Shortly before six o'clock--dinner in the palace was rarely served
until half-after eight--the Honorable Betty sat down to her
writing-desk in her boudoir, which opened directly into that belonging
to the princess, to write a few letters home. A dinner was to be given
to the state officials that night, and she knew from experience that
after that solemn event was concluded it would be too late for the
departing mails. She seemed to have no difficulty in composing her
thoughts and transferring them to paper. There were times when she
would lean back, nibble the end of her pen and smile in a dreamy,
retrospective fashion. No doubt her thoughts were pleasant and
agreeable.
She had completed addressing three envelopes, when she heard the door
leading into the princess' boudoir open and close. She turned to
behold the princess herself.
"Why, Gretchen, where are you going?"--noting the grey walking-dress,
the grey hat, the sensible square-toed shoes.
"I am going to visit a sick nurse," replied her Highness, avoiding the
other's eye.
"But shall you have time to dress for dinner?"
"That depends. Besides, the official dinners are a great bore." Her
Highness came forward, caught the dark head of the English girl between
her gloved hands, pressed it against her heart, bent and kissed it.
"What a lovely girl you are, Betty! always unruffled, always
even-tempered. You will grow old very gracefully."
"I hope so; but I do not want to grow old at all. Can't I go with
you?"--eagerly.
"Impossible; etiquette demands your presence here to-night. If I am
late my rank and my errand will be my excuse. What jolly times we used
to have in that quaint old boarding-school in St. John's Wood! Do you
remember how we went to your noble father's country place one
Christmas? I went _incognita_. There was a children's party, and two
boys had a fisticuff over you. Nobody noticed me those days. I was
happy then." The princess frowned. It might have been the sign of
repression of tears. Betty, with her head against the other's bosom,
could not see. "I shall be lonely without you; for you can not stay on
here for ever. If you could, it would be different. I shall miss you.
Somehow you possess the faculty of calming me. I am so easily stirred
into a passion; my temper is so surface-wise. Some day, however, I
shall come to England and spend a whole month with you. Will not that
be fine?"
"How melancholy your voice is!" cried Betty, trying without avail to
remove her Highness' hands.
"No, no; I want to hold you just so. Perhaps I am sentimental
to-night. I have all the moods, agreeable and disagreeable. . . . Do
you love anybody?"
"Love anybody? What do you mean?"--rising in spite of the protesting
hands. "Do I look as if I were in love with anybody?"
They searched each other's eyes.
"Oh, you islanders! Nobody can fathom what is going on in your hearts.
You never make any mistakes; you always seem to know which paths to
pursue; you are always right, always, always. I'd like to see you
commit a folly, Betty; it's a wicked wish, I know, but I honestly wish
it. There is certainly more Spanish blood in my veins than German. I
am always making mistakes; I never know which path is the right one; I
am always wrong. Do you believe it possible for a woman of birth and
breeding to fall in love with a man whom she has known only three days?"
"Three days! Are you crazy, Hildegarde?"
"Call me Gretchen!"--imperiously.
"Gretchen, what has come over you?"
"I asked you a question."
"Well,"---a bit of color stealing into her cheeks,--"it is possible,
but very foolish. One ought to know something of a man's character,"
went on Betty, "before permitting sentiment to enter into one's
thoughts."
"That is my own opinion, wise little white owl." Her Highness took her
friend in her arms and kissed her, held her at arm's length, drew her
to her heart and again kissed her. It was like a farewell. Then she
let her go. "If there is anything you need, make yourself at home with
my cases." And her Highness was gone.
Betty gazed at the door through which dear Gretchen had passed, gazed
thoughtfully and anxiously.
"How oddly she acted! I wonder--" She made as though to run to the
door, but stopped, as if ashamed of the doubt which flashed into her
mind and out again.
The little clock on the mantel chimed forth the seventh hour, and she
rang for her maid. It was time that she began dressing.
(Thus, for the present, I shall leave her. There are several reasons
why my imagination should take this step; for, what should I know of a
woman's toilet, save in the general mysterious results? However, I
feel at liberty to steal into the duke's dressing-room. Here, while I
am not positive what happened, at least I can easily bring my
imagination to bear upon the picture.)
The duke was rather pleased with himself. He liked to put on his state
uniform, with its blue-grey frock, the white doeskin trousers which
strapped under the patent-leather boots, the gold braid, the silver
saber and the little rope of medals strung across his full, broad
breast. It was thus he created awe; it was thus he became truly the
sovereign, urbane and majestic.
His valet was buckling on the saber belt, when there came a respectful
tap on the door.
"Enter," said the duke, frowning. One can not assert any particular
degree of dignity with a valet at one's side.
But it was only a corridor attendant who entered. He approached the
duke's valet and presented a letter.
"For his serene Highness." He bowed and backed out, closing the door
gently.
At once the valet bowed also and extended the letter to his master.
Formality is a fine thing in a palace.
"Ah, a letter," mused the duke, profoundly innocent of the viper which
was about to sting him. "My glasses, Gustav; my eye-glasses!"
The valet hurried to the dresser and returned with the duke's state
eye-glasses. These the duke perched deliberately upon the end of his
noble nose. He opened the letter and read its contents. The valet,
watching him slyly, saw him grow pale, then red, and finally
purple,--wrath has its rainbow. His hands shook, the glasses slipped
from his palpitating nose. And I grieve to relate that his serene
Highness swore something marvelous to hear.
"Damnation!" he said, or some such word. "The little fool!" Then,
suddenly remembering his dignity and the phrase that no man is a hero
to his valet, he pointed to his glasses, at the same time returning the
letter to its envelope, this letter which had caused this momentary
perturbation. "Call the minister of police. You will find him in the
smoking-room off the conservatory. Make all haste!"
The valet flew out of the door, while the duke began pacing up and down
the room, muttering and growling, and balling his fists, and jingling
his shining medals. He kicked over an inoffensive hassock and his
favorite hound, and I don't know how many long-winded German oaths he
let go. (It's a mighty hard language to swear in, especially when a
man's under high pressure.)
"The silly little fool! And on a night like this! Curse it! This is
what comes of mixing Spanish blood with German, of letting her aunt's
wishes overrule mine in the matter of education. But she shall be
brought back, even if I have to ask the assistance of every sovereign
in Europe. This is the end. And I had planned such a pleasant evening
at cards!" The duke was not wholly unselfish.
In less than ten minutes' time the valet returned with the minister of
police. The duke immediately dismissed the valet.
"Your serene Highness sent for me?" asked the minister, shaking in his
boots. There had been four ministers of police in three years.
"Yes. Read this."
The minister took the letter. He read it with bulging eyes. "Good
heavens, it must be one of her Highness' jokes!"
"It will be a sorry joke for you if she crosses any of the frontiers."
"But--"
"But!" roared the duke. "Don't you dare bring up that word scandal!
Seek her. Turn everybody out,--the army, the police, everybody. When
you locate her, telegraph, and have a special engine awaiting me at the
station. And if you play a poor game of cards to-night I'll take away
your portfolio. Remember, if she passes the frontier, off goes your
official head!"
"And the fellow, who is he?"
"The good Lord only knows! That girl! . . . Witness these grey hairs.
Put the rascal in irons; I'll attend to his case when I arrive. . . .
Where is Steinbock?"
"He was arrested this morning in Berlin; I have already applied for his
extradition."
"Good! Now, be off with you! Leave no stone unturned. The expense is
nothing; I will gladly pay it out of my private purse."
"I'll find her," said the minister grimly. His portfolio hung in the
balance.
All at once the duke struck his hands together jubilantly.
"What is it?" asked the minister. "A clue?"
"Nothing, nothing! Be gone; you are wasting time."
The minister of police dashed out of the room as if pursued by a
thousand devils. He knew the duke's mood; it was not one to cross or
irritate. No sooner was he gone than the duke left his apartments and
sought those of his niece. It might be a joke; it would do no harm to
find out positively. But the beautiful suite was empty; even her
Highness' maid was gone. He then knocked on the door which led into
Betty's boudoir, not very gently either.
"Open!" he bellowed.
"Who is it?" demanded a maid's frightened voice.
"The duke! Open instantly!"
"It is quite impossible," said another voice from within. It was calm
and firm. "I am dressing."
"I must see you this instant. Open or I shall force the door!"
"Is your serene Highness mad?"
"Will you open this door?"
"You command it?"
"A hundred times, yes!"
"Since you command it." The voice was no longer calm; it was sharp and
angry.
The wait seemed an hour to his serene Highness, serene no longer. At
length the bolt slipped, and the irate duke shouldered his way in. The
tableau which met his gaze embarrassed him for a space. He was even
ashamed. The Honorable Betty stood behind a tall-backed chair, an
opera cloak thrown hastily over her bare shoulders. Her hair was
partly down. A beautiful woman in a rage is a fascinating sight. The
duke stared at her irresolutely.
"Will your Highness explain this extraordinary intrusion?" she
demanded. "You have literally forced your way into my room while I am
dressing. It is utterly outside my understanding."
"I am old enough to be your father."
"That is the weakest excuse you could give me. At your age one's blood
ought to be cooled to a certain discretion. My father, if he had had
anything important to say, would have remained on the other side of the
door. I am not deaf. Your explanation is in order."
The duke had never been talked to so plainly in all his life. For a
while he was without voice, but had plenty of color. "It is easily
explained," he finally bawled out to her. "Her Highness has eloped!"
The girl stared at him with wide eyes. "Eloped?" she breathed faintly.
"Yes, eloped."
Betty wondered if she heard aright, or if the duke were out of his
mind; and then she recollected her conversation with the princess. Her
mouth opened as if to speak, but instead she closed her lips tightly.
That wilful girl; whatever would become of her!
"Give this letter to your mistress," said the duke to the maid. "I
will station myself in the window while she reads it."
He strode over to the window and drew the curtains about him. Below,
the night crowds were wandering about the streets; the band was playing
in the Volksgarten; carriages were rolling to and from the opera; the
fountain in the center of the square sparkled merrily in the glare of
the arc lights. But the duke saw none of these things. Rather he saw
the telegraphic despatches flying to the four ends of the globe,
telling the peoples that he, the Grand Duke of Barscheit, had been
outwitted by a girl; that the Princess Hildegarde had eloped with a man
who was not the chosen one. In other words, he saw himself laughed at
from one end of the continent to the other. (There is something very
funny in domestic troubles when they occur in another man's family!)
No, the duke saw not the beauty of the night; instead of stars he saw
asterisks, that abominable astronomy of the lampoonists. He had never
doubted the girl's courage; but to elope! . . . And _who_ the devil
had eloped with her? He knew the girl's natural pride; whoever the
fellow might be, he could be no less than a gentleman. But who, who?
"Your Highness?" called a quiet (I might say deceptive) voice.
The duke came forth.
"Your Highness will do me the honor to make out my passports to-night.
I desire to leave the palace immediately. The affront you have put
upon me, even under the circumstances, is wholly unpardonable. You
imply that I have had something to do with her Highness' act. You will
excuse me to her serene Highness, whom I love and respect. My dignity
demands that I leave at once."
A flicker--but only a flicker--of admiration lighted the duke's eyes.
It was a plucky little baggage.
"I will issue your passports upon one condition," he said.
"And that condition?"--proudly.
"Tell me everything: Where has she gone, and with whom?"
"I know absolutely nothing."
Silence. The duke gnawed his mustache, while his eyes strove in vain
to beat down hers.
"Thank you, I believe you." Then, giving way to his wrath: "You
English people, you are all the same! You never understand. I have
brought up this girl and surrounded her with every luxury; against my
will and reason I have let her become educated in foreign lands; I have
given her the utmost freedom; this is how I am repaid."
"You forgot one important thing, your Highness."
"What?"--haughtily.
"Affection. You have never gives her that."
The duke felt himself beaten into silence, and this did not add to his
amiability.
"Your passports shall be made out immediately; but I beg of you to
reconsider your determination, and to remain here as long as you
please. For the sake of appearances, I desire your presence at the
dinner-table."
"I shall leave as soon as the dinner is over." This girl's mind seemed
immovable.
The duke shrugged. There was no use in beating against this wall. "I
wish you knew whither she has gone."
"Frankly, if I knew I should not tell your Highness. My father taught
me never to betray a confidence."
"As you will. I beg your pardon for the abruptness of my entrance," he
said, choking down his wrath. He could not allow himself to be
out-done in the matter of coolness by this chit of an English girl.
"I grant it you."
The duke then retired, or, I should say, retreated. He wandered
aimlessly about the palace, waiting for news and making wretched all
those with whom he came in contact. The duchess was not feeling well;
a wrangle with her was out of the question; besides, he would make
himself hoarse. So he waited and waited, and re-read the princess'
letter. At dinner he ate nothing; his replies were curt and surly.
The Honorable Betty also ate nothing. She sat, wondering if her maid
could pack five trunks in two hours.
I had quite a time of it myself that night. As I predicted, I received
a visit from the police in regard to Mr. Scharfenstein. I explained
the matter the best I knew how, and confessed that he had hurriedly
left the city for parts unknown. I did not consider it absolutely
essential that I should declare that I had seen him enter a railway
carriage for Dresden. Besides this, I had to stand sponsor for the
other boys and explain at length that they were in no wise concerned
with Mr. Scharfenstein's great offense. The police were courteous and
deferential, admitting that Max was the culprit. He had drawn a
revolver in a public restaurant; he had broken a grave law. The
inspector wrote a dozen telegrams and despatched them from the
consulate. I had, at his request, offered him the blanks.
At eleven I received a telephone call from the Continental Hotel. It
was a woman's voice, and my heart beat violently as I recognized it. I
was requested to come at once to the hotel. I should find her in the
ladies' salon. I walked the distance in ten minutes. She told me all
that had happened.
"By this time it is all over the city. But it is all nonsense about
her Highness' eloping with any one. She is too nobly born to commit
such a folly. She has simply run away; and I very much fear that she
will be caught. The duke is in a terrible temper. I could not remain
in the palace, for the duke suspects that I know where she has gone. I
have my passports. The British consul is away hunting. You were the
only English-speaking person to whom I could come for aid."
"I am very glad."
"Will it be asking too much of you to aid me in leaving Barscheit
to-night? There is a train at one o'clock for Dresden."
"Leave Barscheit?" My heart sank dismally.
"Oh,"--with a smile,--"the world is small and England is even smaller."
"I shall have to give up the consulate,"--gravely.
She laughed. "I shall be in England for something more than a year.
Truthfully, I hunger for mine own people. You know what that hunger
is."
"Yes. I shall go home as often as possible now. I always stop a few
days in London."
"Then I shall expect to see you; perhaps during the holidays. I am
determined to leave Barscheit before the duke changes his mind.
Heavens, he may put me in prison!"
"I doubt that."
I saw to it that she secured a sleeping-compartment all to herself,
took charge of her luggage and carefully examined her papers. Then we
had a small supper. I wanted to ask a thousand questions, but my
courage lacked the proper key.
"May I have the pleasure of writing to you occasionally?" I finally
ventured. "I am sure that you would like a bit of Barscheit gossip
from time to time."
"Write to me, by all means. I shall await these letters with great
pleasure."
"And answer them?"--growing bolder.
"It is easily seen that you are a diplomat. Yes, I shall answer them.
Heigh-ho! I shall miss my rides." What a brave little woman she was!
Finally we started for the station, and I saw her to the gates. We
shook hands, and I was sure I felt a very friendly pressure; and then
she disappeared. There was altogether a different feeling in my heart
as I watched _her_ train draw out. Eh, well, the world is small and
England is smaller, even as she had said. It's a mighty fine world,
when you get the proper angle of vision.