their interview took

place between nine and ten last night. At eleven Zerkovitch, having

borrowed a horse from the Prince's stables, set out for Praslok. He rode

hard through the night and reached the Castle, as Captain Markart has

told us, in the small hours of the morning. There he had an interview

with the Prince. He left Praslok between six and seven in the morning

and arrived at his house on the south boulevard by eleven. At half-past

eleven he walked up the Street of the Fountain, crossed St. Michael's

Square, and entered a small inn in a little alley behind the Cathedral.

Here the man I speak of was waiting for him. They were together half an

hour. Zerkovitch then left. The man remained till one, then came out,

and returned to the Palace by a circuitous route, arriving here about

two o'clock. I venture to say that the meaning of all this is quite

clear. This man is in communication with Praslok, using Zerkovitch as

his intermediary. It's for your Majesty to say how far his disobedience

in regard to acquainting the Prince with your condition is a serious

offence. As to that I say nothing. But it will be obvious that this man

should know nothing of any private measures undertaken or contemplated."

The King had listened carefully. "The case seems clear," he said. "This

fellow's a traitor. He's done harm already, and may do more. What do you

ask, General?"

"We might be content to let him know nothing. But who can be quite

certain of insuring that? Sir, you have just arrived at a very important

decision--to take certain action. Absolute secrecy is essential to its

success. I've no wish to press hardly on this man, but I feel bound to

urge that he should be put under arrest and kept in the charge of a

person who is beyond suspicion until the action to which I refer has

been successfully carried out."

"The precaution is an obvious one, and the punishment hardly

sufficient." The King rose. "Do as you say, General. I leave you full

discretion. And now I'll go to my room and rest. I'm very tired. Give

me your arm, Lepage, and come and make me comfortable."

Lepage did not offer his arm. He was not looking at the King, nor

listening to him; his eyes and his ears were for General Stenovics.

Stenovics rose now and pointed his finger at Lepage.

"That, sir, is the man," said he.

"Lepage!" cried the King, and sank heavily into his seat with a

bewildered face. Lepage--his familiar--the man he trusted!

XIV

HIS MAJESTY DIES--TO-MORROW!

The King's ambition and pride had quivered under the threat of a cruel

blow; the charge against Lepage wounded him hardly less deeply. He

regarded his body-servant with the trustful affection which grows on an

indolent man in course of years--of countless days of consulting,

trusting, relying on one ever present, ever ready, always trustworthy.

Lepage had been with him nearly thirty years; there was hardly a secret

of the King's manhood which he had not known and kept. At last had he

turned traitor?

Stenovics had failed to allow for this human side of the matter; how

much more alone the revelation would make the King feel, how much more

exposed and helpless--just, moreover, when sickness made his invaluable

servant more indispensable still. A forlorn dignity filled the King's

simple question: "Is it true, Lepage?"

Lepage's impassivity vanished. He, too, was deeply moved. The sense of

guilt was on him--of guilt against his master; it drove him on, beyond

itself, to a fierce rage against those who had goaded him into his

disobedience, whose action and plans had made his disobedience right.

For right now he believed and felt it; his talks with Zerkovitch had

crystallized his suspicions into confident certainty. He was carried

beyond thinking of what effect his outburst might have on his own

fortunes or how it might distress the already harassed King. He struck

back fiercely at his accuser, all his national quickness of passion

finding vent in the torrent of words he poured forth in excuse or

justification. He spoke his native French, very quickly, one word

jostling over another, his arms flying like windmills, and his hair

bristling, as it seemed, with defiance.

"Yes, it's true, sir. I disobeyed your Majesty--for the first time in

thirty years! For the first time in my life, sir, I did it! And why?

Because it was right; because it was for honor. I was angry, yes! I had

been scolded because Count Alexis bade me call him 'Prince,' and you

heard me do it. Yes, I was angry. Was it my fault? Had I told him he was

a prince? No! Who had told him he was a prince? Don't ask me, sir. Ask

somebody else. For my part, I know well the difference between one who

is a prince and one who is not. Oh, I'm not ignorant of that! I know,

too, the difference between one who is a queen and one who is not--oh,

with the utmost respect to Madame la Comtesse! But I know it--and I

remember it. Does everybody else remember it?"

He stopped for a moment and clutched at his stiff, tight collar, as

though to wrench it away from his neck, and let the stream of his words

flow even more freely. While he paused, nobody spoke. Stenovics's heavy

gaze was on the King, Stafnitz's eyes discreetly on the ceiling; the

Countess looked scared. Had they made a mistake? Would it have been

better to run the risk of what Lepage could do? The King's hands were on

the table in front of him; they trembled where they lay.

"Why wasn't the Prince to know? Because then he wouldn't go on his

journey! His journey after the German princess!" He faced Stenovics now,

boldly and defiantly, pointing a forefinger at him. "Yes, they wanted

him to go. Yes, they did! Why, sir? To marry a princess--a great

princess? Was that what they wanted? Eh, but it would have been little

use for Count Alexis to ask me to call him a prince then! And Madame la

Comtesse--with the utmost respect to Madame la Comtesse--she wanted a

great princess here? Oh, she wanted that mightily, to be sure!"

The King stirred uneasily in his chair.

"Sir, will you listen to him?" the Countess broke in.

His answer was cold: "I listen to every man before I order him to be

punished."

"Yes, they wanted him to go. Yes, certainly! For he trains his men at

Volseni, trains them for his big guns. When the men are trained and the

guns have come--well, who'll call Count Alexis a prince then? Will even

they who taught him to think himself a prince? Oh yes; they wanted him

to go. And he wouldn't go if he knew your Majesty was ill. He loves your

Majesty. Yes! But if he hated you, still would he go?" With a sudden

turn he was round on Stenovics again, and threw out his arms as though

to embrace a picture. "Look! The Prince is away, the guns are come, the

King dies! Who commands in the Palace? Who governs Slavna?" He was back

to the King with another swift turn. "May I answer, sir? May I tell you?

The mother of Prince Alexis commands in the Palace; Slavna is ruled by

the friends of Captain Mistitch!" His voice fell to an ironical murmur.

"And the Prince is far off--seeking a great princess! Sir, do you see

the picture?"

Stafnitz suddenly lowered his eyes from the ceiling and looked at the

gesticulating little man with a smile.

"Such imagination in the servants' hall!" he murmured half under his

breath.

The King neither rebuked his levity nor endorsed the insinuated satire.

He took no notice at all. His eyes were fixed on his still trembling

hands.

Stenovics spoke in a calm, smooth voice. "Absolutely, sir, I believe the

man's honest!" he said, with an inflection of good-humored surprise.

"One sees how he got the idea! I'm sure he's genuinely devoted to your

Majesty, and to the Prince--as we all are. He sees something going on

which he doesn't understand; he knows something more is going on that

he's ignorant of. He knows the unfortunate condition of your Majesty's

health. He's like a nurse--forgive me--in charge of a sick child; he

thinks everybody but himself has designs on his charge. It's really

natural, however absurd--but it surely makes the precaution I suggested

even more necessary? If he went about spreading a tale like this!"

The line was clever--cleverer far than the Countess's rage, cleverer

than Stafnitz's airily bitter sneer. But of it, too, the King took no

notice. Lepage took no more than lay in a very scornful smile. He leaned

down towards the motionless, dull-faced King, and said in his ear:

"They wanted him to go, yes! Did they want him to come back again, sir?"

He bent a little lower, and almost whispered: "How long would his

journey have taken, sir? How long would it have taken him to get back

if--in case of need?" One more question he did not ask in words; but it

was plain enough without them: "How long can your Majesty count on

living?"

At last the King raised his head and looked round on them. His eyes were

heavy and glassy.

"This man has been my trusted servant for many, many years. You, General

Stenovics, have been my right hand, my other self. Colonel Stafnitz is

high in my confidence. And Lepage is only my servant."

"I seek to stand no higher than any other of your Majesty's servants,

except in so far as the nature of my services gives me a claim," said

Stenovics.

"But there's one here who stands far nearer to me than any one, who

stands nearer to me than any living being. She must know of this thing,

if it's true; if it's being done, her hand must be foremost among the

hands that are doing it." His eyes fixed themselves on the Countess's

face. "Is it true?" he asked.

"Sir, how can you ask? How can you listen? True! It's a malignant

invention. He's angry because I reproved him."

"Yes, I'm angry. I said so. But it's true for all that."

"Silence, Lepage! Am I to take your word against the Countess's?"

Markart, a silent listener to all this scene, thought that Lepage's game

was up. Who could doubt what the Countess's word would be? Probably

Lepage, too, thought that he was beaten, that he was a ruined man. For

he played a desperate card--the last throw of a bankrupt player. Yet it

was guided by shrewdness, and by the intimate knowledge which his years

of residence in the Palace had given him. He knew the King well; and he

knew Countess Ellenburg hardly less thoroughly.

"I speak truth, sir, as I believe it. But I can't expect you to take my

word against the Countess's. I have too much respect for Madame la

Comtesse to ask that."

Again he bent down towards the King; the King looked up at him;

Stenovics's simile came back into the mind. In a low, soothing tone

Lepage made his throw--his last suggestion. "Madame la Comtesse is of

great piety. If Madame la Comtesse will take a solemn oath--well, then

I'm content! I'll say I was mistaken--honest, I declare, sir, but

mistaken."

Stenovics raised his head with a sharp jerk. Stafnitz smiled scornfully;

he was thinking that Lepage was not, after all, a very resourceful

fellow. An oath! Great Heavens! Oaths were in the day's work when you

put your hand to affairs like this. But here Stenovics was wiser--and

Lepage was shrewder. Stafnitz generalized from an experience rather

one-sided; the other two knew the special case. When oaths were

mentioned--solemn oaths--Stenovics scented danger.

The King knew his wife, too; and he was profoundly affected, convulsed

to the depths of his mind. The thing sounded true--it had a horrible

sound of truth. He craved the Countess's denial, solemn as it could be

framed. That would restore the confidence which was crumbling from

beneath his tormented, bewildered mind.

"Can anybody object to that," he asked slowly, "if I say it will relieve

my mind?" He smiled apologetically. "I'm a sick man, you know. If it

will relieve a sick man's mind, banish a sick man's fancies? If I shall

sleep a little better--and old Lepage here be ashamed of himself?"

None of them dared to object. None could plausibly, unless the Countess

herself--and she dared not. In his present mood the King would not

accept the plea of her dignity; against it he would set the indulgence

due to a sick man's rebellious fancies; could she, for her dignity's

sake, deny him what would make him sleep?

He looked at her; something in her face appeared to strike him as

strange. A sort of quiver ran through his body; he seemed to pull

himself together with an effort; as he spoke to her, his voice sounded

faint and ever so slightly blurred.

"You've heard Lepage, and I know that you'll speak the truth to me on

your oath--the truth about the thing nearest to the heart of a dying

man--nearest to the heart of your dying husband. You wouldn't lie on

oath to a dying man, your husband and your King. For I am dying. You

have years still; but they'll end. You believe that some day you and I

will stand together before the Throne. As you shall answer to Heaven in

that day, is this true? Was it in your heart, and in the heart of these

men, to keep my son, the heir of my House, from his throne? Is it true?

As you shall answer to God for your soul, is there any truth in it?"

The woman went gray in the face--a sheet of gray paper seemed drawn over

her cheeks; her narrow lips showed a pale red streak across it. Her

prayers--those laborious, ingenious, plausible prayers--helped her

nothing here.

"I protest! At this time, sir! The Countess will be upset!"

Stenovics had been driven to this; he feared greatly. Not a soul heeded

him; every eye now was on the woman. She struggled--she struggled to

lie; she struggled to do what she believed would bring perdition to her

soul. Her voice was forced and harsh when at last she broke silence.

"As I shall answer in that day--"

"As you shall answer to God for your soul in that day--" the King

repeated.

She gave a wild glance at Stenovics, seeking succor, finding no refuge.

Her eyes came back to the King's face. "As I shall answer--" Every word

came forth by its own self, with its separate birth-pang--"As I shall

answer to God for my soul--"

She stopped. There was silence while a man might count ten. She threw

her hands above her head and broke into a violent torrent of sobs. "I

can't! I can't!" they heard her say through her tumultuous weeping.

The King suddenly started back in his chair as though somebody had

offered to strike him. "You--you--you, my wife! You, Stenovics! You,

whom I trusted--trusted--trusted like--! Ah, is that you, Lepage? Did I

hear rightly--wouldn't she swear?"

"With the utmost respect to Madame la Comtesse, she could not swear,

sir."

The King sprang to his feet. "Go!" he cried.

They all rose--the Countess shaken with unconquerable sobs. But the next

moment the King made a quick in-drawing of the breath, like a man

suddenly pricked by some sharp thing. He dropped back in his chair; his

head fell to meet his hands on the table in front. The hands were palms

downward, and his forehead rested on his knuckles.

There was a moment's pause. Then Lepage darted from the room, crying:

"Dr. Natcheff! Dr. Natcheff!" Stenovics wiped his brow. Stafnitz raised

his head with a queer look at the King, and his mouth shaped for a

whistle. The Countess's sobs seemed as though frozen, her whole frame

was rigid. The King did not move.

Natcheff came rushing in; Lepage, who followed closely, shut the door

after him. They both went to the King. There was silence while Natcheff

made his examination. In a couple of minutes he turned round to them.

"Something has caused his Majesty strong agitation?"

"Yes," answered Stenovics.

"Yes!" said Natcheff. He cleared his throat and glanced doubtfully at

the Countess.

"Well?" asked Stenovics.

Natcheff threw out his hands, shrugging his shoulders ever so slightly:

"I regret to say that the effect is the worst possible. His Majesty is

dead."

Silence again--a silence strangely broken. Stafnitz sprang across the

room with a bound like a cat's, and caught the physician by the

shoulder.

"No!" he said. "Not for twenty-four hours yet! His Majesty

dies--to-morrow!"

XV

A JOB FOR CAPTAIN HERCULES

"His Majesty dies--to-morrow!"

Stafnitz's words seemed to freeze them all stiff where they stood; even

Countess Ellenburg's sobs, which had threatened to break forth again,

were arrested in their flow.

"Markart, lock the door leading to the King's apartments. Natcheff and

Lepage, carry the King into his bedroom; lay him on the bed; stay there

till I call you. Countess, General, I invite your earnest attention."

Stenovics's mind excelled in the waiting game, the slow, tortuous

approach, the inch-by-inch advance of leisurely diplomacy. For him this

crisis was at first too sudden. The swift and daring intellect of

Stafnitz naturally and inevitably took the lead; his strong will

fascinated his confederates.

"Is this to be the beginning or the end?" he asked. "For us and our

friends--which? If we send a courier to Praslok to call King Sergius to

his capital--what then? For you, Countess, and your son, oblivion and

obscurity at Dobrava--for all the rest of your life, just that! For you,

General, and for me, and our friends--yes, you too, Markart!--our

_congé_, more or less civilly given. There won't be more insignificant

men in all Slavna on the day King Sergius enters. But there's no King

Sergius yet!"

Stenovics was regaining the use of his brain; his eyes grew distant in

deep meditation. Countess Ellenburg looked eager and grim; her lips

could not swear a false oath--well, she was not asked to swear any oath

now. Markart could not think; he stood staring at Stafnitz.

"In half an hour that courier must start for Praslok, if he starts at

all. Of all things, we mustn't hesitate."

He had painted the result to them of the coming of King Sergius; it

meant the defeat of years of effort; it entailed the end of hopes, of

place, of power or influence. There was no future for those three in

Kravonia if King Sergius came. And Markart, of course, seemed no more

than one of Stenovics's train.

"And if the courier doesn't start?" asked Stenovics. He took out and lit

a cigar, asking no leave of the Countess; probably he hardly knew that

he was smoking it.

Stafnitz looked at his watch. "Five o'clock! We have twenty-four

hours--it would be risky to keep the secret longer. There's not much

time; we must be prompt. But we mustn't sacrifice anything to hurry. For

instance, it would look odd to present the King's orders to Baroness

Dobrava in the middle of the night! She'd smell a rat, if she's as

clever as they say. And so would the Prince, I think. I could have a

hundred men at Praslok by midnight, but I shouldn't propose to have them

there before eleven o'clock to-morrow. Well, they could be back here by

five in the afternoon! In the course of the day we'll occupy all the

important points of the city with troops we can trust. Then, in the

evening--as soon as we see how matters have gone at Praslok--we proclaim

King Alexis!"

The Countess gave a little shiver--whether of fear or of eagerness it

was impossible to tell. Stenovics drummed his fingers on the table and

turned his cigar quickly round and round in his mouth. Markart had

recovered his clearness of mind and closely watched all the scene.

The Countess rose suddenly--in strong agitation. "I--I can't bear it,"

she said. "With him lying there! Let me go! Presently--presently you

shall tell me--anything."

Stenovics laid down his cigar and went to her. "Wait in there"--he

pointed to Natcheff's room--"till you're quite composed. Then go to your

own room and wait till I come. Mind, Countess, no sign of agitation!" He

led her out. Stafnitz shrugged his shoulders.

"She'll be all right," he said to Markart with a passing smile.

"I think she was fond of the King," said Markart.

Stenovics returned. "Now!" he said, seating himself again and resuming

his cigar. "You suggest that we still use that order--for the arrest of

Baroness Dobrava?"

"It's signed 'Alexis,' and King Alexis lives till five to-morrow.

Moreover, if all goes well, King Alexis lives again for many years after

that."

Stenovics nodded slightly. "The Baroness comes willingly--or you bring

her? At any rate, one way or the other, she's in our hands by this time

to-morrow?"

"Exactly, General. I fail to perceive that this lamentable event"--he

waved his hand towards the King's empty chair--"alters the case as

regards the Baroness one jot."

"Not the least--unless you consider that risking our heads on the throw

has any such effect," replied Stenovics; and for the first time he

smiled.

"Once you wanted to play the big stake on a bad hand, General. Won't you

put it on the table now, when you've a good one?"

"I'm thinking of a certain strong card in the other hand which you

haven't mentioned yet. Baroness Dobrava is to be in our power by this

time to-morrow. But what will the Prince of Slavna be doing? Still

drilling his men at Volseni, still waiting for his guns?"

Stafnitz looked him full in the face. "No," he said. "The Prince had

better not still be drilling his men at Volseni, nor waiting for his

guns."

"I think not, too," Stenovics agreed, twisting his cigar round again.

"General, do you think the Prince will let Baroness Dobrava come to

Slavna without him?"

"I don't know. He might have confidence enough in you; he wouldn't wish

to annoy or agitate the King. He might await his summons to an audience.

On the whole, I think he would submit--and rely on being able to induce

the King to alter his mind when they met. I'm not sure he wouldn't

advise her to go with you."

"Well, yes, I confess that struck me, too, as rather likely--or at least

possible."

"If it happened, it wouldn't be convenient," said Stenovics, with a

patient sigh. "Because he would come after her in a day or two."

"But if I were detained by urgent business in Slavna--and we've agreed

that there's work to be done to-morrow in Slavna--another officer would

go to Praslok. The order, which I have here, mentions no name, although

the King designated me by word of mouth."

"The order mentions no name?"

"No; it directs the Baroness to accompany the bearer. True, at the foot

my name is written--'Entrusted to Colonel Stafnitz.' But with care and a

pair of scissors--!" He smiled at Markart again, as though taking him

into the joke.

"Well, well, suppose another officer goes to Praslok--why shouldn't the

Prince trust the Baroness to the care of that officer as readily as to

you? You don't--how shall I put it?--monopolize his confidence,

Colonel."

Stafnitz still wore his easy, confidential smile, as he answered with an

air of innocent slyness: "Suppose the officer were--Captain Mistitch? I

think it's just the job for Captain Hercules!"

Even Stenovics started a little at that. He laid down his cigar and

looked at his friend the Colonel for some seconds. Then he looked at

Markart, smiling, seeming to ponder, to watch how Markart was taking it,

even to sympathize with Markart on having to consider a rather startling

proposal, on having, possibly, to do some little violence to his

feelings. Certainly Captain Markart gathered the impression that

Stenovics was doubtful how he would stand this somewhat staggering

suggestion. At last the General turned his eyes back to Stafnitz again.

"That's as ingenious a bit of deviltry as I ever heard, Colonel," he

remarked quietly.

"Captain Mistitch is restored to duty. He's of proper rank to perform

such a service, and to command an escort of a hundred men. After all, an

officer of my rank made a certain concession in accepting so small a

command."

"Of course, if the Prince knew you as I do, my dear Colonel, he'd trust

her to a thousand Mistitches sooner than to you--"

"But then--he doesn't!" the Colonel smiled.

"He'd regard the sending of Mistitch as a deliberate insult."

"I'm afraid he would."

"He's hot-tempered. He'd probably say as much."

"Yes. And Mistitch is hot-tempered. He'd probably resent the

observation. But you'll remember, General, that the escort is to be

large enough to make the officer commanding it secure against hinderance

by any act short of open and armed resistance to the King's command."

"He'll never believe the King would send Mistitch!"

"Will that make his peaceable obedience more likely?"

"In a moment they'd be at each other's--" He stopped. "Markart, go and

see if they need anything in there." He pointed to the King's bedroom,

where Natcheff and Lepage were.

Markart rose and obeyed. His head was swimming; he hardly yet understood

how very ingenious the ingenious deviltry was, how the one man was to be

sent whose directions the Prince could not submit to, whose presence was

an insult, to whom it was impossible to entrust Baroness Dobrava. He was

very glad to get out of the room. The last he saw was Stafnitz drawing

his chair close up to Stenovics and engaging in low-voiced, earnest

talk.

The King's body lay on the bed, decently disposed, and covered with a

large fur rug. Lepage sat on a chair near by, Natcheff on another in the

window. Both looked up for a moment as Markart entered, but neither

spoke. Markart found a third chair and sat down. Nobody said anything;

the three were as silent and almost as still as the fourth on the bed. A

low murmur of voices came from the next room; the words were

indistinguishable. So passed full half an hour--a strange and terrible

half-hour it seemed to Markart.

The door opened, and Stafnitz called Natcheff. The physician rose and

followed him. Another twenty minutes went by, still in silence; but once

Markart, looking for a moment at his mute companion, saw a tear rolling

slowly down Lepage's wrinkled cheek. Lepage saw him looking and broke

the silence:

"I suppose I helped to kill him!"

Markart shrugged his shoulders helplessly. Silence came again. Very long

it seemed; but, on looking at his watch, Markart found that it was not

yet half-past six.

Again the door opened, and Stafnitz called to them both. They followed

him into the next room. Stenovics was sitting at the table with his

hands clasped on it in front of him. Stafnitz took up a position by his

side, standing as though on duty. Natcheff had disappeared. Stenovics

spoke in calm, deliberate tones; he seemed to have assumed command of

the operations again.

"Captain Markart, I'm about to entrust to you an important and

responsible duty. For the next twenty-four hours, and afterwards until

relieved by my orders, you will be in charge of this man Lepage, and

will detain him in these apartments. His own room and this room will be

at the disposal of yourself and your prisoner, but you must not let the

prisoner out of your sight. Dr. Natcheff remains in his room. He will

have access to the King's room when he desires, but he will not leave

the suite of apartments. Beyond seeing to this, you will have no

responsibility for him. The door leading to the suite will be locked by

me, and will be opened only by me, or by my orders. I remain at the

Palace to-night; under me Captain Sterkoff will be the officer on guard.

He will himself supply you with any meals or other refreshments which

you may require. Ring this hand-bell on the table--no other bell,

mind--and he will be with you immediately. Do you understand your

orders?"

Markart understood them very well; there was no need of Stafnitz's

mocking little smile to point the meaning. Markart was to be Lepage's

jailer, Sterkoff was to be his. Under the most civil and considerate

form he was made as close a prisoner as the man he guarded. Evidently,

Stenovics had come to the conclusion that he could not ask Markart to

put too great a strain on his conscience! The General, however, seemed

very kindly disposed towards him, and was, indeed, almost apologetic:

"I've every hope that this responsible and, I fear, very irksome duty

may last only the few hours I mentioned. You put me under a personal

obligation by undertaking it, my dear Markart."

In the absence of any choice, Markart saluted and answered: "I

understand my orders, General."

Stafnitz interposed: "Captain Sterkoff is also aware of their purport."

Stenovics looked vexed. "Yes, yes, but I'm sure Markart himself is quite

enough." It seems odd that, in the midst of such a transaction as that

in which he was now engaged, Stenovics should have found leisure--or

heart--to care about Markart's feeling. Yet so it was--a curiously

human touch creeping in! He shut Markart up only under the strongest

sense of necessity and with great reluctance. Probably Stafnitz had

insisted, in the private conversation which they had held together:

Markart had shown such evident signs of jibbing over the job proposed

for Captain Hercules!

Lepage's heart was wrung, but his spirit was not broken. Stafnitz's

ironical smile called an answering one to his lips.

"It would console my feelings if I also were put in charge of somebody,

General," he said. "Shall I, in my turn, keep an eye on Dr. Natcheff, or

report if the Captain here is remiss in the duty of keeping himself a

prisoner?"

"I don't think you need trouble yourself, Monsieur Lepage. Captain

Sterkoff will relieve you of responsibility." To Lepage, too, Stenovics

was gentle, urbane, almost apologetic.

"And how long am I to live, General?"

"You're in the enviable position, Monsieur Lepage, of being able,

subject to our common mortality, to settle that for yourself. Come,

come, we'll discuss matters again to-morrow night or the following

morning. There are many men who prefer not to do things, but will accept

a thing when it's done. They're not necessarily unwise. I've done no

worse to you than give you the opportunity of being one of them. I think

you'll be prudent to take it. Anyhow, don't be angry; you must remember

that you've given us a good deal of trouble."

"Between us we have killed the King."

Stenovics waved his hands in a commiserating way. "Practical men mustn't

spend time in lamenting the past," he said.

"Nor in mere conversation, however pleasant," Stafnitz broke in with a

laugh. "Captain Markart, march your prisoner to his quarters."

His smile made the order a mockery. Markart felt it, and a hatred of the

man rose in him. But he could do nothing. He did not lead Lepage to his

quarters, but followed sheepishly in his prisoner's wake. They went

together into the little room where Lepage slept.

"Close quarters too, Captain!" said the valet. "There is but one

chair--let me put it at your service." He himself sat down on the bed,

took out his tobacco, and began to roll himself a cigarette.

Markart shut the door and then threw himself on the solitary chair, in a

heavy despondency of spirit and a confused conflict of feelings. He was

glad to be out of the work, yet he resented the manner in which he was

put aside. There were things going on in which it was well to have no

hand. Yet was there not a thing going on in which every man ought to

have a hand, on one side or the other? Not to do it, but to be ready to

accept it when done! He was enough of a soldier to feel that there lay

the worst, the meanest thing of all. Not to dare to do it, but to profit

by the doing! Stenovics had used the words to Lepage, his prisoner. By

making him in effect a prisoner, too, the General showed that he applied

them to the Captain also. Anything seemed better than that--ay, it would

be better to ride to Praslok behind Captain Hercules! In that adventure

a man might, at least, risk his life!

"An odd world!" said the valet, puffing out his cigarette smoke. "Honest

men for prisoners, and murderers for jailers! Are you a prisoner or a

jailer, Captain Markart?"

XVI

A FRENCHMAN AND A MATTRESS

To say the truth, the word "murderers" seemed to Captain Markart more

than a little harsh. To use it was to apply to Kravonian affairs the

sterner standards of more steady-going, squeamish countries. A _coup

d'état_ may well involve fighting; fighting naturally includes killing.

But are the promoters of the _coup_ therefore murderers? Murderers with

a difference, anyhow, according to Kravonian ideas, which Captain

Markart was inclined to share. Moreover, a _coup d'état_ is war; the

suppression of information is legitimate in war. If the Prince of Slavna

could not find out for himself what had happened in the Palace, were his

opponents bound to tell him? In fact, given that an attempt to change

the succession in your own interest was not a crime, but a legitimate

political enterprise, the rest followed.

Except Mistitch! It was difficult to swallow Mistitch. There was a

mixture of ingenuity and brutality about that move which not even

Kravonian notions could easily accept. If Stafnitz had gone--nay, if he

himself had been sent--probably Markart's conscience would not have

rebelled. But to send Captain Hercules--that was cogging the dice! Yet

he was very angry that Stenovics should have divined his feelings and

shut him up. The General distrusted his courage as well as his

conscience--there lay the deepest hurt to Markart's vanity; it was all

the deeper because in his heart he had to own that Stenovics read him

right. Not only the brazen conscience was lacking, but also the iron

nerve.

Getting no answer to his unpleasantly pointed question, Lepage relapsed

into silence. He stood by the window, looking out on the lawn which

sloped down to the Krath. Beyond the river the lights of Slavna glowed

in the darkening sky. Things would be happening in Slavna soon; Lepage

might well look at the city thoughtfully. As a fact, however, his mind

was occupied with one problem only--where was Zerkovitch and how could

he get at him? For Lepage did not waver--he had taken his line.

Presently, however, his professional instincts seemed to reassert

themselves. He opened a cupboard in the room and brought out a clean

pair of sheets, which he proceeded to arrange on the bed. Busy at this

task, he paused to smile at Markart and say: "We must do the best we

can, Captain. After all, we have both camped, I expect! Here's the bed

for you--you'll do finely." He went back to the cupboard and lugged out

a mattress. "And this is for me--the shake-down on the floor which I use

when I sleep in the King's room--or did use, I should say. In my

judgment, Captain, it's comfortable to go to bed on the floor--at least,

one can't fall."

It was eight o'clock. They heard the outer door of the suite of rooms

open and shut. A man was moving about in the next room; if they could

judge by the sound of his steps, he also paid Dr. Natcheff a brief

visit. They heard the clink of dishes and of glass.

"Dinner!" said Lepage. "Ah, that's not unwelcome! Have I permission?"

Markart nodded, and he opened the door. On the table in the

sitting-room was a savory dish, bread, and two bottles of wine. Captain

Sterkoff was just surveying the board he had spread, with his head on

one side. There was nothing peculiar in that; his head was permanently

stuck on one side--a list to starboard--since the Virgin with the lamp

had injured the vertebræ of his neck. But the attitude, together with

his beaked nose, made him look like a particularly vicious parrot.

Markart saw him through the open door and could not get the resemblance

out of his mind.

"Supper, gentlemen!" said Sterkoff with malevolent mirth. "The Doctor

can't join you. He's a little upset and keeps his bed. A good appetite!

I trust not to be obliged to disturb you again to-night."

Markart had come in by now, but he was too surly and sore to speak.

Without a word he plumped down into a chair by the table and rested his

chin on his hands, staring at the cloth. It was left to Lepage to bow to

Sterkoff, and to express their joint thanks. This task he performed with

sufficient urbanity. Then he broke into a laugh.

"They must think it odd to see you carrying dishes and bottles about the

Palace, Captain?"

"Possibly," agreed Sterkoff. "But you see, my friend, what they think in

the Palace doesn't matter very much, so long as none of them can get

outside."

"Oh, they none of them spend the evening out?"

"Would they wish to, when the King has an attack of influenza, and Dr.

Natcheff is in attendance? It would be unfeeling, Lepage!"

"Horribly, Captain! Probably even the sentries would object?"

"It's possible they would," Sterkoff agreed again. He drew himself up

and saluted Markart, who did not move or pay any attention.

"Good-night, Lepage." He turned to the door; his head seemed more cocked

on one side than ever. Lepage bade him "Good-night" very respectfully;

but as the key turned in the door, he murmured longingly: "Ah, if I

could knock that ugly mug the rest of the way off his shoulders!"

He treated Markart with no less respect than he had accorded to

Sterkoff; he would not hear of sitting down at table with an officer,

but insisted on handing the dish and uncorking the wine. Markart

accepted his attentions and began to eat languidly, with utter want of

appetite.

"Some wine, Captain, some wine to cheer you up in this tiresome duty of

guarding me!" cried Lepage, picking up a bottle in one hand and a glass

in the other. "Oh, but that wry-necked fellow has brought you a dirty

glass! A moment, Captain! I'll wash it." And off he bounded--not even

waiting to set down the bottle--into the little room beyond.

His brain was working hard now, marshalling his resources against his

difficulties. The difficulties were thirty feet to fall, Sterkoff's

sentries, the broad, swift current of the Krath--for even in normal

times there was always a sentry on the bridge--then the search for

Zerkovitch in Slavna. His resources were a mattress, a spare pair of

sheets, and a phial half full of the draught which Dr. Natcheff had

prescribed for the King.

"It's very unfortunate, but I've not the least notion how much would

kill him," thought Lepage, as he poured the medicine--presumably a

strong sedative--into the wine-glass and filled up with wine from the

bottle Sterkoff had provided. He came back, holding the glass aloft with

a satisfied air. "Now it's fit for a gentleman to drink out of," said

he, as he set it down by Markart's hand. The Captain took it up and

swallowed it at a draught.

"Ugh! Corked, I think! Beastly, anyhow!" said he.

"They poison us as well as shut us up!" cried Lepage in burlesque anger.

"Try the other bottle, Captain!"

The other bottle was better, said Markart, and he drank pretty well the

whole of it, Lepage standing by and watching him with keen interest. It

was distressing not to know how much of the King's draught would kill;

it had been necessary to err on the safe side--the side safe for Lepage,

that is.

Captain Markart thought he would smoke his cigar in the little room,

lying on the bed; he was tired and sleepy--very sleepy, there was no

denying it. Lepage sat down and ate and drank; he found no fault with

the wine in the first bottle. Then he went and looked at Markart. The

Captain lay in his shirt, breeches, and boots. He was sound asleep and

breathing heavily; his cigar had fallen on the sheet, but apparently had

been out before it fell. Lepage regarded him with pursed lips, shrugged

his shoulders, and slipped the Captain's revolver into his pocket. The

Captain's recovery must be left to Fate.

For the next hour he worked at his pair of sheets, slicing, twisting,

and splicing. In the end he found himself possessed of a fairly stout

rope twelve or thirteen feet long, but he could find nothing solid to

tie it to near the window, except the bed, and that was a yard away. He

would still have a fall of some twenty feet, and the ground was hard

with a spring frost. There would be need of the mattress. He put out

all the lights in the room and cautiously raised the window.

The night was dark, he could not see the ground. He stood there ten

minutes. Then he heard a measured tramp; a dark figure, just

distinguishable, came round the corner of the Palace, walked past the

window to the end of the building, turned, walked back, and disappeared.

Hurriedly Lepage struck a match and took the time. Again he waited,

again the figure came. Again he struck a light and took the time. He

went through this process five times before he felt reasonably sure that

he could rely on having ten minutes to himself if he started the moment

Sterkoff's sentry had gone round the corner of the building.

He pulled the mattress up onto the sill of the window and waited. There

was no sound now but of Markart's stertorous breathing. But presently

the measured tramp below came, passed, turned, and passed away. Lepage

gave a last tug at the fastenings of his rope, threw the end out of

window, took the mattress, and dropped it very carefully as straight

down as he could.

The next moment, in spite of Sterkoff, somebody had left the Palace. Why

not? The runaway was aware that the King was not really suffering from

influenza--he could spend an evening in Slavna without reproach!

"I wish I knew the safest way to fall!" thought Lepage, dangling at the

end of his rope. It swayed about terribly; he waited awhile for it to

steady itself--he feared to miss the mattress; but he could not wait

long, or that measured tramp and that dark figure would come. There

would be a sudden spurt of light, and a report--and what of Lepage

then? He gathered his legs up behind his knees, took a long breath--and

fell. As luck would have it, though he landed on the very edge of the

mattress, yet he did land on it, and tumbled forward on his face,

shaken, but with bones intact. There was a numb feeling above his

knees--nothing worse than that.

He drew another long breath. Heavy bodies--and even mattresses--fall

quickly; he must have seven or eight minutes yet!

But no! Heavy bodies, even mattresses, falling quickly, make a noise.

Lepage, too, had come down with a thud, squashing hidden air out of the

interstices of the mattress. The silence of night will give resonance to

gentler sounds than that, which was as though a giant had squeezed his

mighty sponge. Lepage, on his numb knees, listened. The steps came, not

measured now, but running. The dark figure came running round the

corner. What next? Next the challenge--then the spurt of light and the

report! What of Lepage then? Nothing--so far as Lepage and the rest of

humanity for certainty knew.

Of that nothing--actual or possible--Lepage did not approve. He hitched

the mattress onto his back, bent himself nearly double, and, thus both

burdened and protected, made for the river. He must have looked like a

turtle scurrying to the sea, lest he should be turned over--and so left

for soup in due season.

"Who goes there? Halt! Halt!"

The turtle scurried on; it was no moment to stop and discuss matters.

The spurt of light, the report! There was a hole in the mattress, but

well above Lepage's head. Indeed, if hit at all, he was not most likely

to be hit in the head; that vital portion of him was tucked away too

carefully. He presented a broader aim; but the mattress masked him

nobly.

There was another shot--the northwest corner of the mattress this time.

But the mattress was on the river's edge. The next instant it was

floating on the current of the Krath, and Sterkoff's sentry was

indulging in some very pretty practice at it. He hit it every time,

until the swift current carried it round the bend and out of sight.

The whole thing seemed strange and rather uncanny to the sentry. He

grounded his rifle and wiped his brow. It had looked like a carpet

taking a walk on its own account--and then a swim! Superior officers

might be accustomed to such strange phenomena. The sentry was not. He

set off at a round pace to the guard-room; he did not even stay to

notice the white rope which dangled in the air from a first-floor

window. Had he stopped, he would have heard Markart's invincible,

drug-laden snoring.

Lepage had separated himself from his good friend and ally, the

mattress, and dived under water while the sentry blazed away. He

welcomed the current which bore him rapidly from the dangerous

neighborhood of the Palace. He came to the surface fifty feet down

stream and made for the other side. He could manage no more than a very

slanting course, but he was a strong swimmer, lightly dressed, with an

in-door man's light kid shoes. He felt no distress; rather a vivid,

almost gleeful, excitement came upon him as he battled with the strong,

cold stream. He began to plume himself on the mattress. Only a Frenchman

would have thought of that! A Slavna man would have ran away with

unguarded flanks. A Volsenian would have stayed to kill the sentry, and

be shot down by Sterkoff's guard. Only a Frenchman would have thought of

the mattress!

He made land a quarter of a mile below the Palace. Ah, it was colder on

the road there than struggling with the cold water! But his spirit was

not quenched. He laughed again--a trifle hysterically, perhaps. In spite

of Sterkoff he was spending the evening out! He set his feet for

Slavna--briskly, too! Nay, he ran, for warmth's sake, and because of

what the sentry might even now be reporting to Sterkoff, and, through

him, to General Stenovics. The thought brought him to a stand-still

again; there might be a cordon of sentries across the road! After a

moment's hesitation he broke away from the main road, struck due south,

and so ran when he could, walked when he must, two miles.

He was getting terribly tired now, but not cold--rather he was

feverishly hot inside his clammy garments. He turned along a country

cross-road which ran west, and passed through a village, leaving the

Hôtel de Paris on the main road far to his right. At last he reached the

main road south and turned up it, heading again for Slavna and for the

bridge which crossed the South River. He passed the bridge without being

challenged as the Cathedral clock struck midnight from St. Michael's

Square. The worst of his task was accomplished. If now he could find

Zerkovitch!

But he was sore spent; running was out of the question now; he slunk

slowly and painfully along the south boulevard, clinging close to the

fences of the gardens, seeking the shelter of the trees which overhung

them.

Draggled, hatless, dirty, infinitely weary, at last he reached

Zerkovitch's house at the corner where the boulevard and the Street of

the Fountain meet. He opened the garden gate and walked in. Spent as he

was, he breathed a "Bravo!" when he saw a light burning in the hall. He

staggered on, rang the bell, and fairly fell in a lump outside the door.

He had done well; he, a man of peace, busy with clothes--he had done

well that night! But he was finished. When Zerkovitch opened the door,

he found little more than a heap of dank and dirty raiment; he hauled it

in and shut the door. He supported Lepage into the study, sat him down

by the fire, and got brandy for him to drink, pouring out full half a

tumbler. Lepage took it and drank the better part of it at a gulp.

"The King died at five o'clock, Monsieur Zerkovitch," he said. He drank

the rest, let the tumbler fall with a crash in the fender, buried his

head on his breast, and fell into blank unconsciousness.

He was out of the battle--as much as Markart, who slept the clock round

in spite of Stenovics's shakings and Dr. Natcheff's rubbings and

stimulants. But he had done his part. It was for Zerkovitch to do his

now.

The King had died at five o'clock? It was certainly odd, that story,

because Zerkovitch had just returned from the offices of _The Patriot_;

and, immediately before he left, he had sent down to the foreman-printer

an official _communiqué_, to be inserted in his paper. It was to the

effect that Captain Mistitch and a guard of honor of fifty men would

leave Slavna next morning at seven o'clock for Dobrava, to be in

readiness to receive the King, who had made magnificent progress, and

was about to proceed to his country seat to complete his convalescence.

Captain Mistitch and a guard of honor for Dobrava! Zerkovitch decided

that he would, if possible, ride ahead of them to Dobrava--that is, part

of the way. But first he called his old housekeeper and told her to put

Lepage to bed.

"Don't worry about anything he says. He's raving," he added

thoughtfully.

But poor Lepage raved no more that night. He did not speak again till

all was over. He had done his part.

At five o'clock in the morning, Zerkovitch left Slavna, hidden under a

sack in a carrier's cart. He obtained a horse at a high price from a

farmer three miles along the road, and thence set out for the Castle at

his best speed. At six, Captain Mistitch, charged with Stafnitz's

careful instructions, set out with his guard of honor along the same

road--going to Dobrava to await the arrival of the King, who lay dead in

the Palace on the Krath!

But since they started at six, and not at seven, as the official

_communiqué_ led Zerkovitch to suppose, he had an hour less to spare

than he thought. Moreover, they went not fifty strong, but one hundred.

These two changes--of the hour and the force--were made as soon as

Stenovics and Stafnitz learned of Lepage's escape. A large force and a

midnight march would have aroused suspicion in Slavna. The General did

what he could safely do to meet the danger which the escape

suggested--the danger that news of the King's death might be carried to

Praslok before Mistitch and his escort got there.

XVII

INGENIOUS COLONEL STAFNITZ

After his happy holiday the Prince slept well, and rose in a cheerful

mood--still joyful of heart. He anticipated that the day would bring him

a summons from his father; he had little doubt that in the course of a

personal interview he could persuade the King to agree to a postponement

of his journey. Of Sophy he meant to say nothing--by a reservation

necessary and not inexcusable. It was impossible not to take into

account the knowledge he had acquired of the state of the King's health.

The result of that condition was that his provision must, in all

likelihood, be for months only, and not for years. The task for the

months was to avoid disturbing the King's mind, so long as this course

was consistent with the maintenance of his own favorable position. It

must be remembered that no man in the kingdom built more on this latter

object than the King himself; no man was less a partisan of Countess

Ellenburg and of young Alexis than the husband of the one and the father

of the other. The royal line--the line which boasted Bourbon blood--was

for the King the only line of Stefanovitch.

Of the attack prepared against him the Prince knew nothing--nothing even

of the King's mind having been turned against the Baroness Dobrava,

whom so short a time ago he had delighted to honor; nothing, of course,

of Stafnitz's audacious _coup_, nor of the secret plan which Stenovics

and the Colonel had made, and of which Mistitch was to be the

instrument. Of all the salient features of the situation, then, he was

ignorant, and his ignorance was shared by those about his person. On the

other hand, Stenovics had his finger on every thread save one--the

Lepage-Zerkovitch thread, if it may so be called. That was important,

but its importance might be nullified if Mistitch made good speed.

On the whole, the odds were much in favor of the coterie. If by any

means they could prevent the King from coming alive and free to Slavna,

the game would be theirs. If he did come alive and free, their game

would probably be up. His presence would mean a hard fight--or a

surrender; and Slavna had no stomach for such a fight--though it would

be piously thankful to be rid of Sergius, whether as Prince or King,

without the necessity of an ordeal so severe.

As a preliminary to the summons he anticipated, and to a possible stay

of some days with his father at Slavna, the Prince had details to

discuss and routine business to transact with Lukovitch, the captain of

his battery in Volseni. He was early on horseback; Sophy and Max von

Hollbrandt (Max's stay at the Castle was to end the next day) rode with

him as far as the gates of the city; there they left him and turned down

into the plain, to enjoy a canter on the banks of Lake Talti. The three

were to meet again for the mid-day meal at Praslok. Marie Zerkovitch had

been ailing, and kept her bed in the morning. The Prince's mounted guard

rode behind him and his friends to Volseni, for the sake of exercising

their horses. In the Castle there were left only Marie Zerkovitch and

the servants. The Prince did not anticipate that any message would come

from the Palace before noon at the earliest.

Morning avocations pursued their usual peaceful and simple course at the

Castle; old Vassip, his wife, and the maids did their cleaning; Peter

Vassip saw to his master's clothes, and then, to save his father labor,

began to sluice the wooden causeway; the stablemen groomed their

horses--they had been warned that the Prince might want another mount

later in the day. Marie Zerkovitch lay in her bed, sleeping soundly

after a restless night. There seemed no hint of trouble in the air. It

must be confessed that up to now it looked as though Praslok would be

caught napping.

It was Peter Vassip, busy on the causeway, who first saw Zerkovitch. He

rested and leaned on his mop to watch the head which rose over the hill,

the body that followed, the farm-horse lumbering along in a slow,

clumsy, unwilling gallop. The man was using stick and spur--he was

riding mercilessly. Peter ran down to the road and waited. A groom came

across from the stables and joined him.

"He's got no call to treat the horse like that, whoever he is," the

groom observed.

"Not unless he's on urgent business," said Peter, twirling the water

from his mop.

Zerkovitch was up to them; he leaped from his horse. "I must see the

Prince," he cried, "and immediately!"

"The Prince is at Volseni, sir; he rode over to see Captain Lukovitch."

"When will he be back?"

"We don't expect him till twelve o'clock."

Zerkovitch snatched out his watch.

"There's nobody here but Madame Zerkovitch, sir; she's still in bed, not

very well, sir."

"Twelve o'clock!" muttered Zerkovitch, paying no heed to the news about

his wife.

"The Baroness and Baron von Hollbrandt are out riding--"

"Can you give me a fresh horse? I must ride on and find the Prince at

Volseni."

"Oh yes, sir." He signed to the groom. "And hurry up!" he added.

"The guard's here, of course?"

"No, sir. They've gone with the Prince."

Zerkovitch twitched his head irritably and again looked at his watch.

"There must be time," he said. "They can't be here at soonest for an

hour and a half."

Peter Vassip did not understand him, but neither did he venture to ask

questions.

"Your horse 'll be here in a minute, sir. I think you'll find the Prince

in his office over the city gate. He went to do business, not to drill,

this morning."

Zerkovitch looked at him for a moment, wondering, perhaps, whether he

would be wise to tell his news. But what was the use of telling Peter

Vassip? Or his own wife? What could she do? It was for the Prince to say

who should be told. The one thing was to find the Prince. There was

time--at the very least an hour and a half.

The groom brought the fresh horse, and Zerkovitch began to mount.

"A glass of wine, sir?" Peter Vassip suggested. He had marked

Zerkovitch's pale face and strained air; he had wondered to see his

clothes sprinkled with whitey-brown fibres--traces of the sack under

whose cover he had slid out of Slavna.

Zerkovitch was in the saddle. "No," he answered. "But a bumper, Peter,

when I've found the Prince!" He set spurs to his horse and was off at a

gallop for Volseni; the road, though high on the hills, was nearly level

now.

Peter scratched his head as he looked after him for a moment; then he

returned to his mop.

He was just finishing his task, some twenty minutes later, when he heard

Sophy's laugh. She and Hollbrandt came from a lane which led up from the

lake and joined the main road a hundred yards along towards Volseni.

Peter ran and took their horses, and they mounted the causeway in

leisurely, pleasant chat. Sophy was in her sheepskin uniform; her cheeks

were pale, but the Star glowed. The world seemed good to her that

morning.

"And that is, roughly, the story of my life," she said with a laugh, as

she reached the top of the causeway and leaned against the rude

balustrade which ran up the side of it.

"A very interesting one--even very remarkable," he said, returning her

laugh. "But much more remains to be written, I don't doubt, Baroness."

"Something, perhaps," said Sophy.

"A good deal, I imagine!"

She shot a mischievous glance at him: she knew that he was trying to

lure from her an avowal of her secret. "Who can tell? It all seems like

a dream sometimes, and dreams end in sudden awakenings, you know."

"If it's a dream, you make an excellent dream-lady, Baroness."

Peter Vassip put his mop and pail down by the stables, and came up and

stood beside them.

"Did the mare carry you well to-day, sir?" he asked Max.

"Admirably, Peter. We had a splendid ride--at least I thought so. I hope

the Baroness--?"

Sophy threw out her arms as though to embrace the gracious world. "I

thought it beautiful; I think everything beautiful to-day. I think you

beautiful, Baron von Hollbrandt--and Peter is beautiful--and so is your

mother, and so is your father, Peter. And I half believe that, just this

morning--this one splendid morning--I'm beautiful myself. Yes, in spite

of this horrible mark on my cheek!"

"I hear something," said Peter Vassip.

"Just this morning--this one splendid morning--I agree with you,"

laughed Max. "Not even the mark shall change my mind! Come, you love the

mark--the Red Star--don't you?"

"Well, yes," said Sophy, with a little, confidential nod and smile.

"I hear something," said Peter Vassip, with his hand to his ear.

Sophy turned to him, smiling. "What do you hear, Peter?"

He gave a sudden start of recollection. "Ah, has that anything to do

with Monsieur Zerkovitch?"

"Monsieur Zerkovitch?" broke from them both.

"He's been here; he's ridden at a gallop on to Volseni--to find the

Prince." He added briefly all there was to add--his hand at his ear all

the time.

"Hum! That looks like news," said Max. "What can it be?"

"He didn't stop even to tell Marie! It must be urgent."

They looked in one another's faces. "Can there be--be anything wrong in

Slavna?"

"You mean--the troops?"

"I had thought of that."

"I can think of nothing but that. If it were anything from the Palace,

it would come by a royal courier sooner than by any other hand."

"I can hear plainly now," said Peter Vassip. "Listen!"

They obeyed him, but their ears were not so well trained. A dull,

indefinite sound was all they could distinguish.

"Horses--a number of them. Mounted men it must be--the hoofs are so

regular. Cavalry!"

"It's the Prince coming back from Volseni!" cried Sophy.

"No, it's from the other direction; and, besides, there are too many for

that."

Mounted men on the Slavna road--and too many to be the Prince's guard!

"What can it be?" asked Sophy in a low voice.

"I don't know. Zerkovitch's arrival must be connected with the same

thing, I think."

"There! There are their shakoes coming over the rise of the hill!" cried

Peter Vassip.

The next moment showed the company. They rode in fours, with sergeants

on the flanks. The officer in command was behind--the three on the

causeway could not see him yet. They were Hussars of the King's Guard,

the best regiment in the army. The Prince of Slavna had made them good

soldiers--they hated him for it. But Stafnitz was their colonel. On they

came; in their blue tunics and silver braid they made a brave show in

the sunshine.

The three watched now without word or motion. The sudden sight held them

spellbound. Not one of them thought of sending to warn the Prince. If

they had, the thought would have been useless, unless it had chimed in

with Mistitch's will. Twenty men could have been on them before there

was time to saddle a horse. If the expedition were a hostile one, the

Castle was caught napping in very truth!

Sophy stood forward a pace in front of her companions; her hand rested

on the little revolver which Monseigneur had given her.

On came the company; the foremost file reached within twenty yards of

the causeway. There they halted. Half of them dismounted, each man as he

did so intrusting his horse to his next fellow. Half of the fifty thus

left mounted repeated this operation, leaving the remaining twenty-five

in charge of all the horses. The seventy-five took position, four deep,

on the road. They separated, lining either side.

The figure of their commander now appeared. He rode to the foot of the

causeway, then dismounted, and gave his horse to the sergeant who

attended him. His men followed and drew up in the road, blocking the

approach to the Castle. Big Mistitch began to ascend the causeway, a

broad smile on his face. It was a great moment for Captain Hercules--the

day of revenge for which he had waited in forced patience and discreet

unobtrusiveness. It was a critical day, also, in view of the

instructions he had. To do him justice, he was not afraid.

Sophy saw and knew. This must have been the news that Zerkovitch

carried, that he had galloped on to tell to the Prince at Volseni. Some

event--some unknown and untoward turn of fortune--had loosed Mistitch on

them! That was all she had time to realize before Mistitch saluted her

and spoke.

"I have the honor of addressing the Baroness Dobrava?"

"You know me well, I think, Captain Mistitch, and I know you."

"Our journey together will be all the pleasanter for that."

"Your business with me, please?"

"I have it in command from his Majesty to escort you to Slavna--to the

Palace and into his presence. The King himself will then acquaint you

with his wishes."

"You're a strange messenger to send."

"That's a point to put to my superior officer, Colonel Stafnitz, who

sent me, Baroness."

Sophy pointed at his men. "You ride strongly supported!"

"Again the Colonel's orders, Baroness. I confess the precautions seemed

to me excessive. I had no doubt you would willingly obey his Majesty's

commands. Here, by-the-way, is the written order." He produced the order

the King had signed before his death.

Sophy had been thinking. Neither her courage nor her cunning forsook

her. She waved the document away. "I can take your word, Captain? You're

making no mistake to-day?--I really am Baroness Dobrava--not somebody

else with whom you have a feud?" She laughed at him gayly and went on:

"Well, I'm ready. I'm dressed for a ride--and I'll ride with you

immediately. In two minutes we'll be off." She saw a groom in the road

staring at the troopers, and called to him to bring her a horse.

This prompt obedience by no means suited Mistitch's book. It forced him

either to show his hand or to ride off with Sophy, leaving the Prince to

his devices--and, in a little while, to his revenge.

"I mustn't hurry you. You have some preparations--?"

"None," said Sophy. Her horse was led out into the road.

"You'll at least desire to acquaint his Royal Highness--?"

"Not at all necessary. Baron von Hollbrandt can do that later on."

Mistitch looked puzzled. Sophy smiled; her intuition had been right. The

attack on her was a feint, her arrest a blind; the Prince was the real

object of the move. She stepped down towards Mistitch.

"I see my horse is ready. We can start at once, Captain," she said.

"I'm instructed to express to the Prince regret that it should be

necessary--"

"The regret will be conveyed to him. Come, Captain!"

But Mistitch barred her way.

"His Royal Highness is in the Castle?" he asked. His voice grew angry

now; he feared the great stroke had failed; he saw that Sophy played

with him. How would he and his escort look riding back to Slavna with

nothing to show for their journey save the capture of one unresisting

woman--a woman whom they dared not harm while the Prince remained free,

and might become all-powerful?

"If he had been, you'd have known it by now, I think," smiled Sophy.

"No, the Prince isn't at the Castle."

"I'll see that for myself!" Mistitch cried, taking a step forward.

With a low laugh Sophy drew aside, passed him, and ran down the

causeway. In an instant she darted between the ranks of Mistitch's men

and reached her horse. The groom mounted her. She looked up to Mistitch

and called to him gayly:

"Now for Slavna, Captain! And hurry, or you'll be left behind!"

Her wit was too quick for him. Max von Hollbrandt burst out laughing;

Peter Vassip grinned.

"What are you waiting for, Captain?" asked Max. "Your prisoner's only

too anxious to go with you, you see!"

"I'll search the Castle first!" he cried in a rage which made him forget

his part.

Peter Vassip sprang forward and barred the way. Mistitch raised his

mighty arm. But Sophy's voice rang out gayly:

"Nonsense, Peter! There's nothing to conceal. Let the Captain pass!"

Her words stopped Mistitch--he feared a trap. Max saw it and mocked him.

"Don't be afraid, Captain--take fifty men in with you. The garrison

consists of a lady in bed, an old man, and five female servants."

Sophy heard and laughed. Even the troopers began to laugh now. Mistitch

stood on the top of the causeway, irresolute, baffled, furious.

But behind his stupidity lay the cunning astuteness of Stafnitz, the

ingenious bit of devilry. Mistitch's name availed where his brain could

not. For the moment the Prince made little of the Crown which had become

his; when he heard Zerkovitch's news, his overpowering thought was that

the woman he loved might be exposed to the power and the insults of

Mistitch. Sophy was playing a skilful game for him, but he did not know

it.

"I hear something," said Peter Vassip again, whispering to Max von

Hollbrandt.

Yes, there was the galloping of horses on the Volseni road!

Colonel Stafnitz had not miscalculated.

Now Mistitch heard the sound. His heavy face brightened. He ran down the

causeway, loudly ordering his men to mount. He was no longer at a loss.

He had his cue now--the cue Stafnitz had given him.

XVIII

TO THE FAITHFUL CITY

The King had died yesterday--yet none had told his heir! Mistitch had

set out for Dobrava with fifty men to wait for the King--who was dead!

The dead King would never go to Dobrava--and no messenger came to the

new King at Praslok!

Zerkovitch's news was enough to raise the anger of a King--and Sergius

blazed with it. But more potent still was his wrathful fear as he

thought of Sophy at Praslok, in the power of Captain Hercules.

He had his guard of twenty mounted men with him. With these he at once

set forth, bidding Lukovitch collect all the men he could and follow him

as speedily as possible. If Mistitch had really gone to Dobrava, then he

would find him there and have the truth out of him. But if, as the

Prince hardly doubted, he was making for Praslok, there was time to

intercept him, time to carry off Sophy and the other inmates of the

Castle, send them back to safety within the walls of Volseni, and

himself ride on to meet Mistitch with his mind at ease.

Relying on Zerkovitch's information, he assumed that the troopers had

not started from Slavna till seven in the morning. They had started at

six. He reckoned also on Zerkovitch's statement, that they were but

fifty strong. They were a hundred. Yet, had he known the truth, he could

not have used more haste--and he would not have waited for another man!

He stayed to tell no man in Volseni the news about his father--except

Lukovitch. But as his twenty rode out of the gate behind him, he turned

his head to Zerkovitch, who trotted beside him--for Zerkovitch neither

could nor would rest till the game was played--and said: "Tell them that

the King is dead, and that I reign." Zerkovitch whispered the news to

the man next him, and it ran along the line. A low, stern cheer, hardly

more than a murmured assurance of loyalty and service, came from the

lips of the men in sheepskins.

Mistitch saw them coming, and turned to his troop; he had time for a

little speech--and Stafnitz had taught him what to say: "Men, you are

servants of the King, and of the King only. Not even the Prince of

Slavna can command you against the King's orders. The King's orders are

that we take Baroness Dobrava to Slavna, no matter who resists. If need

be, these orders stand even against the Prince."

Stafnitz's soldiers--the men he petted, the men who had felt the

Prince's stern hand--were only too glad to hear it. To strike for the

King and yet against the hated Prince--it was a luxury, a happy and

unlooked-for harmonizing of their duty and their pleasure. Their

answering cheer was loud and fierce.

It struck harsh on the ears of the advancing Prince. His face grew hard

and strained as he heard the shouts and saw the solid body of men across

his path, barring access to his own castle. And within a yard or two of

their ranks, by the side of the road, sat the figure which he knew so

well and so well loved.

Now Mistitch played his card--that move in the game which Sophy's cool

submission to his demand had for the moment thwarted, but to which the

Prince's headlong anger and fear now gave an opening--the opening which

Stafnitz had from the first foreseen. It would need little to make the

fiery Prince forget prudence when he was face to face with Mistitch. It

was not a safe game for Mistitch personally--both Stafnitz and he knew

that. But Captain Hercules was confident. He would not be caught twice

by the Volseni trick of sword! The satisfaction of his revenge, and the

unstinted rewards that his Colonel offered, made it worth his while to

accept the risk, and rendered it grateful to his heart.

Sophy sat smiling. She would fain have averted the encounter, and had

shaped her manoeuvres to that end. It was not to be so, it seemed.

Now, she did not doubt Monseigneur's success. But she wished that

Zerkovitch had not reached Volseni so quickly, that the Prince had

stayed behind his walls till his plans were ready; and that she was

going a prisoner to Slavna to see the King, trusting to her face, her

tongue, her courage, and the star of her own fortune. Never had her

buoyant self-confidence run higher.

On the top of the causeway, Max von Hollbrandt looked to his revolver,

Peter Vassip loosened his knife in its leather sheath. A window above

the gate opened, and Marie Zerkovitch's frightened face looked out. The

women-servants jostled old Vassip in the doorway. The grooms stood

outside the stables. No one moved--only the Prince's little troop came

on. When they were fifty yards away, Mistitch cried to his men: "Draw

swords!" and himself pricked his horse with his spur and rode up to

where Sophy was.

Mistitch drew his horse up parallel to Sophy's, head to tail, on her

right side, between her and the approaching force. With the instinct of

hatred she shrank away from him; it had all been foreseen and rehearsed

in Stafnitz's mind! Mistitch cried loudly: "In the King's name, Baroness

Dobrava!" He leaned from the saddle and caught her right wrist in his

huge hand: he had the justification that, at his first attempt to touch

her, Sophy's hand had flown to her little revolver and held it now.

Mistitch crushed her wrist--the revolver fell to the ground. Sophy gave

one cry of pain. Mistitch dropped her wrist and reached his arm about

her waist. He was pulling her from her horse, while again he cried out:

"In the King's name! On guard!"

It was a high jump from the top of the causeway, but two men took it

side by side--Max von Hollbrandt, revolver in hand, Peter Vassip with

knife unsheathed.

As they leaped, another shout rang out: "Long live King Sergius!"

The Prince rode his fastest, but faster still rode Zerkovitch. He

outpaced the Prince and rode right in among Mistitch's men, crying

loudly again and again, unceasingly: "The King is dead! The King is

dead! The King is dead!"

Then came the Prince; he rode full at Mistitch. His men followed him,

and dashed with a shock against the troopers of Mistitch's escort. As

they rode, they cried: "Long live King Sergius!" They had unhorsed a

dozen men and wounded four or five before they realized that they met

with no resistance. Mistitch's men were paralyzed. The King was

dead--they were to fight against the King! The magic of the name worked.

They dropped the points of their swords. The Volsenians, hesitating to

strike men who did not defend themselves, puzzled and in doubt, turned

to their Bailiff--their King--for his orders.

As the Prince came up, Mistitch hurled Sophy from him; she fell from her

horse, but fell on the soft, grassy road-side, and sprang up unhurt save

for a cruel pain in her crushed wrist. She turned her eyes whither all

eyes were turned now. The general battle was stayed, but not the single

combat. For a moment none moved save the two who were now to engage.

The fight of the Street of the Fountain fell to be fought again. For

when Peter Vassip was darting forward, knife in hand, with a spring like

a mountain goat's, his master's voice called: "Mine, Peter, mine!" It

was the old cry when they shot wild-boar in the woods about Dobrava, and

it brought Peter Vassip to a stand. Max von Hollbrandt, too, lowered his

pointed revolver. Who should stand between his quarry and the King,

between Sophy's lover and the man who had so outraged her? Big Mistitch

was the King's game, and the King's only, that day.

Mistitch's chance was gone, and he must have known it. Where was the

sergeant who had undertaken to cover him? He had turned tail. Where was

the enveloping rush of his men, which should have engulfed and paralyzed

the enemy? Paralysis was on his men themselves; they believed

Zerkovitch, and lacked appetite for the killing of a King. Where was his

triumphant return to Slavna, his laurels, his rewards, his wonderful

swaggerings at the Golden Lion? They were all gone. Even though he

killed the King, there were two dozen men vowed to have his life. They

must have it--but at what price? His savage valor set the figure high.

It was the old fight again, but not in the old manner. There was no

delicate sword-play, no fluctuating fortunes in the fray. It was all

stem and short. The King had not drawn his sword, Mistitch did not seek

to draw his. Two shots rang out sharply--that was all. The King reeled

in his saddle, but maintained his seat. Big Mistitch threw his hands

above his head with a loud cry and fell with a mighty crash on the road,

shot through the head. Peter Vassip ran to the King and helped him to

dismount, while Max von Hollbrandt held his horse. Sophy hurried to

where they laid him by the road-side.

"Disarm these fellows!" cried Zerkovitch.

But Mistitch's escort were in no mood to wait for this operation; nor to

stay and suffer the anger of the King. With their leader's fall the last

of heart was out of them. Wrenching themselves free from such of the

Volsenians as sought to arrest their flight, they turned their horses'

heads and fled, one and all, for Slavna. The King's men attempted no

pursuit; they clustered round the spot where he lay.

"I'm hit," he said to Sophy, "but not badly, I think."

From the Castle door, down the causeway, came Marie Zerkovitch, weeping

passionately, wringing her hands. The soldiers parted their close ranks

to let her through. She came to the road-side where Sophy supported

Monseigneur's head upon her knees. Sophy looked up and saw her. Marie

did not speak. She stood there sobbing and wringing her hands over Sophy

and the wounded King.

That afternoon--an hour after the first of the straggling rout of

Mistitch's escort came in--King Alexis died suddenly! So ran the

official notice, endorsed by Dr. Natcheff's high authority. The coterie

were in up to their necks; they could not go back now; they must go

through with it. Countess Ellenburg took to her knees; Stenovics and

Stafnitz held long conversations. Every point of tactical importance in

the city was occupied by troops. Slavna was silent, expectant, curious.

Markart awoke at five o'clock, heavy of head, dry in the mouth, sick and

ill. He found himself no longer in the King's suite, but in one of the

apartments which Stafnitz had occupied. He was all alone; the door stood

open. He understood that he was no more a prisoner; he knew that the

King was dead!

But who else was dead--and who alive--and who King in Slavna?

He forced himself to rise, and hurried through the corridors of the

Palace. They were deserted; there was nobody to hinder him, nobody of

whom to ask a question. He saw a decanter of brandy standing near the

door of one room, and drank freely of it. Then he made his way into the

garden. He saw men streaming over the bridge towards Slavna, and

hastened after them as quickly as he could. His head was still in a

maze; he remembered nothing after drinking the glass of wine which

Lepage the valet had given him. But he was possessed by a strong

excitement, and he followed obstinately in the wake of the throng which

set from the Palace and the suburbs into Slavna.

The streets were quiet; soldiers occupied the corners of the ways; they

looked curiously at Markart's pale face and disordered uniform. A dull

roar came from the direction of St. Michael's Square, and thither

Markart aimed his course. He found all one side of the Square full of a

dense crowd, swaying, jostling, talking. On the other side troops were

massed; in an open space in front of the troops, facing the crowd, was

Colonel Stafnitz, and by his side a little boy on a white pony.

Markart was too far off to hear what Stafnitz said when he began to

speak--nay, the cheers of the troops behind the Colonel came so sharp on

his words as almost to drown them; and after a moment's hesitation (as

it seemed to Markart), the crowd of people on the other side of the

Square echoed back the acclamations of the soldiers.

All Countess Ellenburg's ambitions were at stake; for Stenovics and

Stafnitz it was a matter of life itself now, so daringly had they raised

their hands against King Sergius. Countess Ellenburg had indeed

prayed--and now prayed all alone in a deserted Palace--but not one of

the three had hesitated. At the head of a united army, in the name of a

united people, Stafnitz had demanded the proclamation of young Alexis as

King. For an hour Stenovics had made a show of demurring; then he bowed

to the national will. That night young Alexis enjoyed more honor than he

had asked of Lepage the valet--he was called not Prince, but Majesty. He

was King in Slavna, and the first work to which they set his childish

hand was the proclamation of a state of siege.

Slavna chose him willingly--or because it must at the bidding of the

soldiers. But Volseni was of another mind. They would not have the

German woman's son to reign over them. Into that faithful city the

wounded King threw himself with all his friends.

The body of Mistitch lay all day and all night by the wayside. Next

morning at dawn the King's grooms came back from Volseni and buried it

under a clump of trees by the side of the lane running down to Lake

Talti. Their curses were the only words spoken over the grave; and they

flattened the earth level with the ground again, that none might know

where the man rested who had lifted his hand against their master.

The King was carried to Volseni sore stricken; they did not know whether

he would live or die. He had a dangerous wound in the lungs, and, to

make matters worse, the surgical skill available in Volseni was very

primitive.

But in that regard fortune brought aid, and brought also to Sophy a

strange conjuncture of the new life with the old. The landlord of the

inn sent word to Lukovitch that two foreign gentlemen had arrived at his

house that afternoon, and that the passport of one of them described him

as a surgeon; the landlord had told him how things stood, and he was

anxious to render help.

It was Basil Williamson. Dunstanbury and he, accompanied by Henry Brown,

Dunstanbury's servant, had reached Volseni that day on their return from

a tour in the Crimea and round the shores of the Sea of Azof.

XIX

THE SILVER RING

It was late at night, and quiet reigned in Volseni--the quiet not of

security, but of ordered vigilance. A light burned in every house; men

lined the time-worn walls and camped in the market-place; there were

scouts out on the road as far as Praslok. No news came from outside, and

no news yet from the room in the guard-house where the wounded King lay.

The street on which the room looked was empty, save for one man, who

walked patiently up and down, smoking a cigar. Dunstanbury waited for

Basil Williamson, who was in attendance on the King and was to pronounce

to Volseni whether he could live or must die.

Dunstanbury had been glad that Basil could be of use, but for the rest

he had listened to the story which Zerkovitch told him with an amused,

rather contemptuous indifference--with an Englishman's wonder why other

countries cannot manage their affairs better, and something of a

traveller's pleasure at coming in for a bit of such vivid, almost

blazing "local color" in the course of his journey. But whether Alexis

reigned, or Sergius, mattered nothing to him, and, in his opinion, very

little to anybody else.

Nor had he given much thought to the lady whose name figured so

prominently in Zerkovitch's narrative, the Baroness Dobrava. Such a

personage seemed no less appropriate to the surroundings than the rest

of the story--no less appropriate and certainly not a whit more

important. Of course he hoped Basil would make a good report, but his

mind was not disturbed; his chief hope was that the claims of humanity

would not prolong his stay in Volseni beyond a few days. It was a

picturesque little place, but not one for a long visit; and in any case

he was homeward bound now, rather eager for the pleasures of the London

season after his winter journey--the third he had made in the interests

of a book on Russia which he had in contemplation, a book designed to

recommend him as an expert student of foreign affairs. He could hardly

consider that these goings-on in Kravonia came within the purview of a

serious study of his subject. But it was a pleasant, moonlit night, the

old street was very quaint, the crisis he had happened on bizarre and

amusing. He smoked his cigar and waited for Basil without impatience.

He had strolled a hundred yards away and just turned to loiter back,

when he saw a figure come out of the guard-house, pause for a moment,

and then advance slowly towards him. The sheepskin cap and tunic made

him think at first that the stranger was one of the Volsenian levy; the

next moment he saw the skirt. At once he guessed that he was in the

presence of Baroness Dobrava, the heroine of the piece, as he had called

her in his own mind and with a smile.

Evidently she meant to speak to him; he threw away his cigar and walked

to meet her. As they drew near to each other he raised his hat. Sophy

bowed gravely. Thus they met for the first time since Sophy washed her

lettuces in the scullery at Morpingham, and, at the young lord's

bidding, fetched Lorenzo the Magnificent a bone. This meeting was,

however remotely, the result of that. Dunstanbury had started her career

on the road which had led her to where she was.