BEYOND RECALL.
“Oh, Nym, I am so frightened!”
“Why? About what your father will say, do you mean?”
“No; it’s something I have done.”
“What wickedness have you been up to now? An infant like you!--aren’t
you ashamed of yourself?”
“Not exactly ashamed,” said Helene seriously, “but terrified.”
“Hadn’t you better confess? My mind is duly prepared for horrors.”
“If you’ll call me Little Nell, I will.”
“Little schemer, I think. Well, Little Nell?”
Helene put her hand through his arm, and clasped his wrist tightly.
“It seemed such a splendid idea when it came to me first. It was the
very evening that we were--engaged, you know, and I was so happy I
could not sleep, and rather frightened, too, because mamma had been
sitting by me and crying, and saying all the relations would be so
angry. Then I remembered that the Emperor Sigismund was hunting near
Neuburg this week, and I thought I would write to him, and get him on
our side. And I did.”
“How frightfully enterprising! And what does he say?”
“There hasn’t been time for an answer yet. But last night it seemed to
me that it would have been so much better not to write to him
until--until everything was over, you know. And the answer might come
to-day, if he wrote at once. And I am so frightened. I don’t know what
to do.”
“It strikes me you’re much too independent for an engaged young woman.
You deserve a good scolding. Why didn’t you say anything to me?”
“I thought it would be such a nice surprise. I never imagined he might
be angry, somehow. Please scold me, Nym. Then perhaps I shall not be
so frightened.”
“I don’t think there’s much need for me to scold you,” said Usk
gravely, rising to look down the path which led to the Lauterbach
plateau from the lower world. He and Helene were sitting on the roof
of the Moorish kiosk which was one of the less bizarre erections
scattered about the gardens, and commanded one of the widest views.
“There are people coming up, Lenchen, and one of them looks like----”
“Not cousin Sigismund himself? Oh, Nym!” She was white and trembling,
and her hands gripped his arm convulsively. “Can’t we escape?”
“Where to? Why, Nell, what is there to be afraid of? He can’t eat
you.”
“But if he should want to send you away? He shan’t, he shan’t! If he
does, I will go too. You won’t give me up, Nym?”
“You silly child! I shan’t be asked. They’ll want you to give me up.”
“Then we are quite safe, for I won’t.”
“He’s looking this way; he’s seen you, Nell. Wave your hand and don’t
be frightened. We’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Of course not. I’m not ashamed. Oh, Nym, he is telling the rest to
ride on. He is dismounting and coming up here. What shall we do? Let
us go down--quick!”
“Remember that you’ll have to ask if you may present me,” said Usk
hurriedly as he followed her down the outside stair. At the foot he
waited, expecting Helene to go forward alone to greet the soldierly
man in hunting costume and Tyrolese hat who had just mounted the knoll
on which the summer-house stood, but she caught his arm and dragged
him forward with her.
“Oh, cousin Sigismund, please--this is Usk!”
A more informal presentation there could not have been, and the
Emperor, finding his hand forced, looked almost embarrassed and
decidedly annoyed. He acknowledged Usk’s presence coldly, greeted
Helene with paternal kindness, and sat down on the piazza of the
summer-house, motioning her to a seat beside him; but she preferred to
stand, still gripping Usk’s arm as though to hold him fast.
“I don’t think your friend will run away, Lenchen,” said the Emperor,
with an involuntary smile, as he glanced at the two culprits before
him; and Helene laughed nervously as she released Usk’s arm, still
retaining her hold of his hand, however. Her eyes sought her cousin’s
face anxiously.
“I suppose you know you are a very fortunate young man?” said the
Emperor abruptly to Usk; and both hearers felt that it was not at all
what he had intended to say.
“Most fortunate, sir.” Usk squeezed Helene’s hand reassuringly.
“Have you any explanation to offer of your pres----” Usk felt that
Helene darted a look of angry reproach at the questioner--“of the
ambition which has led you to seek an alliance with the house of
Schwarzwald-Molzau?”
“I can’t say it was exactly ambition, sir. I--I love the Princess----”
“I love him,” interrupted Helene calmly.
The Emperor frowned. “My dear cousin, as a favour to me, allow Lord
Usk to answer for himself. Do you intend to seek a career in Germany,
Lord Usk? You hold a commission in the British army, I believe?”
“Only in the Yeomanry, sir. If I might speak freely to your
Majesty----”
“By all means. That is what I desire.”
“I have no wish to live anywhere but in England, sir. I am my father’s
only son, and have many ties at home. I hope to enter Parliament
before long, and devote myself to a political career.”
“And we shall live in a tall, narrow black house in a square, and I
shall drive him to the House of Commons every evening, and sit up and
look out quotations for his speeches until he comes back,” said Helene
ecstatically.
“At least you have not idealised the prospect!” said the Emperor drily
to Usk, then turned to Helene. “My dear little cousin, might I ask you
to be so very kind as to go and tell your mother of my arrival? You
will do me this favour, won’t you?”
“If you command me as Emperor, I suppose I must,” said Helene
undauntedly, though Usk could feel that she was shaking; “but for
anything short of that I can’t--I mean, I won’t go.”
“Really we could talk business much better,” said Usk, aghast, and at
his wits’ end to know how to act and speak without either offending
the Emperor or wounding Helene’s feelings. She looked at him with high
disdain.
“The Emperor wishes to get rid of me that he may say things to you
which will make you give me up, but he shall say them before me, or
not at all.”
“As you will, little cousin,” said the Emperor carelessly. Then he
turned suddenly a penetrating gaze on Usk. “What part does this
intended marriage of yours play in the plans of your uncle Count
Mortimer? If there is any question of a revival of your father’s
preposterous claim to the throne of Thracia, understand that it will
not be permitted. The unbridled ambition of you Mortimers has already
endangered the peace of Europe too often.”
This time it was Usk who could not help smiling. “If your Majesty knew
my father, you would see how strange it sounds to hear you speak of
unbridled ambition in connection with him. He went to Thracia against
his will, led on by circumstances, and left it with the most intense
pleasure. He would do anything rather than go back there or allow me
to go.”
“You will find it more generally accepted that your father’s ambition
failed him at a critical moment. He aspired to enter the ranks of
reigning sovereigns without submitting to their limitations, and
preferred a marriage of affection to one arranged for state reasons. I
am only doing honour to the foresight of that most accomplished
statesman, Count Mortimer, when I say that if the marriage he
projected for his brother with the lady who is now the Dowager
Princess of Dardania had taken place, we should probably have had a
Mortimer dynasty firmly established in Thracia to-day, and the Balkans
would be less of a menace to European peace. But your father withdrew
from Thracia, and neither he nor his son will be allowed to return
there.”
“May I remind your Majesty that my uncle has devoted his life to the
work of strengthening the throne of the present King of Thracia?”
“I do not presume to fathom your uncle’s plans. But I see that he has
reappeared on the political stage after the check he received in the
Scythian occupation of Jerusalem, and I augur badly from that.”
“Indeed, sir, he is visiting Europe purely on King Michael’s account.”
“And yet I know him to be at this moment the centre of a widely
extended conspiracy, the object of which is to establish him as ruler
of Palestine. You would have me believe that he contrives to ally
himself with half the reigning houses of Europe in a fit of absence of
mind, as you English like it to be thought that you built up a
world-empire? No; if Count Mortimer really wished only to set the
affairs of Thracia in order, and return as a private person to his
retreat in the desert, his judgment is at fault. He should have
married his stepson to the Princess Helene, and you to the American
heiress, leaving her in her original obscurity until the wedding was
over.”
“But I would never have married Michael!” cried Helene, in dismay.
“You would if Count Mortimer had wished you to do so, much as you are
now marrying his nephew, my dear Lenchen,” was the reply. Helene was
about to make an angry answer, but Usk stopped her.
“It is not for me to defend my uncle,” he said hesitatingly, “but if
your Majesty would grant him even a short interview, I think he would
be able to convince you of the honesty of his intentions.”
“Count Mortimer is as yet scarcely in a position that would entitle
him to ask for an interview,” was the reply, “and in view of the
propaganda he is carrying on, I must decline to receive him in
audience. My Chancellor would no doubt be interested in his plans if
he cared to impart them to him. I can quite believe that you have the
fullest belief in your uncle,” this as Usk was digesting the snub as
best he might, “but it is merely another proof of his astuteness. If
you have any regard for his safety, you might warn him that to persist
in his present course will be dangerous in the extreme. He is too much
of a firebrand to be left at large in Europe, and if I feel this, what
must be the sensations of those whose policy he is deliberately
opposing? He will do well to bury himself in the desert again as soon
as possible. This morning I should have advised him also to give up
all hope of the ambitious alliance he has devised for you, but
provided that you and your father refuse to allow yourselves to be
drawn into his schemes----” the Emperor paused.
“Oh, you are going to be kind? You will take our part?” gasped Helene.
“Certainly not. I cannot bestow my approval on such marriages as this,
but in the circumstance, and especially if Count Mortimer leaves
Europe immediately, I will not oppose it.”
“The Princess Helene and I are most grateful to you, sir,” said Usk,
wondering that Helene did not speak. But as the Emperor rose to meet
her mother, who had heard of his arrival and come to look for him, she
pressed her lover’s arm.
“You do believe that I love you, Nym? Even if we have to part, you
will never let anything keep you from believing that?” and her face
was pale and anxious again.
“Why, of course not!” said Usk. “But what should part us now?”
It happened that Queen Ernestine was spending the morning at the
Schloss, and when the Grand-Duchess brought in the Emperor she was
unable to escape, much to her disgust. The Emperor was very glad to
meet her, and anxious to talk to her about King Michael’s marriage,
but he was careful only to allude to Cyril as if he were still a
trusted minister of state. The Queen had far too much _savoir faire_
to expose herself to such a rebuff as Usk had incurred, but it was
gall and wormwood to her that her husband’s existence should be thus
pointedly ignored. Her cousin had played a prominent part in bringing
about her unhappy first marriage, and this still rankled in her mind,
so that the time seemed interminable to her which she spent in
answering his questions and receiving his suggestions. The Emperor
departed after lunch, and she returned quickly to Luisenruh, where
Cyril came out to greet her with a smile.
“Well, Ernestine, so you have had a visitor? The excursions and alarms
penetrated even to my quiet retreat here. Was he in a good temper?”
“I think so--for him. He won’t object to Usk’s marrying Helene, though
he doesn’t approve of it, and I am thankful for that. And he approves
of all that has been arranged about Michael--thinks that Molzau is
quite the best place for the wedding, and that your idea of getting my
aunt Amalie to escort Félicia to meet her father’s people is
excellent. But, Cyril----”
“I thought there was something behind. What is it?”
“I don’t think he wants you to be at the wedding.”
“Is that all? I never thought of being there. The apple of discord
would be nothing to me. The party would scarcely separate without
bloodshed.”
“Then I shall certainly not go either.”
“My dear Ernestine, you must. How could you, Michael’s own mother, and
on excellent terms with him, be absent? Without me you will have no
difficulties about precedence. Do you think I could stand your
reducing yourself to a Countess, as I know you would do when you saw
me relegated to my proper place? You must think of Michael’s feelings
a little.”
“I shall speak to Michael. He can’t be so ungrateful as to let you be
slighted after all you have done for him.”
“What can Michael do when he comes in conflict with the unbending laws
of etiquette? No, Ernestine, listen; I have it all nicely mapped out.
We shall both be at Helene’s wedding, at any rate; we won’t let them
do me out of that. Then we will pick up your aunt Amalie and run down
to Nice again, and see Félicia safely into the hands of her father’s
family. You will return to Molzau for the wedding, and I shall go on
to Thracia. Michael and Mirkovics have give me _carte blanche_ as to
reorganising the government offices, so as to prevent corruption in
future, and you will join me at Bellaviste. Then we shall be ready to
welcome Michael and Félicia, and as soon as they have settled down we
will take our leave and be off to Sitt Zeynab, and spend a quiet old
age dispensing justice to the Arabs under our own palm-trees.”
“But I would rather not wait for that until after the wedding. I
should like to go back at once, Cyril--at once, this very day.”
“I’m afraid we can’t annihilate time and space quite to that extent.
But I suppose this means that the Emperor has been saying unpleasant
things? I have had Helene here, drowned in tears, and offering to give
up Usk if his marrying her would really bring me into danger. What
does the man mean by trying to frighten two women? Why not say what he
has to say to me?”
“He told me distinctly that you were in danger as long as you remained
in Europe and persisted in your schemes. Poor little Lenchen must have
heard the same.”
“Probably. If we were punished as severely for our evil deeds as for
our good ones, we should come off pretty badly, shouldn’t we,
Ernestine? I’m sure the best thing I ever did in my life was when I
threw myself on your mercy and induced you to marry me, and I’m
tolerably certain the next best was bringing Usk and Helene together,
and yet it’s just those two things these people can’t forgive me.”
“But must you stay, Cyril? Do let us go.”
“Before we have seen the young people made happy? No, no; we’ll see
the thing through after having so much to do with it.”
“Well, then, as soon as Michael’s wedding is over, you can meet me at
Trieste, and we will leave for Beyrout at once. Why should you run
into danger for the sake of Prince Malasorte?”
“It’s not that. I failed my friends when they trusted me, and now that
they have thrown in their lot with Malasorte, I won’t spoil their
plans a second time, as I should do if I left Europe before he brings
off his _coup d’état_. They trust him, and I don’t, but if I can help
them a bit by getting public suspicion concentrated on me instead of
him, I will. And that’s my last word, Ernestine.”
With a couple of weddings approaching, there was no time to lose, and
the Schwarzwald-Molzau family were most anxious to get the less
important of the two over, and be able to devote themselves to the
preparations for the gorgeous state ceremonial which would mark the
marriage of King Michael. Hence Usk made a hasty business journey to
England very shortly after the Emperor’s visit, and when he returned
it was in company with his parents, who were duly installed by the
Grand-Duke, not with the best possible grace, in a wing of the great
Schloss at Molzau. The transaction with the Aberkerran and Western
Hills Railway Company, to which Cyril had alluded, proved, when
carried out on the lines he suggested, highly beneficial to Lord
Caerleon’s exchequer; and he was able to leave on the minds of the
Molzau people an impression of sober magnificence which checked any
misgivings as to the match their little Princess was making. Quite
unintentionally, Lord Caerleon also produced a distinct impression on
the Grand-Duke, who revenged himself afterwards by alluding to him as
“the stone image,” but at the time actually asked Cyril whether his
brother would like to be received with the honours due to an
ex-sovereign, purely as a compliment, of course, and without prejudice
to King Michael’s rights. Cyril declined the offer on Caerleon’s
behalf, but he derived a good deal of amusement as well as relief from
the fact that his brother could overawe the irascible Grand-Duke to
such an extent that the occasion was not marked by a single burst of
temper. The wedding was very quiet. Princess Theresia induced her
mother to be present, and that amiable lady, who was always at her
daughter’s beck and call, shed the lustre of her historic jewels on
the ceremony, but Europe as a whole turned its head away and refused
to be aware of what was taking place. When the wedding was over, the
bride and bridegroom, with what Usk regarded as a preposterous retinue
of servants, and Helene as the lowest number with which it would be
respectable to travel, betook themselves to the Lebanon, where they
were to meet Philippa and her husband, who had been prevented from
coming to the wedding by the authoritative claims of a son and heir
only a month old. The Grand-Duchess, who had maintained for the past
three months a defiant attitude towards circumstances irresistibly
suggestive of a ruffled hen defending its brood, bewailed the loss of
Helene with floods of tears to Lady Caerleon, Queen Ernestine,
Princess Florian, and Princess Resi by turns, and then settled down to
her usual duty of acting as a buffer between her husband and his
surroundings. Lord and Lady Caerleon returned to England, and Cyril
and his wife journeyed back to Nice, in company with Princess Amalie
of Weldart, the Queen’s aunt, who disapproved highly of Helene’s
marriage, but had not been able to bring herself to stay away from the
wedding.
Félicia was now very near the realisation of her hopes. Princess
Amalie, who was her great-aunt, was to take charge of her at Nice and
deliver her over to Don Ramon of Arragon, who was to await her with
his family at the Pannonian seaport close to which her father’s youth
had been passed. Her position was now recognised in the Court circle,
and after the reception by her uncle it would be made evident to the
world. With considerate regard for the endurance both of Félicia and
her new-found relatives, it had been arranged that her marriage with
King Michael was to follow as soon as the long journey from the coast
to Molzau would allow, and this visit to Nice was for her a delightful
whirl of congenial toils. Dresses, jewellery, furs, decorations and
furniture for the palace at Bellaviste, servants’ liveries, the exact
constitution of her court, all these things had to be thought of,
discussed, decided upon. King Michael was determined to spare no pains
nor expense in gratifying the wishes of his bride; and it was well
that Félicia had the good taste and loving advice of the Baroness
Radnika at hand, and also the wide experience of Mr Hicks, whose
sarcastic humour restrained her from not a few follies. Revelling in
the interest she excited, for her story had long since leaked out, she
was absolutely busy and perfectly happy, save for one shadow of a
cloud in her sky.
“Maimie,” she exclaimed incredulously, as they were looking through
the letters and papers that awaited them on their arrival at Nice.
“Come and look here--right now. Usk is married!”
“Well, I guess he hasn’t wasted much time lamenting you,” said Maimie.
“It’s to the Grand-Duke’s daughter, the little pale girl--and they
haven’t ever told us!”
“Why, you know every one said she must be in love with some other man
when she was engaged to the Scythian Prince and looked so miserable.
Of course it was Usk, and now Count Mortimer has had him marry her.”
“He’ll be real good to her,” said Félicia slowly.
“What’s that to you, any way?” was the sharp response.
“Oh, I don’t know. Say, Maimie, is the ‘chapel attached to the
Grand-Ducal Palace at Molzau’ the same as the Schlosskirche where I’m
to be married? No bridesmaids, of course--I do hate that. I always
meant to design the cunningest costumes for my bridesmaids. ‘The
Marchioness of Caerleon was gowned in panne of an exquisite shade of
heliotrope, with the famous family emeralds’--guess she looked just
elegant, don’t you? ‘Her Royal Highness Princess Florian of Arragon in
_gris argent_ brocade, the corsage almost covered with the magnificent
Mohacsy diamonds,’ ‘the Princess Franz Immanuel of
Schwarzwald-Molzau’--that’s my cousin Resi, of course--‘in pink satin
and pearls.’ What did the Grand-Duchess wear, I’d like to know?
Crimson velvet, I guess. ‘The bride’s travelling-dress was trimmed
with exquisite Eastern embroidery, sent from Palestine by the
bridegroom’s sister, Lady Philippa Mansfield.’ Did Phil mean that for
me when she bought it, do you think, Maimie? But there don’t seem to
be much to say about her wedding-gown--just that she wore the Caerleon
pearls. I guess I shall go one better in gowns, any way.”
“I just know you will,” responded Maimie. “Why, you’ll be a queen,
Fay.”
“That is so.” Félicia’s tone sounded a little wistful. “I can’t seem
to feel real happy, Maimie. It’ll be you and me one side, and Michael
the other, all the time. Being queen will be just elegant, but----
Michael’s awfully in love with me, but I don’t trust him, and he don’t
trust me.”
“And Usk you did trust,” cried Maimie, much alarmed by the turn the
conversation was taking, “and he marries another girl right away,
before you’re married yourself, even. Don’t you see the way it is,
Fay? It’s just that he won’t look as if he had been jilted--just
pride, and not anything more. He don’t care a red cent for this other
girl, but he’s set on making you mad. I wouldn’t have him do it.”
“No, I don’t feel mad, only a little sorry. And not real sorry,
either, for I wouldn’t go way back now. It’s just that it’s the end,
Maimie.”
“That’s so, and I’m real glad of it, for you won’t ever be able to
reproach yourself about Usk again. And as to Michael, don’t be afraid.
We’ll fix him up some way. You and I will have some place just all to
ourselves, so’s we can forget all of the stuff the Baroness has been
teaching us, and have a good time together, chewing gum and talking
the way we choose, and no other person shall come in there.”
“And you don’t hate turning into a hired girl?” asked Félicia, rather
doubtfully.
“Not a cent, so long as you are queen. I’d as lief be hired girl as
not, so’s I can fix it that I wait on you. They won’t turn you into a
statue while I’m around.”
It was only when she was alone with Félicia that Maimie ventured to
speak thus freely nowadays. She had fallen quite naturally into the
position of her friend’s confidential lady-in-waiting, and had
profited by the teachings of Baroness Radnika a good deal more readily
than Félicia herself. Her influence was invaluable, said the
Baroness, and no one dreamed of the absolute equality to which the two
girls returned when they were unobserved. When Princess Amalie
arrived, she took a great fancy to Maimie. Félicia was just a little
difficult to manage sometimes, she admitted, “but that good creature
Logan” could nearly always persuade her to see reason. Princess Amalie
was a cheerful old lady, whose temper did not seem to have been soured
by the fact that her lack of beauty had driven her family to provide
for her by making her a canoness. The semi-conventual title ensured
her a position of independence, a sufficient income, and a home at the
Stift, or Institution, whenever she was not visiting her relations,
which was very seldom, for she made up for not possessing a family of
her own by taking the keenest interest in the affairs of her large
circle of nephews and nieces. In nearly all the Courts of Europe she
was “everybody’s aunt,” and every one confided in her, although she
had a perfect genius for betraying secrets to the very people to whom
they ought not to be told. Very soon after her arrival at Nice
Félicia knew of all the discourteous and uncomplimentary remarks her
uncle Don Ramon had made when he found himself forced to acknowledge
an American niece, and Maimie had heard a second time that Cyril had
advised King Michael to get rid of her before he married Félicia.
Both of them had drunk in with keen delight Princess Amalie’s account
of the disgust felt by all the younger branches of the
Schwarzwald-Molzau family and their relations over Helene’s marriage,
and the almost total lack of wedding-presents and royal guests. It was
this which pleased Félicia most, but Maimie took an even greater
pleasure in the further resolution which seemed to have been generally
formed by King Michael’s family, that they would not attend his
wedding if Count Mortimer was to be present. Any slight inflicted upon
the man who had tried to separate her from Félicia she accepted as a
boon to herself, and it happened that there was another person who
felt with her.
About three days after Princess Amalie’s arrival, it struck her
suddenly that she ought to call upon the Princess of Dardania, who was
also her niece, but whom she had not seen for some time, owing to the
unfortunate series of events which had long ago alienated the Princess
from her relations. Félicia was driving with Queen Ernestine, with
whom she agreed as well as could be expected when they had not a
single taste or thought in common, and as Princess Amalie’s own _dame
d’honneur_ was ill, she borrowed Maimie for the afternoon. Maimie had
by this time become accustomed to being regarded as a mere chattel, an
appendage to Félicia, and was by no means loath to accompany the old
lady, from whose chatter she expected to pick up a good deal of useful
information. She knew that the Princess of Dardania had an old grudge
against Count Mortimer, and as she sat silent and apart during the
visit, holding Princess Amalie’s lap-dog, she heard, as she had
anticipated, the canoness beginning her tale afresh. Every disparaging
remark, every calculated rebuff, was detailed over again, the Princess
of Dardania listening with lazy satisfaction, commenting on what she
heard rather with her great black eyes and arched eyebrows than by
word of mouth.
“Then what is the poor Count to do, while Ernestine queens it at
Molzau, and he is shut out?” she asked at last. “Will he go to
England, to his brother?”
“I don’t quite know,” said Princess Amalie, unwilling to confess
herself at a loss. “Ah, but Miss Logan will know. They were explaining
their plans to Félicia last night, and she was there.”
“And did Miss Logan happen to hear how Count Mortimer proposed to
enjoy his week of liberty?” asked the Princess.
“He is going to Thracia, madame, and her Majesty is to join him
there.”
“To Thracia--from the south of Pannonia? It will be a long journey.”
Maimie was conscious of something in the Princess’s tone which seemed
like repressed excitement. She answered promptly, “He intends to go
through Illyria, madame. There is only a few miles of country between
the Pannonian and Mœsian railways, and he will save time by driving
from one to the other instead of taking the long round.”
“To drive across Illyria---- Ah!” said the Princess slowly. Again
there was that hint of eagerness in her manner, and Maimie caught it.
The Princess looked up, and saw the responsive sparkle in her eye.
Instantly her own face changed. “Illyria is a country of very
beautiful scenery. I have travelled there a good deal,” she said, with
a dead calmness in her tone, and Maimie was left to wonder what
memory, or what project, had provoked that sudden excitement. For some
reason she suspected that it did not bode well for Count Mortimer, and
she was glad of it, though it was not evident to her what the Princess
could do to annoy him.
A few days later, the Bluebird left the Western Mediterranean for the
port at which Don Ramon of Arragon was to welcome his niece. The Queen
and Cyril were on board, so was Princess Amalie, and so also was Mr
Hicks, who was understood to occupy the position of the late Prince
Joseph’s man of business. A high honour was awaiting Félicia, for the
Emperor of Pannonia happened to be visiting the port; and when Don
Ramon’s arrival was delayed, through some accident or mistake which
was hinted not to be altogether accidental, he took upon himself the
duty of welcoming her and Princess Amalie. Queen Ernestine went
northwards to Molzau, Cyril started on his journey to Thracia, and
Félicia, with her train of followers, was delivered into the hands of
her uncle. He proved to be a stern-faced elderly man, early soured by
the loss of all his prospects, and interested in humanity only from
the point of view of a student of brain disease. His wife was so
completely his shadow that she was known as “la Ramona” at the
Pannonian Court; but she had individuality enough to disapprove very
heartily of heretics, Americans, and people who were not _hoffähig_
generally, and to regard Félicia as an example of all three. The
daughters were uninteresting girls, keenly on the look-out for
something shocking in everything their new cousin said or did, and
Félicia expressed privately to Maimie her opinion that even if her
whole fortune had been divided among them they would not have married.
But these unpleasing family characteristics were merely spots in the
sun. Félicia’s ambition was on the eve of attainment. She was
recognised as a daughter of Arragon, and as the Princess Doña
Feliciana Josefa was on her way to Molzau to receive a crown--and
incidentally, to marry a king.