FRIENDLY INTERVENTION.
When M. Drakovics entered the Queen’s anteroom he found Cyril there,
engaged in comparing notes with the two ladies as to the success of
the day’s spectacle.
“You have seen her Majesty, Count?” asked the Premier, as Princess
Anna went to announce his arrival to the Queen.
“Yes; the ordeal is over for me. My report had not the good fortune to
please the Queen, however. I shall have to write another; and as I am
to dine at the British Legation to-night, I ought to get it done
early. You have my most sincere wishes for better luck.”
“He cannot know!” murmured M. Drakovics, looking sourly after his
colleague’s retreating figure, but he was not satisfied. The discovery
which he had made that morning had struck him at first as most
opportune and important; but when he had had time to consider it
coolly he saw that it was by no means complete. One thing he
knew--that Queen Ernestine loved Count Mortimer--but he could not say
whether the Queen had perceived the nature of her own sentiments, much
less whether Cyril returned them, and this stood in the way of his
making any use of his knowledge. If Cyril had not fallen in love with
the Queen, M. Drakovics could do nothing, since to give utterance to
his suspicions would be only to make Cyril important and the Queen
ridiculous--and although the Premier would have cared little for
Ernestine’s feelings as a woman, he had a high sense of her dignity as
Regent of Thracia. His sole hope lay in surprising some admission from
one of the persons concerned, and he recognised that he was not likely
to succeed in this attempt with Cyril. To Ernestine, therefore, he
turned his attention, and his errand this evening, although veiled
under the pretext of inquiring her pleasure on one or two points of
procedure likely to arise in the course of the trial of the
conspirators, was in reality to seek to obtain some insight into the
state of her feelings. If he had been able to accompany Anna Mirkovics
into her presence, he would have needed little further confirmation of
his suspicions, but this boon was denied him.
“Madame, his Excellency the Premier entreats----”
“I will not see him,” said Ernestine shortly, turning from the window
with a face of such misery that the girl recoiled a step or two.
“But pardon me, madame, you have just granted an interview to Count
Mortimer, and M. Drakovics might think it strange----”
“You are right, Anna.” The Queen passed her hand wearily over her
brow. “Let him come in.”
“But you look so ill, madame, and your hair--forgive me----” She
glanced from the Queen to the jewels on the table, and hesitated, then
drew a chair into the shadow of the screen. “If you would sit there,
madame, his Excellency would not notice your paleness; and if you
would permit me to throw this lace scarf over your head---- No one
could be surprised that the weight of the crown had tired you.”
“Anna, wait!” Ernestine caught the girl’s hand as she arranged the
lace deftly to hide the disordered curls. “You know--you have
guessed--that--that Count Mortimer and I love one another. I am sure
that I can trust you; but no one else must know. Remain in the room
when M. Drakovics comes in. I am too tired--too miserable--to see him
alone to-night. Pretend to be putting the jewels away--I know that it
is not your business, but he will not think of that; only stay with
me.”
“Dearest madame, I would do anything in the world to help you!” said
the girl fervently, pressing her lips to the Queen’s hand, and pulling
the screen a little more forward as she spoke; and when M. Drakovics
came in, Anna Mirkovics stood at the table, taking out the pins from
the lace veil, and smoothing the folds of the costly fabric. The
Premier looked significantly towards her, but Ernestine forestalled
the protest he was about to make.
“Let me entreat you to be merciful, M. le Ministre. I have had more
than enough to-day of politics and state pageants, and my head is in a
whirl. Pray spare me further fatigue if you can.”
“And yet I understand that your Majesty granted Count Mortimer the
honour of an interview.” He fixed his eyes upon her as he spoke; but
she could have laughed at his attempting to entrap her in this clumsy
way.
“Oh yes, he came about his report, I believe,” she answered
carelessly. “And that reminds me---- The report did not please me
exactly; but remembering one’s own fatigue, one must be merciful to
others. Where is it, Anna? I was standing by the window at the time;
perhaps it has fallen into the corner. Thank you. May I trouble you to
be my messenger, monsieur? Will you give yourself the pain of leaving
this in Count Mortimer’s office, and telling him that it will do well
enough?” She held it out to him, and her eyes met his with absolute
calmness as she placed it in his reluctant hand. “And now, as to your
own business?”
“It is unimportant, madame. If I had been aware of your Majesty’s
fatigue, I would not have intruded upon you,” and with this wide
departure from the truth M. Drakovics covered his retreat from the
room. On the whole, he thought, it seemed probable that Count Mortimer
could not be aware of the Queen’s feelings towards him; but he could
not resist the temptation to burst in upon him suddenly in his office,
and try to startle him by the delivery of her message. But his
strategy was again in vain.
“Sent to say it will do, has she?” remarked Cyril. “Wish it had come a
little earlier, then. I am half-way through another report. Well, it
might have been worse. Awfully obliged, Drakovics.”
And he bowed the discomfited Premier out of the office, with a full
perception of the humour of the situation. Unlike some men, Cyril
could feel a certain amount of pleasurable interest in his own
misfortunes, as well as in those of other people, and his present
difficulties would have given him the keenest artistic enjoyment, if
it had not been for the danger of Ernestine’s betraying
unintentionally the state of affairs. Nothing more could be done for
the present, however, and he put aside the perplexities of his
love-affair with his official clothes, and prepared to spend a
pleasant evening at the British Legation, where he was the life of the
party. Sir Egerton Stratford and he were old acquaintances, since the
former had been sent on a minor diplomatic mission to Pavelsburg
during the year Cyril had spent there as attaché long ago, and in
private they enjoyed one another’s society, although officially it was
imperative to maintain a certain degree of reserve in their
intercourse, in view of the somewhat equivocal position occupied by
Cyril, as an Englishman holding high office in a foreign country. He
was not, however, to be allowed to go to rest that night quite
forgetful of his present circumstances. As he was leaving the
drawing-room of the Legation, Lady Stratford, a small, shy woman with
large grey eyes, whom the greater number of her acquaintances despised
as a nonentity, while a select few adored her as the most sympathetic
and enthusiastic person they knew, presented him with a written notice
of some kind.
“Have you seen one of these, Lord Cyril? I don’t know whether you will
be able to come to any of the meetings?”
“I’m afraid they are not exactly in my line,” returned Cyril,
wondering with great amusement why his hostess thought him likely to
be attracted by an invitation to a series of evangelistic meetings
shortly to be held in Bellaviste by a certain Count Wratisloff, a
Scythian religious reformer who had been banished from his own country
some years before. “I see that some of them are to be held here.”
“Only the ladies’ meetings,” said Lady Stratford, with her ready
blush. “The fact is, Sir Egerton met the lady who is to conduct them
when he was at Pavelsburg. She goes about a good deal with Count and
Countess Wratisloff, and I fancied you might know her--Princess
Soudaroff.”
“Princess Soudaroff! do I not know her, indeed? Why, she is a relation
of mine, Lady Stratford--at least she is my brother’s
godmother-in-law, and if that is not relationship, what is? I shall
certainly contrive to pay my respects to her when she is here, even if
I cannot find time to attend any of her meetings. But all the same,”
he added to himself, as he descended the stairs, “I shall keep it dark
about my little affair with Ernestine. The Princess is just the person
to urge me to throw up everything and marry her at once, and though I
should not do it, one doesn’t want a lot of fuss.”
But Cyril’s plans were doomed to disaster. It was not until three days
after Princess Soudaroff’s arrival in Bellaviste that he was able to
find time to call at her hotel, and as soon as his name was announced
by the waiter at the sitting-room door, the white-haired lady who was
sitting writing in the window rose to meet him, uttering a little cry
of joy, which showed him that his visit had been expected.
“My dear Lord Cyril, I am so glad to meet you again! I was just
writing a note to ask you to come and see me. You know that I spent
Christmas at Llandiarmid with the Caerleons? How well and happy your
dear brother looks!”
“You are too transparent for a diplomatist, Princess. Every line of
your face says how much better you think it would be if I married and
settled down like Caerleon.”
“That was certainly not in my thoughts at the moment; but it is
curiously connected with the subject on which I wanted to speak to
you. This morning I spent at the Palace, where I heard from the
Queen’s lips your story.”
Cyril’s face hardened. “I am sorry you should allow our affairs to
trouble you, Princess. I hoped I had succeeded in reconciling the
Queen to the only course possible in our difficult circumstances.”
“No, do not think that I am thrusting myself into your affairs. I will
tell you how they came to my knowledge. You know that Countess
Wratisloff and I are conducting a series of Bible-readings for ladies
at the British Legation in the mornings while we are here? Yesterday I
noticed among those present two ladies in deep mourning--both very
young, apparently, but one of them wearing widow’s weeds--who were
conducted by Lady Stratford to a seat in a corner, separated from the
rest. I was taking the meeting, and my subject was the Will of God. I
forget exactly what I said--I speak as it is given me to speak at the
moment--but I noticed after a time that the young widow appeared very
much affected, until, when I happened to say that ‘No love can look
for happiness which is deliberately founded upon the misery of another
human being,’ I saw that she was weeping bitterly under her veil.
Before the end of the meeting her companion induced her to withdraw,
and when the other people were gone, Lady Stratford came up to me.
‘Did you know that the ladies in black were the Queen and one of her
maids of honour?’ she said. ‘I wanted you to speak to Princess Anna
Mirkovics. She is the niece of the good Bishop of Karajevo, who has
been so nice about the Bible Society, but of course she had to go with
the Queen. I think she brought her to hear you--at any rate she wrote
the note asking whether her Majesty might come _incognito_. Didn’t you
think the Queen looked terribly sad? Poor thing! she is only as old as
I am, and she was left a widow when she was twenty-one. One cannot
wonder at her being so miserable, can one?’”
“Really,” said Cyril sharply, “Lady Stratford is more of a child than
one would have imagined possible for a modern married woman.”
“I wish there were more women as innocent as she is. It would never
strike her that the Queen’s grief could arise from anything but the
loss of her husband. But to continue, Lord Cyril. This morning I
received a note asking me to come to the Palace, as the Queen was
anxious to see me. I went, and was received with some coldness by an
elderly lady, who appeared to regard me with suspicion”--Cyril smiled
as he imagined the reception which Baroness von Hilfenstein would
accord to one whom she had been heard to call a Scythian fanatic--“but
the Queen was most gracious--indeed, when I was alone with her she
unburdened her heart to me. She loves you very deeply, Lord Cyril. Are
you fully awake to the strength of her love?”
“I hope, Princess, that I appreciate at its proper value the honour
which her Majesty has been good enough to confer upon me. I own that I
did not expect to be only one of many to whom she would be pleased to
communicate the intelligence.”
“Now you are doing her a grievous injustice. She made no attempt to
ask me to induce you to alter the decision which you announced to her
a week ago--deeply as I can see she grieves over it. No; it was quite
a different matter in which she wished to make use of me. She is aware
that you object to requesting private interviews with her, as likely
to arouse suspicion, and she did not know how to convey to you an
important piece of news, until she thought of asking me to bring it.
It seems that two days ago M. Drakovics, in the course of an
interview, took occasion to refer to the recent second marriage of the
Dowager Grand-Duchess of Schwarzwald-Molzau, of which you have no
doubt heard?”
“There is no parallel between the Grand-Duchess’s case and that of her
Majesty. The territorial rights of the Schwarzwald-Molzaus are
insignificant, and the present Grand-Duke is not a minor.”
“The parallel appears to exist in the mind of M. Drakovics. To the
Queen’s intense astonishment, he remarked, after some conversation on
the subject, that he had often felt of late that the Thracian
Constitution erred on the side of harshness in not permitting a
Queen-Regent to marry again. Disregarding her surprise at his words,
he went so far as to ask whether a modification of the article dealing
with the matter would be pleasing to her personally, adding that he
was an old man, and she could confide in him without fear of being
misinterpreted.”
“Drakovics is certainly an original character. One never knows where
to have him. And what--what--what did she say?”
“I think you may trust the Queen to protect herself when her dignity
is assailed.” Cyril breathed more freely. “She expressed amazement at
his entering upon such a subject with her, when it was obviously one
in the discussion of which she could take no part. Any steps to which
he might proceed must be taken entirely on his own responsibility, for
it was impossible for her to express an opinion in the matter.”
“Bravo!” said Cyril, much relieved. “I was really afraid that
Drakovics as the heavy father would get round her.”
“No; she has kept your secret, as you wished, although I think--I
hope--you have little idea of the unhappiness it causes her. Is it
necessary to be so cruel, Lord Cyril? ‘I dash myself up against him
like the waves,’ she said to me, ‘and it makes no more impression on
him than on a rock. My will is broken against his.’ Is it really
impossible that you should be married before the King is of age?”
“Absolutely impossible,” returned Cyril.
“Do you mind telling me the reasons?”
“For her, that she would be leaving her son to the tender mercies of
Drakovics; for me, that it would ruin my career.”
“I see; and you prefer your career to her?”
“Let us look at things on the lowest and most practical grounds,
Princess. I am a younger son; five hundred a-year from my mother is
all that I can call my own. Caerleon would do something for me, no
doubt; but I don’t want to take his money. Can you in cold blood
propose that the Queen and I should set up housekeeping on--say, at
the best--a thousand a-year?”
“But she must have a jointure--money of her own, perhaps?”
“Precious little; when you consider what she would lose on remarrying.
And suppose the Prince of Weldart, or the Emperor Sigismund, relented
so far as to allow us to settle down in strict seclusion in some
corner of their dominions. I cannot flatter myself that I am what you
may call a domesticated man; I have no interest in agricultural
pursuits; hunting bores me. Can you imagine that I should prove a
particularly amiable husband, shut up in some deserted village in
rural Germany, with nothing to do? I am not qualified to go about
conducting Bible-readings, like your friend Count Wratisloff, even if
I felt called--I believe that is the proper word--to do it.”
“But surely such a state of things could only last for a year or two?”
“It would last throughout our lives, and the lives of our children,
unless it was put an end to by a miracle. No, Princess--I am speaking
to you plainly--I would do anything for Ernestine that it is fair to
ask of a man; but spend my days as the morganatic husband of a
Princess who had disgraced herself by contracting a misalliance,
ostracised by every Court in Europe and by society everywhere, that I
will not do.”
The Princess looked at Cyril’s lowering brow and compressed lips in
perplexity. He was revealing to her a new side of his character, and
she scarcely knew how to approach him.
“Then you do not love her?” she said at last.
“I beg your pardon; I do love her. Now please don’t quote Caerleon to
me, and say that he was ready to chuck away a kingdom for the sake of
your goddaughter. I know he was, but that doesn’t make me resemble
him. No doubt it would be very nice if I did: life would be quite
idyllic and much less complicated if we all went blundering along like
Caerleon, with only room for one idea in our heads at one time; but in
my private opinion Caerleon was a fool. Pray don’t imagine that I
regret the way in which things have turned out, or think that any one
else would have suited him better as a wife than Nadia; but Caerleon
and I are two different people, and what he can do with a good grace
would be utterly impossible to me.”
“You cannot love her!” said the Princess sharply.
“Now it is you who are doing me an injustice. I love her--as I have
never loved any woman before. If she was not Queen--if she was a
peasant-girl--I would marry her to-day, and look forward hopefully to
living happy ever after. There would be some chance of it, too,” he
added meditatively, “for you would never find her in the same mood two
minutes together. One would have too much variety ever to be bored.”
“Please don’t talk like that,” the Princess looked pained. “The fact
is, Lord Cyril, your love is willing to give, but not to receive. One
of your English poets says something of the kind.”
“Ah, I fear I have got a little out of the current of English
literature of late years.”
“It is not very modern, I think. Oh, I remember--
“‘I hold him great who for love’s sake
Can give, with earnest, generous will;
But him who takes for love’s sweet sake
I think I hold more generous still.’
The Queen would give up everything for you, but you will not take it.”
“You are right, Princess. I will not take what she has no business to
give. Excuse my saying it, but you appear to forget that she and I are
not private individuals, and that all we do must be considered with an
eye to its effect on the political situation.”
“You think that I forget that? My dear Lord Cyril, it is the amount of
right on your side in this affair which is the perplexing element in
the case. If I had not felt that perhaps, after all, your view was the
more just, I should have pleaded with you for the poor Queen with all
my heart--I should have advised her to plead for herself until you
could withstand her no longer.”
“You have passed a good many remarks on me to-day, Princess. Allow me
in return to say that you are the strangest combination of fanatic and
sentimentalist that I ever met. Why are you so anxious to see us
married?”
“For her happiness and your good. But now explain to me this political
situation. Why should not the help of M. Drakovics be invoked to bring
about such a change in the Constitution as would permit of your
marriage?”
“Simply because Drakovics is not acting on the square. When King Otto
Georg died, the old man relied upon the Queen’s dislike of me to place
him in possession of absolute power; but finding that I was left in a
position practically as important as his own, in so far as the right
to advise the Queen and watch over the little King went, and also that
I could manage Ernestine better than he could, he has changed his
attitude towards me. He could tolerate me as a subordinate, but not as
an equal, and by no means as his political heir. That post is intended
for his nephew Vassili; and both uncle and nephew have improved the
shining hour by consolidating their position while I was away all
winter with the Court at the other end of the kingdom. Now you see
Drakovics’s little game. He suspects that Ernestine is in love with
me, but he can’t find out whether I return the sentiment. If he could
get her to assent to the alteration of the Constitution, he need only
inform the Powers of what was up, certain that I should have to quit
Thracia in no time. That would get rid of me, and leave Ernestine
perfectly helpless in his hands, while if she came after me and we
were married, he would get rid of us both. It is to his interest to do
that--in fact, to get us married--and so have the little King left in
his hands, to be converted or anything else, just as he liked.”
“But would it not be possible--I do not wish to suggest anything
presumptuous--to arrange a kind of treaty with M. Drakovics, by which,
even if it was necessary for the Queen to resign the regency, she and
you might remain in the country and watch over the little King? It
would of course be provided that his faith was not to be tampered
with.”
“No doubt it would be possible, were it not for the fact that the
first hint of such a treaty would give Drakovics just the information
he wants.”
“But he has no proof against you. You could not be removed merely on
suspicion, for you must have friends both in the country and in Europe
generally.”
“Few enough, I fear. I have been a little too successful for
friendship to flourish in my neighbourhood, you see.”
“But still, there must be some who would take your part. M. Drakovics
must know that. Surely he would prefer to gain his end without trouble
or scandal if possible? And then there would not be the difficulty of
leaving King Michael in his hands. The Queen would not consent to
that, and I could never advise her to do it; but if you and she
remained in the country as private individuals, taking no part in
politics, you would be able to superintend the child’s education, and
see that the treaty was not broken.”
“Taking no part in politics!” repeated Cyril, shrugging his shoulders.
“You evidently fail to perceive, Princess, that life without
politics--and political power--would be death to me.”
“Lord Cyril,” said the Princess earnestly, laying her hand on his arm,
“I want to entreat you to enter upon some settlement of this nature if
it is possible. It is very strongly impressed upon me that at this
moment you are standing at the parting of the ways. The two roads
which lie before you are those of love and ambition; but in this
instance love includes the whole higher side of life. You have
sacrificed much for ambition already, and I long to see you break the
spell, for greater sacrifices will be demanded of you if you make this
one. Bear with me; I am speaking as I would to your brother. It is not
for Queen Ernestine’s sake that I ask you to pause here; it is for
your own. This trial is bitter enough for her at the moment, but I
think she will develop into a nobler woman under it. But your
character must deteriorate under the influence of ambition--nay, it
has deteriorated already. You would once--even when I first met you, I
think--have shrunk from building your career on the foundation of
twelve years of splendid misery for the woman who loved you. You may
yet find yourself bartering for the chance of power your love for her
itself.”
“Your anticipations are not flattering, Princess.”
“I fear that they are none the less true for that. But there is
another danger, if you refuse to take this opportunity of casting away
your ambition. What will happen if the trial you are inflicting on
Ernestine strengthens her character in proportion as yours
deteriorates? You will be developing in different directions, and your
punishment at last may come through the very sufferings you inflicted
on her, in order to gratify your desire for power.”
“Princess,” said Cyril, standing up and shaking himself, “you have the
most extraordinary faculty for making a man uncomfortable that I ever
came in contact with. Your prophecies of evil make me feel quite
superstitious, and I don’t like it. I tell you what I will do for you,
more than I would do for any other woman--even Ernestine herself. You
may tell her from me that I place myself unreservedly in her hands. If
she asks it of me, I will throw up everything and marry her, and do my
best to make her a good husband. Perhaps she will kindly let me have
an answer as soon as possible, as I must begin to formulate a scheme
for getting round Drakovics if that treaty is to be entered into.”
“You are confiding in the Queen’s generosity,” said Princess
Soudaroff. “You feel convinced that she will shrink from founding her
happiness on the ruins of your career, although you do not fear to
found your career on the loss of her happiness.”
“Now you are looking a gift-horse in the mouth, Princess, which is an
ungracious thing to do. At any rate, I deserve to be released from
your reproaches now; and if Ernestine refuses my offer my conscience
will be absolutely clear.”
“I will request her to give her answer quickly. She asked me to
mention to you that it was always safe to trust Princess Anna
Mirkovics, in whom she has found it advisable to confide.”
“Yet another person? Well, may I entreat you to impress upon her on no
account to trust Drakovics in the very smallest degree--not if he goes
down on his knees and implores her with tears in his eyes to confide
in him. Let her keep up the tone she adopted at first. And now I must
really get back to work, Princess. You cannot conceive how refreshing
it has been to see you. I don’t know when I have enjoyed a call so
much.”
But when Cyril was in his office again the thought of the step on
which he had ventured fairly staggered him. If Ernestine should take
him at his word! He gazed round on the familiar pigeon-holes and
despatch-boxes like a man under sentence of death. They were the
outward and visible signs of his career, and he might be called upon
to leave them to-morrow! How he spent the hours between the sending of
his message and the receipt of the answer he could not have told
afterwards from his own recollection; but the amount of business which
he found had been disposed of inclined him to suppose that he had sat
up working all night. It was about noon of the next day that
Ernestine’s answer arrived, placed in his hands by Anna Mirkovics with
a bundle of less important papers. She gave it to him without any
indication of the value of the parcel; but as soon as she and her maid
had left the office he tore open the roll and took out Ernestine’s
note with hands that literally shook. One glance assured him that his
fears were groundless.
“My Beloved,”--she wrote,--“Princess Soudaroff has just informed me
of your generous offer. I know what it must have cost you; and
although I have never for a moment dreamed of accepting it, I love you
more, if that were possible, for making it. Dearest, I am ashamed of
myself for the way in which I received your decision the other day. I
know that it is wise and right, and that it is as painful to you as to
me. Forgive me, and I will try to use these long years of waiting in
becoming more worthy of you. You will let me see you alone sometimes?
I will not cry or complain; but there are always so many things on
which I want to consult you. I feel so lonely when I do not see
you.--Your own
/Ernestine/.”
“Well, it is something to be believed in,” said Cyril to himself,
passing a hot hand over his damp forehead. “I felt sure I could depend
upon her, and yet my nerves are all to pieces. There is one thing, my
dear Ernestine, which it is unnecessary under present circumstances to
mention to you, and that is, that if you had failed me, I believe your
devoted lover would have blown out his brains.”
He tore up the note, and burned every fragment of it with scrupulous
care, then turned again with a sigh of satisfaction to the business of
everyday life. This was particularly engrossing just at present, and
it did not become less so as days went on. The chief subject of
interest--and difficulty--was the trial of the Tatarjé conspirators,
which was now being conducted by the various tribunals convened for
the purpose, and which presented features of great complexity. It
appeared natural enough that officers of the army, and state officials
like the Bishop and Mayor of Tatarjé, found in arms against their
sovereign, should be treated and sentenced as rebels; but the case was
complicated to an extraordinary degree by the fact that all the
prisoners declared stoutly that they had believed themselves to be
fighting under the orders of the Queen and her Government. So far as
they knew, the Queen was in their midst during the whole of the time
that they were under arms, having taken refuge among them of her own
free will, and the commandant had assured them that he had full
warrant and support from M. Drakovics for all that he did. It was true
that the Premier’s letter, that which his nephew had received from the
Bishop, in whose charge the commandant had placed it, did not justify
this assertion; but it was quite easy to believe that the
arch-conspirator who had perverted its meaning had also exaggerated
its terms. Hence it was evident that these men would be punished for
obeying what they honestly believed to be their legal orders, a result
which would be likely to lead to much difficulty with the army in
future, while to leave them without punishment would be to open a door
for the fabrication of similar excuses in other cases.
In the end, a way out of the dilemma was found in a compromise. The
delinquent officers were sentenced by court-martial to undergo the
penalties due to their offences, without taking into consideration any
mitigating circumstances; but when the sentences came up for
confirmation by the Queen, the royal prerogative of mercy was freely
exercised, and the culprits allowed to return to their regiments with
a censure and a warning. The Mayor of Tatarjé, who had also been a
dupe throughout the affair, was considered to be sufficiently punished
by being deprived of his office (he had not the army behind him to
demand his total exemption), but it was otherwise with Bishop
Philaret. The sentence passed upon him of six months’ suspension from
the duties of his post and seclusion in a monastery was neither
commuted nor lightened, since, as M. Drakovics explained, the supposed
Queen was in his palace the whole time, and it was his own fault if he
did not discover the deception. This righteous sternness on the part
of M. Drakovics exercised Cyril’s mind not a little. Still smarting
under the revelation made in the O’Malachy’s letter, he had been
cherishing a hope of unmasking the Premier and exposing the unholy
compact into which he had entered with the Bishop; but no opportunity
was given him, and he perceived that this was only a new proof of M.
Drakovics’s shrewdness. The younger man was not, however, to be
deprived of the honour of a struggle with his colleague and former
ally, for in the course of the Cabinet Council at which the measures
to be taken in the case of the Tatarjé conspirators were announced, a
strong and almost unprecedented difference of opinion declared itself.
The War Minister desired to divide the officers to be dealt with into
two classes, leaving the majority to be pardoned and reinstated, but
punishing with dismissal from the army a certain number, who had been
clearly proved to have met together secretly and plotted against the
Government before the outbreak. One of these was the brother of the
late commandant. To this proposal M. Drakovics opposed a direct
negative, refusing to consider any cases separately.
“Some rumour of your Excellency’s intentions has got about,” said M.
Georgeivics, the Minister for War, “and the feeling of the army is
much opposed to it.”
“I am happy to say that the army does not govern Thracia,” retorted M.
Drakovics, in what seemed a needlessly offensive tone.
“No,” said Cyril; “but you have discovered before the danger of
alienating the army. Why, then, outrage the feelings of the officers,
by compelling them to receive proved rebels as their associates?”
“Bah!” cried M. Drakovics; “these unfortunate youths played at treason
in their leisure hours; but that is no valid reason for excluding them
from the benefits of the pardon.”
“On the contrary,” returned Cyril, “it appears to me to furnish a very
strong reason. Several of them are by no means youths, but of field
rank, and if they are allowed to return to the army, the probability
is that they will not only go back to their old ways themselves, but
corrupt those under them. No wonder that the army fears for its
honour.”
“You are inciting the army to mutiny, Count!” cried the Premier.
“Not at all. It is you who are driving them to it.”
M. Drakovics glared at his rebellious colleague in speechless wrath,
while two or three minor members of the Cabinet endeavoured to throw
oil on the troubled waters; but it was Prince Mirkovics who at last
suggested a _modus vivendi_, although not until the Premier, with a
glance at M. Georgeivics and Cyril, had reminded those who differed
from him that their remaining in the Ministry was merely a matter of
choice. Prince Mirkovics proposed that the officers whose fate was
under discussion should, while they were allowed to remain in the
army, lose all seniority in their respective ranks, be deprived of
their decorations, and be declared ineligible for extra-regimental
posts or promotion; and this compromise was finally accepted, with
some unwillingness, by the dissentients, since the punishment, severe
as it was in itself, was still quite inadequate to the offence. It was
evident, however, that M. Drakovics was determined to maintain his
point; and even if Cyril and the War Minister had been prepared to
push things to extremity, the earnestness with which Prince Mirkovics
entreated them to accept his suggestion, and not to break up the
Government for the sake of this small matter, would have prevailed
upon them to pause. M. Drakovics accepted the compromise, and the
council broke up peacefully, although with some feeling of constraint.
As soon as he got outside, Cyril found himself seized upon by Prince
Mirkovics.
“Come to my rooms and drink coffee,” said the old chieftain, who
scorned to rent a house in Bellaviste, and always lived at a hotel
when his official duties called him to the capital.
Cyril accepted the invitation unsuspiciously; but when he arrived at
Prince Mirkovics’s rooms he was surprised to find that there were
other guests beside himself. The War Minister was there, and
Constantinovics, the general who had compelled the surrender of
Tatarjé, and several members of the Government who belonged to the
party of the Nobles, of which Prince Mirkovics was the acknowledged
head. The moment that Cyril perceived this he paused on the threshold,
but his host took him by the arm and drew him into the room.
“Come in, Count,” he said; “you are the man we want. We have for some
time been dissatisfied with the conduct of affairs, and this Tatarjé
business has brought things to a head. Do you honestly think it is all
right?”
“Really, Prince, you cannot expect me, a member of M. Drakovics’s
Ministry, to enter into a mutiny against him.”
“The army will mutiny if this sort of thing goes on,” growled
Constantinovics, a sturdy old soldier who had taken a prominent part
in establishing King Otto Georg on the throne. “There are widespread
rumours that a job has been perpetrated, and we want to know whether
it is true.”
“It is quite impossible for me to accuse M. Drakovics on the authority
of a rumour for which I can produce no proof,” said Cyril.
“Proof!” cried the General. “The suspicion of foul play is enough. The
whole thing ought to be inquired into.”
“No one could object to that, of course; but you must see, General,
the extreme impropriety of my suggesting such an inquiry into the
doings of my own chief.”
“Count Mortimer is right,” said Prince Mirkovics suddenly. “It is
important for him to remain in the Ministry, for he is the only man
who can cope with Drakovics, and we must not risk his being obliged to
resign. But remember, Count, when you make a stand as you did to-day,
that we are with you. Our object, like yours, is to save the honour of
Drakovics and Thracia. The Premier must be above suspicion. If he is
warned by to-day’s experience, it will be well; but if not, then
Thracia is to be considered before Drakovics.”
“It may interest you if I remark,” said Cyril carelessly, as he stood
at the window, “that you have all been watched here. I recognise two
or three of Drakovics’s spies on the other side of the street. I am
afraid you have let me in for trouble, Prince. My presence will show
that this is a political gathering.”
“You shall not suffer, Count,” said Prince Mirkovics. “Be sure that we
will stand by you. We cannot spare you at this crisis.”
“This is an unexpected gain,” said Cyril to himself as he departed.
“It gives me leverage, perhaps even a standing-place from which to
move my world. But Drakovics will be dangerous for a day or two.”
Contrary to Cyril’s expectation, however, the Premier made no attempt
to provoke him to further conflict, and the matter of the punishment
of the rebels was allowed to rest; but this surprising meekness on the
part of M. Drakovics did not in any way change his subordinate’s
opinion. “The old man has a card up his sleeve,” was Cyril’s
reflection. “When he plays it, look out for squalls!” It did not
strike him at the moment that the card in reserve was a Queen.
About a month after the dispute in the Cabinet, M. Drakovics, as was
his custom on most mornings, sought an interview with Ernestine. When
the matters to be discussed at the council at which he was to preside
after leaving the Palace had been decided, the Premier drew nearer to
the table at which the Queen was sitting.
“In accordance with your gracious permission, madame,” he said in a
low tone, “I have been sounding the Governments of the various Powers
with respect to the alteration of those provisions of the Constitution
which deal with your Majesty’s position in the event of remarriage.”
“My permission!” Ernestine flushed with angry astonishment. “I gave
you no such permission, monsieur. Pray what have the Powers to do with
the matter?”
“Permit me to remind your Majesty that the sanction of the Powers is
necessary before any article of the Constitution can be abrogated or
altered. As to your permission--I was wrong in using the word. I am
fully aware that the delicacy of your Majesty’s sentiments forbade you
to initiate any action on the subject, while leaving me at liberty to
act on my own discretion.”
“You have totally misunderstood me, monsieur; and I fear you have
placed me in a most unpleasant position. The Powers will naturally
conclude that I am in a hurry to marry again, whereas nothing is
further from my thoughts.”
“Will your Majesty permit me to express my sorrow that such should be
the case? It is now considerably more than a year since the lamented
death of the King, and I could regard the future of Thracia with far
more complacency if I thought that you, madame, were not to continue
to bear the burden of state alone.”
“I fear that your wishes have led you into a too hasty course of
action, monsieur. May I ask what was the effect produced on the Powers
by your inquiries?”
“Scarcely a satisfactory one, madame. The majority desired to know
more before expressing an opinion. If the name of any candidate for
your hand were submitted to them, they were prepared to consider the
matter; but if there was no suitor in the field, they thought the
inquiry premature.”
“Very much so. This is a most embarrassing state of affairs for me.”
“Surely not, madame. If your Majesty would intrust any name to me, in
strict confidence, the affair shall be conducted with the greatest
delicacy.”
“You will not understand me, monsieur.” Anger and confusion were
contending in her voice. “I have no name to intrust to you.”
“Among all the princes of Europe, madame----”
“I am not searching Europe for a second husband, monsieur. You must
understand once for all that I cannot fall in with your schemes on
this subject.”
“It is possible that a search is unnecessary, madame. The Scythian
Government has been good enough to make a suggestion.”
“I am extremely grateful. Who is the person suggested.”
“His Highness Prince Nikifor of Klausenmark.” The Klausenmark family
formed a kind of link between the imperial house of Scythia and
ordinary mortals, since it traced its descent from a Scythian
Grand-Duchess who had married a member of the German nobility early in
the present century.
“But he is little better than a simpleton!”
“True, madame, so they say. Your Majesty must surely be able to
suggest a more acceptable suitor?”
“You fatigue me with this constant reiteration, M. le Ministre.”
Ernestine spoke pettishly. “I have told you already that I have no one
to suggest. There is not a prince in Europe that I would marry if he
asked me--still less to whom I would send through you to ask him to
marry me.”
“Not a prince, perhaps, madame.” M. Drakovics spoke meaningly,
watching the changing colour of her face, “But if there is any
individual of a less exalted rank who has had the happiness to attract
your Majesty’s favourable attention, do not, I entreat you, hesitate
to confide the fact to me. The opposition of the Powers need not be
fatal, for many things forbidden by Congresses are effected by
diplomacy. Nay, the difference of rank might even smooth our path,
since, in the case of a person who was not of royal blood, there would
be no question of sharing the duties of the regency, while he would
yet be at hand to support and advise your Majesty in private. Is it
possible, madame, that you have such a prospect of relief from our
difficulties to suggest to me?”
For a moment Ernestine was tempted to yield to his importunity; but
the remembrance of Cyril’s injunctions prevailed, and she rose
suddenly from her seat at the table.
“We will not discuss this subject further, monsieur. I have told you
that it wearies me. Perhaps it will comfort you if I tell you that I
have no intention of marrying again until my son is of an age to rule
for himself.”
Brought to a standstill at the moment that he imagined his object
attained, M. Drakovics could not wholly conceal the expression of rage
and disgust that crossed his face. He suppressed it immediately; but
Ernestine caught sight of it, and rejoiced that she had not betrayed
herself. When he had left the Palace, she watched him from the window,
curious to see whether the look would return when he thought himself
unobserved. She did not catch it again; but she saw the Premier stop
suddenly, strike his hands together, and smile, and her fears were
stirred at once.
“He is plotting something against Cyril!” she said to herself, and
returning to the table, scribbled a tiny note, then called a footman,
and desired him to give it to Count Mortimer immediately, before he
left the Palace to attend the meeting of the Cabinet.