KNOWN TOO LATE.
The Grand-Duke and Duchess of Schwarzwald-Molzau were entertaining a
strictly family party at dinner in their _appartement_ at the Hôtel
des Rois. King Michael and his mother were naturally the chief guests,
and the Queen’s presence involved Cyril’s. Usk had also the honour of
being invited, owing to the service he had rendered to the Princess
Helene, and there was a vacant place at the table, no explanation of
which was at first offered. Usk felt supremely uncomfortable, and was
very conscious of being an outsider, though reflection, or policy, or
his wife’s influence, had induced the Grand-Duke to show himself
gracious, if not cordial. Cyril’s help was desirable, even
indispensable, in solving the problems which lay before King Michael’s
relations at this moment, and there was a widespread belief that it
was not wise to show any discourtesy to “the Mortimer,” however
defenceless he might appear. Not that Cyril displayed any disposition
to insist upon his rights. With the tact which always distinguished
him, he claimed nothing that his hosts might not be willing to
concede, and in spite of his delicate position exerted such a genial
influence that before the end of the meal the Grand-Duke was
addressing him with absolute friendliness. It was Queen Ernestine who
was nervously on the look-out for slights offered to her husband, so
that throughout the evening she was clearly ready, as he told her
afterwards, to sail magnificently out of the room at a moment’s
notice, sweeping Usk and himself in her train. Her vigilance was not
without its effect upon the Grand-Duke, beside whom she sat, and as he
hoped much from her influence over the King, he took pains, in a rough
and somewhat tactless fashion, to show her that her fears were
unnecessary.
King Michael sat next to the Grand-Duchess, a stout,
comfortable-looking lady whose sole anxiety seemed to be her husband’s
temper. When she had satisfied herself that he was desirous of
pleasing the Queen, and exhibited no active antipathy to Cyril, she
settled down to enjoy the King’s society. Usk, judging by her
occasional exclamations and generally shocked expression, thought that
he was probably entertaining her with the recital of some of the
escapades with which he daily edified the population of Nice, and that
she, regarding him as a possible son-in-law, was listening
indulgently, if with a certain amount of gratifying horror.
Sitting solitary, since the empty place happened to be next him, Usk
had plenty of opportunity of observing his fellow-diners, and he took
a special delight in watching the pair opposite him. The Princess
Helene was looking very small and shy, and as young as ever, in her
simple white gown, with her hair coiled round and round the small
head, which seemed overweighted by the heavy plaits. She was not
pretty, thought Usk, looking at her dispassionately, she was too thin
and pale, but the over-abundant hair was of a warm brown, and the
large eyes a deep hazel. If she was with people who were kind to her,
and was not in constant fear of being snubbed or called to order, she
would be a jolly little girl. To this conclusion he was led by
observing her demeanour to Cyril, which reminded him of the way she
had talked to himself under the protection of her mask two days
before. At first she was almost too shy to speak, on finding herself
in the actual presence of her idol, but the barrier was soon removed.
There were few people that Cyril could not set at ease, and this
little romantic girl was no exception to the rule.
“He talked to me about interesting things, as if I was quite old,” she
said to Usk in the drawing-room afterwards; and when Usk hinted that
this would not generally be considered a compliment, she was almost
angry. “People always will think that girls want compliments, and
simply to talk about balls and stupid things of that kind,” she cried,
“instead of books, and politics, and _life_; but the dear Count is not
like that. I have often thought that some day I might see him and
listen to him, but I never, never dreamed that he would talk to me,
and let me talk to him. And I should have lost it all if _he_ had not
been so rude and come in too late for dinner.”
She was sitting at the piano, which was isolated from the rest of the
room in a recess, and Usk was standing beside her to turn over the
pages of her music. As she spoke she threw a little scornful glance in
the direction of the defaulting guest, who had made his appearance,
with profuse apologies, when the meal was just over. A man of
uncertain age, looking young in a dim light, but considerably older
when the glare of the electric lamps fell upon him, he was presented
to the Queen as the Grand-Duke Ivan Petrovitch of Scythia. At first he
had appeared to think it his duty to hover round Helene with talk of
the very kind she despised, but when the four elders of the party drew
together for conversation, he seemed to find a more congenial
companion in King Michael, who had taken no notice of his little
cousin save to tease her with reminiscences of their childhood which
made her blush painfully. Usk, whose Welsh blood had boiled under the
calmly inquiring glance turned upon him by the new-comer, was glad
enough to follow Helene to the piano, where she tried over the
accompaniments of various songs, and played now and then a few bars of
one musical composition or another, “just to encourage conversation,”
as she put it.
“Don’t you hate him?” she inquired presently, under cover of the
music, with a turn of her head in the direction of the visitor.
“I don’t much like his looks,” Usk agreed.
“He may say that he lost his train from Monte Carlo, but I am quite
certain that he stayed at the tables too long on purpose.”
“But that seems rather aimless, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, he wished to be rude. I don’t know why, but I am certain it was
that. He makes me--I forget the word--quake? quiver?--all over when he
comes near.”
“He grues you, does he? So he does me.”
“I am so glad, because it shows it is not a fancy of mine. Do you know
what I think it is? Look at him through the leaves of that palm; see
how smooth he is, how well-brushed--is not that the phrase? Then think
of him as he would look without his beard. I have seen a picture of
him when he was much younger in his cousin Sonya’s album, and oh! it
was such a cruel face. I call him the Tartar--you know the saying,
_Grattez le Scythe, et vous trouverez_----? It amuses mamma very much,
but she told me not to tell papa. He would be displeased.”
“I don’t think I would tell the Grand-Duke either,” suggested Usk,
half-pityingly. Could the child be so blind as not to see what the
presence of the Scythian Prince at this family gathering portended?
“Oh no, I should not think of it. And besides, when he comes near me,
I can never talk at all. I feel like a mouse in a trap, and I can only
say yes and no. You know that he married one of my cousins? She died
before they had been married a year, and I believe”--her voice
dropped, and her eyes sought Usk’s with a haunting horror in
them--“that he killed her.”
“Oh no!” Usk felt compelled to say. “Why should he?”
“I don’t mean that he murdered her with a dagger or with poison. I
should think it would be enough to kill any one to see that face and
that sneer always opposite them. And they wanted her to enter the
Orthodox Church, and she refused; and I don’t think he would be very
kind if his wishes were opposed, would he? Oh, it was brave of her,
poor Leopoldine! I should have surrendered, I know. I should be too
frightened to hold out.”
“I say, you know,” said Usk awkwardly, “perhaps you’re misjudging him.
He mayn’t be as bad as he looks.”
Helene shook her head. “It is the feeling his presence gives me,” she
said. “Now, there is Michael. I dislike him, but I am not afraid of
him. He is like a big boy who tortures flies for sport, not thinking.
The Grand-Duke Ivan would do it for the sake of cruelty. And there is
the Emperor Sigismund. Every one says how hard he is, but he is not
cruel. He is always kind to me. He used to call me his little kitten,
and I could always persuade him to do what I wanted. That was when I
was a little girl, of course.”
Usk was silent, lost in amazement at this new light upon the character
of the Hercynian ruler. Helene was looking through a pile of music.
“Ah!” she said. “This is what you in England call the Wedding March;
is it not so? Shall I startle them all by playing it in Michael’s
honour? It seems quite certain that he is to marry Sonya Eugenova.
Cousin Ottilie was calling on mamma to-day, and told us so much about
them both.”
“No doubt the Princess of Dardania would know more about it than any
one else,” said Usk drily, “but,” he added, unhappy recollections of
his own coming to the surface again, “it would be a pity to
congratulate the King too soon.”
“Then shall I play it for you?” she asked suddenly. “Cousin Ottilie
told us you were betrothed to a beautiful American girl. I hope I
shall see her. Michael knows her family, does he not? Mamma said he
was a good deal at their villa.”
“No, please don’t,” said Usk hurriedly, laying his hand upon hers as
she was about to begin. “As you have heard so much, I can explain
things to you which I couldn’t to any one else. We are not exactly
engaged--at least, you know, I would give anything to be, but she
won’t have it. It’s--it’s just that she doesn’t like to be bound, you
know. Of course she thinks I should try to monopolise her, and she
would find it awfully dull.”
Helene’s face, as she sat at the piano, wore an expression of
disapproval. “I don’t understand,” she said. “She has not refused
you--no? And yet she will not bind herself? But this is not treating
you honourably.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Usk assured her, with involuntary mendacity.
“She’s--she’s an American, you know, and American girls like to be
free above all things. I don’t want her to refuse me at all. I’m quite
content to wait until she is willing----”
“To be betrothed? But why should she prefer freedom to becoming your
bride?” Usk felt some astonishment, until he remembered that she was
using the word in the German sense. “Surely she would receive far
greater consideration, besides having the right to your escort
everywhere, and all the respect you would naturally show her?”
“Oh, it’s not that.” Usk felt helpless to explain the points involved.
“An American girl gets all the consideration she wants anyhow, and
that’s all there is going, or she’ll know the reason why. And you see
she would much rather have different men to take her about than me
always.”
“I do not understand,” said Helene coldly, rising as she spoke. “It
seems to me that you ought not to allow her to treat you with such
insult. She cannot be a high-minded girl.”
“What next?” thought Usk in amazement, as he put out the piano-lights
before following her. The party was breaking up by this time, and
Helene bade him good-night with freezing coldness. He was at a loss to
know how he had offended her, especially when he noticed that in
saying farewell to his uncle she handed him, with a deep blush and a
look of entreaty, a morocco-bound book. The Grand-Duchess laughed
pleasantly.
“What, Lenchen, that absurd album of yours again?” she said. “Don’t
give yourself any trouble about it, Count, I beg of you. Every one
spoils this child by being too kind to her.”
“What is it, Cyril?” asked the Queen curiously, when they had reached
their own _appartement_. Cyril flung the book on the table with a
groan, and his wife and Usk laughed when they saw that it was lettered
“Confession Album.”
“What is there about me that impels romantic little girls to let me in
for things of this sort?” he demanded. “I thought Philippa said that
these wretched books had gone out years ago, but it seems some
malignant cousin brought your niece this one from England, and my
feelings are to be butchered to make a holiday for her.”
“Poor little Lenchen!” sighed the Queen. “I am glad you were kind to
her, Cyril.”
“Ah, poor little girl! If Michael was her last chance of escape from
Ivan Petrovitch, I’m afraid it’s a bad look-out.”
“He took pains to show that he was not at all attracted to her,” said
the Queen, in a low voice. “I suppose it was as well to make it plain,
but----”
“The unfortunate parents were doubly snubbed,” said Cyril. “It was
quite clear that Ivan Petrovitch saw he would only be welcomed as a
son-in-law if Michael disappointed them, and he showed his resentment
by arriving late. I don’t envy his future relations-in-law, I must
say.”
“The poor little girl herself hates him,” said Usk.
Cyril looked up quickly. “Did she confide that to you? Confidences of
that sort are dangerous. It is discreet to forget them at once.”
“I’m not likely to hand it on to the Grand-Duke Ivan, at any rate. And
talking of confidences, the Princess of Dardania seems to have been
indulging in a good many this afternoon.”
“On matrimonial matters? So we heard. Perhaps you don’t know that she
was asked to join the family dinner-party, and refused on account of
the company she would meet--otherwise you and me?”
“No,” said the Queen calmly; “she could not bring herself to meet me.”
“My dear Ernestine--your own cousin! Ah, I see. Because you had
degraded yourself by stooping to me--was that it?”
The Queen looked at him searchingly. “Raised myself, rather,” she
said. “Yes, that is no doubt the reason, Cyril.”
“I see the book Nicholson wanted has come. I think I’ll take it in to
him and see how he is,” said Usk, who felt himself slightly _de trop_.
From his brother-in-law Mansfield he had gathered the idea that the
Princess Dowager of Dardania would at one time not have scorned to
marry Cyril herself, but he knew his uncle well enough to be certain
that no word would ever pass his lips on the subject.
“Ottilie is determined that Michael shall marry Sonya,” said the
Queen, when he had gone out.
“Yes; it was considerate of her to call and quench any hopes that the
poor Schwarzwald-Molzaus might be cherishing. I shall be curious to
see if she tries anything of the kind upon Félicia.”
“I don’t think she would regard her as a serious rival to Sonya.”
“Then she would be very much mistaken. The Grand-Duke took the hint I
managed to give him far better than I expected. If his own daughter
had married Michael, it would not have solved our difficulties at all,
for there would still be the money to be found. Little Helene won’t
have more than a few thousands, at the outside, and her father sees
the difficulty. He will make Michael introduce him to Félicia, and
will watch her for a day or two before he takes any decided step. And
Félicia is the kind of girl who will appeal to him by her very
audacity. She will surprise and amuse him, and calmly ignore his
prejudices when that unfortunate little Helene would be cowering in
terror.”
“Cyril, did it strike you? If we could get rid of Ivan Petrovitch,
there is Usk. Of course, I mean if Michael insists on marrying
Félicia.”
“Usk marry Helene? My dear Ernestine, may I ask you to keep that idea
to yourself? If it came to pass, I should never leave Europe alive.”
“Cyril, what do you mean? What difference could it make?”
“Simply that I should have become too powerful. You know me as I
really am, dearest, a broken-down cobbler, patching things clumsily
together. But to Scythia, which means Soudaroff, I am a plotter of the
most dangerous type, at the head of a widespread conspiracy for
establishing myself as ruler of Palestine, and bent on strengthening
my position by royal alliances. You know, and I know, that when we
quit Europe it will be to return to Sitt Zeynab and not leave it
again, but end our days there in peace, away from the politics which
nowadays I can’t touch without spoiling. But Soudaroff thinks, and
very naturally too, after all the pains that have been taken to
impress it upon him, that my leaving will be the sign for a desperate
attempt--which he, knowing me as I was, believes will be
successful--to oust the Scythian garrison from Jerusalem. If I have
the additional support of the Schwarzwald-Molzau influence behind me,
as he would infer if Usk was allowed to marry Helene, surely it is
clear that his only chance is to put me out of the way?”
“Cyril, you terrify me. Let us leave things to settle themselves, and
go back to the desert at once.”
“No, no; we’ll see the young folks out of the wood if we can. Though
how we are to get things settled if Usk refuses to bring Félicia to
book, I don’t know.”
Usk, in the meantime, had gone to Nicholson’s rooms, and found the
invalid sitting up in bed, his bright eyes looking ghastly by contrast
with his hollow cheeks.
“Thought you’d be coming in,” he said, “and I wouldn’t lie down, for
fear I should go to sleep, though Jenkins has been at me incessantly.
Look here; I wanted to show you this.”
He held out the page of a newspaper, which had the unfamiliar look
peculiar to English printed with French type. It was one of the
ephemeral society sheets which spring up once or twice a season in the
larger health resorts, and after enjoying a brief _succès de
scandale_, suddenly sink out of existence. Usk looked at the passage
to which he pointed:--
“Tuesday’s Carnival procession was quite the best and most fashionably
attended of late years, and bearers of nearly every well-known name in
Europe took part in it or were among the spectators. Observed of all
observers were the ‘Famille Pierrot en deuil,’ comprising two ladies
and two gentlemen attired in Pierrot costumes with deep black borders.
The idea was most cleverly carried out, down to the black pompons
which adorned the white sugar-loaf hats of the two Pierrettes; and
universal admiration was attracted by the _abandon_ with which the
wearers threw themselves into all the fun of the occasion. It is
whispered that one of the Pierrots was the youthful monarch of a
Balkan State, whose whole-hearted gaiety has given great delight to
Nice this season; and that the ladies were the fascinating American
tenants of one of the florally-named villas in the Croix de Marbre,
whom he honours with a good deal of his society.”
“Rather suggestive of your friends of the Villa Bougainvillea,”
chuckled Nicholson, coughing as he spoke.
“This thing ought to be prosecuted,” said Usk wrathfully. “Or who
edits it, do you know?”
“How can I tell? But you can’t horsewhip a man for telling the truth.”
“It’s not true! Why----” Usk was happy again--“if they went, they were
to go in mauve dominos. She--one of them--showed me the stuff.”
“Of course she did! And what was to be under the dominos? They were
only for driving. It was when your friends left their carriage that
they would come out as full-blown Pierrettes.”
“It’s not true,” repeated Usk, doggedly but hopelessly. “There’s the
book you wanted. Good-night.”
Once more his mind was made up to force an explanation with Félicia.
He had not been near the Villa Bougainvillea since receiving Mrs van
Zyl’s note on the day of the Carnival, for he had determined that
Félicia owed him an apology, and that he would not move without it.
Now, however, he felt he could rest no longer under this uncertainty.
If Félicia had the smallest regard for him or his wishes, she would
not have taken part in the Carnival at all; and if she had no regard
for him, what prospect was there of their living happily together? It
was with these thoughts in his mind that he made his way to the villa
the next morning, as early as he thought Félicia would be likely to
be up. To his astonishment he was ushered into the _salon_, where Mrs
van Zyl greeted him with a severe expression of countenance.
“I don’t know whether Félicia will receive you,” she said coldly,
when he had explained that he came to see Miss Steinherz, “but I will
send and ask her, any way.”
An awkward pause ensued, during which Usk endeavoured vainly to make
conversation, wondering the while what was the reason for this
treatment, and Mrs van Zyl eyed him as if he had been a convicted
criminal. Presently, however, she was summoned to the door, and a
whispered colloquy followed, which appeared to have a satisfactory
result, for she went out, and Félicia entered the room. She seemed
the embodiment of injured rectitude as she halted opposite Usk, and
looked him over sternly.
“I guess you’re come to apologise,” she said at last.
“Nothing of the sort. I want an apology from you,” broke out Usk.
“Do tell! You’re the person to ask for apologies, aren’t you?”
“Exactly, and I mean to have one.”
“Am I to apologise because you broke your appointment, and haven’t
been around for two whole days?”
“Considering that you broke the appointment through Mrs van Zyl, and
went to the Carnival, which you had promised you wouldn’t do, I
scarcely thought you would care to see me.”
“And if I told you that Sadie wrote you just to test you, and that I
was waiting for you here all of Tuesday afternoon, what then?”
“I should ask who the two American ladies were from this house who
were at the Carnival with King Michael.”
“I guess Sadie and Maimie are just as good Americans as I am,” said
Félicia languidly. “Well!” she cried, with sudden fire, “if I told
you all that what would you do?”
“I should accept your word, of course.”
“Oh, how kind! how condescending! Well, then, I just won’t tell you
anything of the sort. You won’t have any word to accept, do you see?
and you can just do as you like.”
“Félicia, you are not treating me fairly!” cried Usk, torn asunder
with doubts. “Tell me you were not at the Carnival, and I will make
any apology you please. You had no right to test me as you say, for I
think I have passed the stage for that sort of thing, but if it was a
test, I failed; I acknowledge that.”
“This is a test, too,” said Félicia calmly. “You promised to trust
me, and I mean to see what your trust is worth. I have suggested an
explanation, and if you don’t choose to accept it, you can just go.”
“Only tell me that you were not at the Carnival.”
“I won’t say a word. And you make out to love me!”
“And I do. If I leave off loving you, it will be because you have
killed my love with your own hands. You know I love you, Fay. Could I
bear the way you treat me if I didn’t? Am I to stand all the tests and
you none? Give me just that one assurance, and you won’t repent it. I
shall be bowed down with shame.”
“I don’t see but I’d better ring for Jacques to show you out,”
remarked Félicia conversationally, moving towards the bell.
“You don’t care for me! You can’t care for me!” cried Usk.
Félicia turned towards him again. “Solemnly, Usk, if I care for any
one, I care for you, but I won’t be treated that way. I must be
trusted all in all, or not at all. If you can do it, say so, and
stay.”
Her hand was on the bell-rope. Her beautiful eyes looked sadly,
entreatingly at him. There were tears ready to fall.
“I can! I do!” he cried. “Oh, Fay, you are cruel to me!”
“Cruel only to be kind,” said Mrs van Zyl, entering the room just as
Usk’s arms were round Félicia. “I guess you’re in again, Fay? You’ll
stay lunch, Lord Usk? We receive this afternoon.”
The last piece of information was not particularly delightful to Usk,
but he stayed, and was rewarded for abandoning his private judgment by
many tender looks and caressing words from Félicia. A certain amount
of triumph over Maimie was visible in her glance, and Usk guessed
miserably that Maimie had prophesied he would not allow himself to be
cajoled. Even now he felt horribly conscious that he did not believe
in Félicia’s explanation. He had yielded because at the moment the
fear of losing her seemed intolerable, but his submission degraded him
in his own eyes. All Félicia’s endeavours to hide his chain with
flowers were useless; she did not love him, and he did not trust her.
Matters were no better when Mrs van Zyl’s guests arrived, and he had
no longer to keep up the dreary pretence which Félicia insisted on
treating as solid reality. He did his duty in helping to hand round
tea and cake, finding seats for elderly ladies, and making up sets for
croquet, but the company was not to his taste, although it was evident
that Félicia found it very much to hers. Once more he noticed the
change in her. At Llandiarmid she had been merely the shadow of her
real self, perversely critical or genuinely languid, but now she had
recovered the health and good spirits which had been so noticeable
before her father’s death. The well preserved, tightly buttoned,
barons and counts who owed allegiance to the other American women
present crowded round her, and competed for her smiles with rival
sallies of wit, and the weary cosmopolitans forgot to talk of such an
one’s score and some one else’s bad luck. She held her court among
them, listening to their deftly turned compliments with an
indifference which was almost contemptuous, until the splendid eyes
would all at once be lifted lazily, and a comment be
uttered--sometimes only a single word--which set all her hearers
laughing. She could hold her own with ease even when her indifference
piqued them all to unite against her. Still reclining with half-veiled
eyes in her hammock, she would annihilate half her assailants at once
with a single sally, and then dispose of the rest by a few crisp
sentences in succession. It was perfect, Usk saw. No wonder these
fellows were attracted and amused, and yet--and yet--what was to be
the outcome of it all? Was it possible for Félicia--even if she ever
intended to marry him--to be happy as his wife? Morbidly awake now to
her methods and aims, he found no pleasure in the fact that King
Michael had not put in an appearance all day, but rather a reason for
her restoration of himself to favour. In spite of his protestations to
his uncle, he was occupying now the most degraded of all positions,
that of a stalking-horse employed to pique the other man into renewing
his attentions.