_MALA SORTE._
“Is that you, Usk? Come in. Why, what’s gone wrong?”
“Félicia and I have broken it off. I thought you’d be glad to know.”
“I am interested to hear it. You broke it off, I hope?”
“I suppose you would say it was done by mutual consent,” said Usk
drearily. “I told her to choose between the King and me, and she chose
him.”
“I am glad she has made a definite choice, at any rate,” said his
uncle. “Hard hit, Usk? What do you mean to do.”
“Leave this to-morrow, unless you or Aunt Ernestine want me for
anything.”
“Why, where are you off to?”
“Only to London. My father will be busy with this Bill of his, and I
daresay I can help him a little.”
“Right. Throw yourself into it. Work as hard as you can. But don’t you
think such a sudden departure will seem a little marked?”
“I don’t know. I can’t help it.” Usk wondered why his uncle was
looking at him with such a curious, meditative gaze. “I couldn’t stay
here and meet them every day.”
“I suppose not. The natural instinct is to hide yourself, no doubt.
But don’t give way to it more than you can help. It’ll soon wear off,
and you will find some one who will compensate you for everything.”
“Never!” said Usk, so tragically that Cyril only restrained a smile
with difficulty. “I may marry, to please my father and mother, but I
can never feel again to any woman as I have done to Félicia.”
“Don’t be too sure. Why, if you stayed on here for a day or two, you
might even find your heart caught at the rebound almost at once.”
“If you knew how I have loved and--and believed in Félicia, you
wouldn’t say that--and I thought she loved me. How could I ever trust
a woman again who said she cared for me? I believe these French
marriages are better, after all. If you don’t love a woman, it can’t
hurt so much when she plays you false.”
“My dear Usk, you will allow me to say that you are talking very great
and very youthful nonsense. But I will remember your partiality for
arranged marriages, and possibly I may be able to gratify you at some
future time. And don’t make sweeping statements about women, because
that only shows how young you are. You are prejudiced just now.”
“Prejudiced? I should think I was!” laughed Usk fiercely. “Why, as I
came home just now, I couldn’t see a fellow walking with a girl
without wanting to call out to him that she was making a fool of him.”
“You had better go back to London, certainly, and forswear female
society for the present. It would be brutal to inflict you on any
unfortunate girl while you are in this state of mind. Your aunt will
agree with me, though we shall miss you.”
“Oh, but there’s another thing!” cried Usk, with sudden recollection.
“Don’t you think you had better come home too? The Princess of
Dardania came and spoke to me this afternoon, and gave me a message
for you. She wants the King to marry the girl she’s got staying with
her, you know, and she says if you don’t let him do it, she’ll tell
Prince Soudaroff all your plans.”
“Well, she ought to know by this time that Michael will marry to
please himself, and not either her or me.”
“Yes; but she thinks you can keep him from marrying Félicia, at any
rate.”
“I see; you were to warn me and have Félicia back? But you went to
her first.”
“It didn’t seem to strike the Princess that I might prefer her to
marry Michael if she wanted him. I didn’t need a bribe to warn you.
She says that all your arrangements are known to her as soon as they
are made, and that she has agents at all your meetings, and that your
life is in danger.”
“And you remembered what I told you at Llandiarmid, and wisely
concluded that the matter was not pressing? Quite right. The Princess
knows only of the sham plot, not of the real one. At all the
headquarters it is arranged who is to act as her tool, and provide her
with carefully edited reports--a sort of bogus information-bureau for
her special benefit. She has not the faintest idea that the plot to
establish me in Palestine is really one to establish Malasorte in
Neustria. To make things safe, in case any genuine spies should be
present, he is always spoken of as Mortimer, and Neustria as
Palestine, and so on--in fact, there is a regular code. So you see she
is quite at fault.”
“But you’re only thinking of your schemes, and I’m thinking of you. If
she and Prince Soudaroff believe in the bogus plot, it’s just as
dangerous for you as if it was genuine. I don’t believe you’re safe
anywhere but in England or at Sitt Zeynab.”
“Why, what should she do--burn the hotel down, or kidnap me? Paschics
and Dietrich and I keep a very good look-out, I can assure you. If I
believed there was actual danger, do you think I would expose my wife
to it?”
“But why not come to England?”
“And leave Michael’s affairs to go wrong again? Now that we have
eliminated you, as I wished, I hope to set them right before very
long. No, don’t be afraid; I shall do my work.”
“If you had seen her face when she spoke of you----”
“My dear Usk, I don’t doubt her will to ruin me body and soul, but
merely her power. If she had me anywhere in the wilds of Dardania,
now, with a few half-Roumi retainers within call--but she hasn’t, and
if I can help it, she won’t get the chance. That’s enough.”
Thus dismissed, Usk carried to Queen Ernestine the news of his
approaching departure, and noticed that she looked at him with the
same anxious, questioning glance as his uncle. She said nothing,
however, save to agree that it was better he should go, and he went to
tell Nicholson, who was quite prepared to make a personal grievance
out of the announcement.
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Usk, when a fit of coughing had forced the
invalid to desist from his animadversions upon the vile selfishness
which was about to deprive him of the only man he knew in this
wretched place, “but I really can’t stay. You see, I--I---- Well, I
didn’t know you liked seeing me so much, but I tell you what I’ll do.
I’ll ask my aunt to come and see you sometimes, and that’ll be much
better.”
“Oh, don’t alter your plans for me,” muttered Nicholson frigidly. “If
your aunt cares to come in, I shall be thankful, and if she doesn’t, I
shan’t be surprised. I shan’t long be a bother to any one, but I never
thought you would go and leave me out here like this.”
Usk felt somewhat guilty, but he reflected that, after all, he had not
brought Nicholson to Nice, and that his visits had never seemed to
give him any particular pleasure. At any rate, he could not bring
himself to alter his determination, for the whole aspect of the place
was hateful to him now. He thought of London mud and fog with absolute
yearning, feeling that this sunlit white and green town with its
fringing blue sea could never be anything but a loathed memory in
future. Idleness was intolerable, and such sports as the Riviera
afforded were not much better. Work was his only hope--to plunge into
it, bury himself in it, and thus to forget the dazzling, disquieting,
bitterly disappointing experiences of the past few months. Therefore
he remained immovable, and, in spite of Nicholson’s fretful
objections, insisted on bringing the Queen to see him the next day.
Nicholson was too ill now to be conscious of the awed satisfaction
that the rank of his visitor would have caused him in his days of
health, but the gracious kindness which had conquered so many hearts
did not fail of its effect with him; and when the Queen had promised
to visit him every day, and talk to him a little if he was well
enough, he was quite ready to let Usk go. Thus relieved of his chief
anxiety, Usk had time to make a farewell call on the Grand-Duke and
Duchess, neither of whom he saw, and then applied himself to the
preparations for his journey.
Late in the afternoon he was on his way to the station, alone, by his
own wish, when he found that his rug had been left behind, and sent
his driver back for it, himself walking on to get his ticket.
Presently a carriage drew up just beyond him, and a resplendent
_chasseur_ came to say that the Grand-Duchess of Schwarzwald-Molzau
would be glad to speak to him if he could spare her a moment. When he
reached the carriage, the Grand-Duchess insisted on giving him a lift
to the station, and talked volubly of the loss his absence would prove
to his uncle and aunt.
“And, indeed, we shall all be so sorry to lose you--shan’t we,
Lenchen?” she turned suddenly to her daughter, who had sat silent
hitherto, leaning back wearily in her place. It struck Usk that if her
face had looked thin the other day, it was now actually pinched and
drawn, and he wondered whether it could be merely the afternoon light
filtering through the fresh foliage of the plane-trees which made her
look so ghastly. Her lips seemed to be moving, but she roused herself
with a start at her mother’s appeal, and Usk felt that there was
strong entreaty in the eyes which met his through her veil as she
answered--
“Yes, we shall all be very sorry.”
Usk felt vaguely uncomfortable. What could she want him to do? She had
blushed violently when his intent gaze showed that he had read her
look, and would not meet his eye again; but when the station was
reached, and he bade her good-bye, he surprised that piteous glance
once more. It haunted him for some time, until at last he thought he
had found a clue to it.
“They’re worrying her to marry that brute Ivan Petrovitch, and she
wanted to have another talk, and relieve her feelings,” he said to
himself. “It’s awfully hard on her, poor little girl! but the
Grand-Duchess is a good-natured old lady, and won’t let her be
badgered into accepting him if she really dislikes him. What a world
it is! One can’t marry the woman he wants, and another is tormented to
marry a man she doesn’t want. The pater and mater won’t tease me to
get married, but I know they’d be awfully pleased if I did--some nice
good little girl with nothing baffling or exciting about her, whose
mind I could read like a book. There are those two Jones girls, now,
the mater would like one of them--be quite her right hand in
pauperising the estate. But I don’t a bit know which of them is which,
and yet they must be quite different, of course. It’ll have to depend
upon which of them I come across first. No, I really think one might
study them a little, even in making a sacrifice of oneself, just to
see which was most suitable. But to have the Reverend Goronwy for a
father-in-law! Why, he’d be always about the Castle. The mater
wouldn’t like that. I think we must get him moved to a distance before
doing anything serious. That’s a respite, anyhow. If the mater is very
miserable about me, I can tell her I’m thinking of one of the Jones
girls, and she’ll be pleased. But I never want to see a girl again.
Hope the Trade will move heaven and earth against the Bill, so that we
may have a rousing time. Only wish it was the Commons--I do bar the
Lords.”
“Exit Viscount Usk!” said Maimie, and read aloud from the paper she
was scanning: “‘Viscount Usk left Nice for England on Wednesday.
During the present parliamentary session he will act as private
secretary to his father, the Marquis of Caerleon, to whom, as a
leading light of the Temperance party, it has fallen to pilot the
Anti-Tied-Houses Bill through the House of Lords.’ That ends a
chapter, Fay.”
“Well, I hope you’re right happy now. You’ve destroyed the one chance
I had of being a good woman, and don’t you forget it.”
“I didn’t know you had aspirations that way; but I guess Lady Caerleon
would receive you with open arms even now if you went back to her
properly penitent.”
“Not I--but I wish I cared for Usk either more or less. If I didn’t
care for him, I wouldn’t mind his going; and if I was really in love
with him, I wouldn’t have had him go.”
“You don’t care for him,” said Maimie decisively. “If you did, a crown
wouldn’t have tempted you. You just felt sort of safe with him,
knowing that he would be kind and fair all the time, whatever you
might do. And just tell me what would have happened if I hadn’t helped
you get rid of him? When the Grand-Duke said he understood you were
betrothed to the son of the Marquis of Caerleon, and that in view of
such an honourable alliance the Emperor might be willing to
acknowledge your father as morganatically married, and give you a
patent of nobility--didn’t that show you where you stood? You were on
the very point of losing everything. If we hadn’t been able to tell
him that there had been some thought of such a thing once, but you had
broken it off because Usk objected to your pressing the claim, you’d
have been just simply left!”
“That’s so,” responded Félicia. “It’s as well to be through with it,
any way. I love that old Grand-Duke--he’s a real nice man.” The liking
was mutual, although Félicia had said things to the Grand-Duke which
would have made Helene’s hair stand on end with horror if she had
heard them. “But I can’t just see why he don’t have his wife and
daughter call on us.”
“Why, it isn’t advisable yet. They can’t treat you as a princess
before you are one, and they’d think you wouldn’t just choose to be
treated as a no-account person. Say, Fay! she’s betrothed--that little
plain girl.” Maimie was still glancing over the paper. “Do you
remember the evil-looking Scythian that was riding in the
Grand-Duchess’s carriage yesterday--the dark man with the beard?
That’s the happy man. ‘A marriage has been arranged, and will take
place at Molzau shortly after Easter, between the Grand-Duke Ivan
Petrovitch of Scythia and the Princess Helene, youngest and only
unmarried daughter of the Grand-Duke and Duchess of
Schwarzwald-Molzau.’”
“Shortly after Easter? Then we won’t see it!” cried Félicia. “I do
think these folks might hustle things a little. To keep me waiting
months this way, and not even let me stay here, is just horrid!”
“But the yacht!” Maimie reminded her. “We’ll have a lovely time these
weeks, and it’ll be real elegant to appear among your new relations in
your own ship.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Félicia doubtfully. As delicately as he
could, the Grand-Duke had suggested that pending the decision of the
Emperor and the Prince of Arragon on her claim, it would be well for
her to withdraw herself to a certain extent from the public eye. A
sojourn in some quiet mountain village, whither her fame as an
American heiress would not precede her, and where her footsteps would
not be dogged by reporters, would best suit the views of her father’s
august relations. Maimie, reading between the lines of his speech, saw
that some rumour of the Carnival proceedings and other doings of the
kind had reached him, and forestalled Félicia’s indignant refusal by
suggesting that she should send for the Bluebird, the beautiful
steam-yacht which Mr Steinherz had designed and constructed for
himself, and sailed in all the Western seas, so as to take a short
cruise in the Mediterranean. The idea did not displease Félicia, and
to the Grand-Duke it came as such an evident relief that she could not
refuse to adopt it, especially when she found the yacht could not
reach Nice before Mid-Lent, which would enable her to take part in the
Battle of Flowers and other festivities of the occasion. But there
were details in connection with the proposed cruise which still
rankled in her mind, and again she turned angrily upon Maimie. “And I
do think, Maimie Logan, you might have stood by me, so’s we wouldn’t
have an old school-ma’am trail us along everywhere. It makes me real
mad to be shepherded around that way.”
This referred to a proposal of the Grand-Duke’s that the chaperon on
board the Bluebird should not be Mrs van Zyl, but a lady of the
Pannonian Court, who might give the two girls various useful hints in
case of a change in their position. Félicia, who had delightful
dreams of fluttering the Imperial dovecotes by appearing among her
august relations as a frank and unashamed American, had been horrified
to hear Maimie acquiesce in the suggestion. In ordinary society
anywhere Maimie felt that she could hold her own and guide Félicia,
but on these lofty heights she was at fault, and she had the good
sense to see it. Félicia was more difficult to manage than she had
expected, but at last she succeeded in making her see that any _faux
pas_ on her first introduction would produce a bad impression and
alienate King Michael, and she yielded with a poor enough grace.
“But you save so much time getting at things on the voyage,” Maimie
urged now.
“How does that make up, when I wanted to take a real nice party on
board, and have a good time? It’s nothing but a snub to poor Sadie, I
say.”
“She won’t have you see that she feels it so, any way. She’ll conclude
to keep track of you, with an eye to the future, I know. And I thought
the Grand-Duke fixed it real nicely to have this Baroness Radnika come
and stay at the hotel, so’s you could just fall in love with her, and
invite her to make the cruise with you.”
“Oh, it’s all awfully smart, of course, and I guess Count Mortimer was
somewhere around when it was fixed. But for you and the Grand-Duke
both to insist that I must have this old dowd of a Baroness tag after
me, just because she knew pappa, and can teach me their tricks--why,
it’s the meanest thing out! I’m real thankful there’s the chance of a
frolic or two first. I’ll even up my accounts with you, you bet!”
To Maimie this was sufficiently alarming, and yet, although Félicia
kept her word, and enjoyed herself thoroughly at the Mid-Lent
gaieties, the great and most disagreeable shock which the Battle of
Flowers brought with it was not due to her. As a reward for her
complaisance in withdrawing from the pleasures of society for the
present, she had promised herself the delight of outshining all
possible rivals before she disappeared from view. Her carriage was a
bower of irises in all the delicate shades which the flower presents,
and the occupants were dressed to correspond. Mrs van Zyl’s gown was a
soft harmony in yellow and lavender, Maimie wore white and dark
purple, and Félicia was in the colour she loved best, a clear pale
lilac, emphasised, but not unduly so, by the touches of black velvet
demanded by fashion. The scheme of decoration had been kept a profound
secret, and the “iris carriage” was greeted with shouts of admiration
from end to end of the course. Close at hand rode King Michael, duly
masked, but quite recognisable to the spectators, in a rich
gold-embroidered Thracian dress of two shades of purple. The
understanding which was implied by the correspondence between his
costume and those of the ladies suggested a hint of romance which the
populace were not slow to take, and he shared in the plaudits which
accompanied the carriage in its progress. Maimie felt a little uneasy,
wondering whether his action would be considered premature by his
relations, but before long she was conscious of quite a different
cause for anxiety. Among the mounted men by whom the line of carriages
was every now and then broken was one who seemed to be manœuvring to
place himself near Félicia, endeavouring also to attract her
attention by making his horse prance and curvet. He seemed to be short
of stature, but the close-fitting Mephistopheles dress which he wore,
carried out not in red but in black, set off a peculiarly graceful
figure, and he displayed a complete mastery over his restless steed.
His hair was black, and his eyes, when they could be distinguished
through the holes in his mask, dark and glittering. His mysterious
appearance was well calculated to rouse the curiosity of any one not
absolutely engrossed, as was Félicia, by her carriage, her clothes,
and her prize, and Maimie saw that King Michael was obviously uneasy.
Again and again, when the procession paused for a moment before one of
the tribunes, or when the carriage turned at the end of the course, he
interposed his horse so that the unknown cavalier should not approach
Félicia. His first idea had been that the stranger was his vanquished
rival, Usk, but it was obvious that the Englishman’s broad shoulders
could not possibly be hidden under the black doublet, and he scented a
deeper mystery. Presently another stoppage occurred before one of the
stands, in which sat the Grand-Duke and Duchess of Schwarzwald-Molzau
and the Grand-Duke Ivan Petrovitch. Bouquets were flying fast and
furiously, the air was full of roses, jonquils, violets, mimosa;
shrieks of laughter arose, now from the carriages and now from the
tribune, but King Michael took no part in the fray. In thrusting his
horse between Félicia’s carriage and the unknown rider, he had forced
the latter close to the Scythian Prince, who was staring at him in
astonishment, and presently addressed him in his own language. The
reply which reached King Michael’s ear, “An affair of the heart; you
won’t give me away?” only deepened his suspicions. Presently he was
able to leave Félicia in the safe keeping of his uncle, who asked to
be allowed to occupy the fourth seat in the carriage as it moved on
again, and he leaned over the railing to the Grand-Duke Ivan.
“Who is the black Mephistopheles?” he asked.
“You won’t betray him, I presume? Timoleon Malasorte.”
“Then I was mistaken. I thought it was some one I knew, and I wanted
to play him a trick.” The King spoke with admirable nonchalance, but
he was inwardly perturbed. He knew the story of the Pretender’s
courtship of Félicia, and foresaw a repetition of it, and he blessed
the obtuseness of his uncle, who was enjoying himself hugely as the
butt of all the hardest bouquets, and claiming Félicia’s attention at
every turn. She looked round in vain for some one to deliver her,
while the Grand-Duke was giving her a long account of his daughter’s
obstinate refusal to attend the festivities with her betrothed. The
Grand-Duchess persisted she was ill; but he had been determined she
should go, and would have carried his point if his wife had not called
in a rascally, venal doctor to her aid. Félicia did not find Helene’s
delinquencies at all amusing, but while she sought for help, she did
not happen to glance in the direction of her former suitor. King
Michael returned to his post in the nick of time, and remained at her
side so gallantly for the rest of the afternoon that Malasorte had no
chance of accosting her. Apparently accepting his defeat, the Prince
dropped behind the carriage, but when King Michael saw him next, he
was picking up a spray of white lilac Maimie had dropped, and slipping
something with it into her hand. The King nursed his wrath in silence
until the return to the Villa, when he stopped Maimie as she was
following Félicia upstairs.
“May I trouble you for the note Prince Malasorte gave you for the
Princess Félicia, mademoiselle?”
Maimie stared at him in astonishment. She had not at all decided
whether to give Félicia the letter which Malasorte, relying on her
old friendliness, had entrusted to her, or not, but now she had to
come to a decision at once. What was the exact meaning of Malasorte’s
presence here, where he was at any moment liable to be arrested and
conducted to the frontier? Was he on his way to make himself emperor,
or was it only that he had learnt Félicia’s true descent, and desired
the support her family and fortune could give him in his campaign?
There were many things it would be well to know before determining the
fate of the letter, but here stood King Michael opposite her, holding
out his hand for it. “I guess I won’t jump at the shadow and lose the
substance,” she said to herself, and gave it to him. Somewhat to her
surprise he opened it immediately.
“I am not like that poor fool Usk, to be deceived and hoodwinked,
mademoiselle,” he replied to her amazed look. “I protect myself, and
it appears it is necessary. Do you not think so?” He read from the
note: “‘Meet me at eight to-morrow morning in the garden of the Villa
Bougainvillea. I must speak to you. I have more to lay at your feet
than I had once.--M.’ Has he any ground for believing she would be
willing to meet him?” he demanded, looking Maimie sternly in the face.
“None. She hasn’t a notion that he’s around. We lost sight of him
years back,” she answered, her tone anxious in spite of herself.
“And if he renews his attempt, on which side are you? I wish to know,
that I may lay my plans accordingly. I am not to be tricked,
mademoiselle.”
“On yours,” said Maimie firmly. “I don’t see throwing away all the
trouble and worry we’ve had these last months.”
“You are wise. You will not find me ungrateful, but I beg you to
understand that I trust no one absolutely. To show that I am
favourably disposed towards you, I may tell you that Count Mortimer
has strongly recommended me to see that you are removed from the
household of the Princess before she becomes my wife. I mention this
that you may arrange with her to retain your services, for I find it
desirable to have at hand a trustworthy person with whom I can discuss
matters affecting the Princess which might be disagreeable to herself.
As long as your influence is exerted in compliance with my wishes,
your position in the Court will be secure.”
“And when it’s exerted against your wishes----?” thought Maimie, as he
allowed her to depart. “You scored this time, you consequential little
wretch, but I guess you won’t do it any more. And as for your dear
stepfather, I’ll just count the days until I can punish him. Trying to
part me from Fay, indeed!”
Nothing more was seen or heard of Prince Malasorte just then, and
Maimie guessed that Félicia’s non-appearance at the rendezvous had
disgusted him beyond remedy. Very shortly after the Battle of Flowers
she and Félicia embarked on the Bluebird, accompanied by the Baroness
Radnika, for whom, fortunately enough, Félicia had conceived one of
her sudden attachments. Maimie, who knew that the Baroness’s maiden
name had been Aline von Hartenweg, was not surprised by the passionate
tenderness with which she responded to Félicia’s endearments, and
wondered at the practical wisdom which had been shown in selecting
Prince Joseph’s old love as the instructress of his daughter.
Meanwhile, Mr Hicks was summoned from New York, bringing with him the
documents committed to his care; and alarming legal personages invaded
the parish of St Mary Windicotes, and the peaceful dwelling of the old
clergyman and his wife at Whitcliffe, demanding evidence on oath with
regard to the marriage of Joseph Bertram and Constance Lily Garland.
While the Bluebird cruised in the Western Mediterranean, never
spending more than one night away from port, the negotiations dragged
their slow length along. About once a-week a hitch appeared, which
threatened to bring them to a dead stop, but as King Michael
invariably marked these occasions by paying fresh attention to the
Grand-Duchess Sonya, matters were smoothed over in some way or other.
The first hitch presented itself just after Mr Hicks’s arrival in
Europe, when the ‘Empire City Diurnal,’ a paper which was the
unresting rival of the ‘Crier,’ and even more noted for its skill in
exploiting sensations, suddenly published what purported to be an
interview with an intimate friend of Félicia’s. Her father’s history
was detailed in a highly-coloured style, embodying just enough of
truth to wring severely the withers of the royal and imperial
personages concerned, and ending with a claim, put forward apparently
in all seriousness, to the crown of Pannonia itself on Félicia’s
behalf. This claim was further pressed in a fervid editorial, calling
upon the manhood of the United States to arise and cross the ocean,
and sweep to destruction the effete usurpers who were keeping an
American woman out of her rights by force and fraud. A
subscription-list towards effecting this noble object followed, headed
by the proprietor and ending with the office-boy, and the names of
eleven volunteers (others were stated to be arriving in thousands)
appeared below. The extracts telegraphed at once to Europe raised a
ferment in Pannonian Court circles, and the Grand-Duke of
Schwarzwald-Molzau was very nearly driven to wash his hands altogether
of Félicia and her claims. Cyril happened to be in England at the
time, but Mr Hicks succeeded in saving the situation. An expenditure
at which the Grand-Duke stood aghast seemed nothing to him, and he
cabled whole columns to his own journal. The next day the ‘Crier,’
strong in the indubitable fact of possessing one of the trustees of
the claimant on its staff, administered a douche of cold water to the
excited public of the ‘Diurnal.’ So far from possessing or advancing a
claim to any crown whatsoever, Miss Steinherz was solely concerned to
vindicate the good name of her mother; and the ‘Diurnal’s’ polemic was
nothing but an attempt to prejudice her in this sacred task by
alienating the august relatives who had welcomed the news of her
existence with tears of joy, and were only restraining their eagerness
to receive her into their midst in order that her claim might be
properly substantiated according to law.
“Draw it mild, Hicks!” said Cyril, when they next met, and he read
this reply. “Any one can see you had your tongue in your cheek the
whole time.”
“Is that so, Count? Well now, I’d bet my bottom dollar you’re the only
man that will see the thing was wrote sarcastic. There were tears in
the Grand-Duke’s eyes when he read it, any way. And in the States the
effect has been colossal, I hear, especially of the paragraph about
the ‘Diurnal’s’ stopping the cash-boys’ salaries to stick in its
subscription-lists. It isn’t every day a man can make a big scoop for
his paper and pat Europe on the head as well.”
In any case, the ‘Diurnal’s’ sensation wilted, as Mr Hicks put it, and
no more was heard of it after the paper’s unfulfilled promise to
publish the name of the “distinguished lady” who had given the
information. The next difficulty came from Mr Steinherz’s elder
brother, Don Ramon, who demanded that before he considered her claim,
Félicia should prove her good faith by surrendering her fortune into
his hands as head of the house of Arragon. Her father’s will provided
effectually against this, and led to a deadlock; but as Félicia
intimated that her relations’ interests would receive careful
consideration from her if the relationship were established, the
difficulty was shelved. Then a hitch was caused by the discovery that
Konstantia von Lilienkranz was not sufficiently high in rank for even
the Emperor to raise her retrospectively to a level befitting the
bride of a Prince of Arragon. Cyril replied with the terse advice,
“Consult the heralds”; and after a little expenditure of time and
trouble Félicia’s mother was provided with a descent which rivalled
that of the Schwarzwald-Molzaus themselves. The difficulty which came
next threatened to be more serious; for the Church objected to the
recognition of the irregular marriage, on the ground that the Pope’s
consent to a mixed marriage had not been obtained, and that no
provision had been made for the children to be brought up in the Roman
Catholic faith. The solution obviously intended was that Félicia
should change her creed; but Cyril, on behalf of King Michael, pointed
out that this would make her impossible as a Queen for Thracia. The
Emperor, to whom the marriage offered a way out of many difficulties,
brought a despairing pressure to bear upon the Vatican, and the matter
was compromised on the understanding that Félicia should build and
endow a magnificent church to her father’s memory. She consented at
once, as she would have consented to build a mosque had it been
required of her; for the nearer she came to her goal, the more
intolerable did the thought of failing to reach it appear. It was a
joy to feel that Cyril and Mr Hicks were already discussing how her
fortune could best be applied to solve the financial problems of
Thracia without infringing the provisions of her father’s will; a
greater joy to learn that King Michael’s conditional proposal of
marriage had become a definite one; and greatest of all, to receive
through Mr Hicks a telegram, half-invitation, half-command, directing
her to proceed in her yacht to the Pannonian coast, that she might be
presented to her father’s family.