PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE.
“The more I think of the state of affairs,” said Cyril to Prince
Mirkovics, when they were alone, “the more I am convinced that we must
hurry things on. If possible, we must see that Drakovics resigns, and
has not to be dismissed; but that is not so important as the necessity
of preventing his bringing on a constitutional crisis. His aim will be
to get up a strife between the Crown and the Legislature, which might
end in her Majesty’s being deprived of the regency, and every day that
passes adds to his power for mischief.”
“But how would you propose to force his hand, as you said just now?”
“We must bring things to a head as soon as possible--have no more
haggling negotiations. Whether Drakovics resigns or is dismissed, he
must go quickly, or he will oust the Queen--not to speak of ourselves.
In some informal and unofficial way it must be brought to his
knowledge that the Queen will refuse her assent to Philaret’s
nomination. Of course he guesses that she will; but I hope that the
thought that the matter was arranged with us would sting him to
action. It will probably have to be done by means of an indiscretion.”
“An indiscretion, Count? On whose part?”
“Yes, a calculated indiscretion. The difficulty is to decide who shall
commit it, since of course it would entail removal from public
life--at all events for a time--or from the Court, according to the
individual concerned, and that is rather a large order. One can
scarcely ask such a sacrifice from any one. But let us leave the
matter for the present; I will think it over. Luncheon is ready, I
see. You may have noticed that I have a new footman? My servants were
complaining of the extra work caused by my illness and the consequent
troops of visitors, and therefore I imported this fellow in a hurry.”
But although Cyril had suggested leaving the consideration of politics
for the present, it seemed that he was unable to dismiss the subject
from his mind; for almost before he had been supplied with the invalid
fare prescribed for him, he glanced across the table at Prince
Mirkovics.
“I suppose there is no doubt that her Majesty will refuse her assent
to the nomination of Philaret?” he said.
“None whatever. Stefanovics gave me the assurance in the plainest
terms.”
“It is possible that he exceeded his instructions.”
“On the contrary, he repeated to me her Majesty’s words at her own
desire. Nothing could be more definite than the statement of her
determination. But, my dear Count”--as the servant left the room for
an instant--“are we wise in speaking so freely before this new footman
of yours? He may understand French.”
“Impossible,” returned Cyril carelessly. “He told me so himself; and
he had no motive for concealing the truth, since his wages would have
been higher if he had been able to speak a foreign tongue. In a
polyglot household like mine, the man who knows most languages is the
most useful. We have no reason to be afraid of him. But, by the
bye”--the footman had now returned into the room--“do you think that
her Majesty will have the courage to provoke a conflict with
Drakovics. It will need a good deal of pluck.”
“She will not shrink from it,” was the emphatic reply. “She has gained
remarkably in force of character of late, and her behaviour during
this crisis has extorted universal admiration. She may not become more
popular on account of her courage and tact, but she will be more
respected. No; she will not fail us.”
“Ah, it is well to be assured of that,” said Cyril, and he changed the
subject deftly. It was not until the footman had once more left them
alone that he leaned back in his chair and remarked with a smile,
“Well, my dear Prince, our business is done, and that without any
complications or outside help.”
“To what are you alluding, Count?”
“To the necessity for allowing Drakovics to become aware of her
Majesty’s attitude. That new man of mine is one of his spies--sent
here to learn our plans. He has not discovered very much of them; but
I hope he has heard enough about the Queen to bring about the
explosion we want.”
“Then it is I who have committed the indiscretion?”
“Do not be so hasty, Prince. There is no indiscretion at all. You
don’t imagine I would have allowed you to say anything important?”
“But surely I might expect to have been informed beforehand----?”
“Not at all. You are not a good actor, Prince, and it would have been
evident that you were playing a part. Now you have spoken with the
most complete good faith, and Drakovics will ask no more.”
“But suppose that he will not resign, even now?”
“Then I shall be compelled to advise her Majesty to end the deadlock
by herself nominating either Bishop Socrates or your brother to the
vacant see, on the ground of the Premier’s long delay. The crisis must
come then.”
“You are playing a desperate game, Count.”
“Quite so, Prince. We are in a desperate position.”
The remainder of the day passed uneventfully. Late in the afternoon
the Vienna doctor left Cyril’s house to return home, just after the
police on guard had been relieved. His assistant, so they gathered
from the doctor’s words to Paschics at the door, had gone on first to
the station in order to make arrangements for the journey. A second
reassuring bulletin as to the condition of the patient appeared in the
one evening paper of which Bellaviste boasted, and it became generally
known that the retiring Ministers would resign their portfolios on the
following day.
The ceremony at the Palace in the morning was a brief and formal one.
The Queen, who looked pale and grave, uttered the stereotyped words of
regret and farewell that the occasion demanded, and when the public
audience was over, requested Cyril to remain behind in order to
explain to her the system on which he had been accustomed to manage
the household details which came into his province. Going to his
office to fetch his books, he returned to find her in the room in
which she had held her first interview with him as Regent, with Anna
Mirkovics on guard in the anteroom. Ernestine was walking up and down
impatiently when he entered, but turning as he closed the door, ran to
meet him.
“Put those down!” she said imperiously, taking the books from his
hand, and throwing them on the table. “I am not in the least
interested in them; I want _you_. Oh, Cyril, you must not let yourself
be kept out of office long. I could not endure it. How I have lived
through these four days without once seeing you I cannot tell.”
“But I warned you beforehand,” said Cyril.
“Not that it would be so long, and besides---- Oh, I know I disobeyed
you, Cyril; but I was really frightened when I heard what Dr
Danilovics said. I made Baroness von Hilfenstein go and question M.
Paschics, and happily he was able to assure her that he thought the
doctor was taking too gloomy a view of your case. That satisfied me,
for I knew he could not say more, as she is not in our secret. But if
it had been true what they said, nothing should have kept me from you.
I would have come and nursed you; I would have refused to let you die.
The world might know the truth, and welcome! I am not ashamed of
loving you.”
“Sometimes I almost wish you were,” said Cyril, looking into her
earnest face. “I don’t want to scold you, Ernestine; but you might
have ruined us both----”
“But I did not, after all, so you must forgive me. And I am keeping
you standing while I talk! Sit down here--yes, in my chair--and let me
put this footstool for you. Yes, I will wait upon you--I love to do
it. Dear Cyril, won’t you say that you are pleased to see me again?”
“Is there any use in saying what your Majesty knows already?”
“I should like to hear it from your own lips. You have found the days
a little long, haven’t you?”
“Very,” responded Cyril, with perfect truth. “They seem to have had a
lifetime crammed into them.”
Ernestine looked perplexed. “I should have thought they would seem
empty,” she said hesitatingly.
“A lifetime of misery, dearest, of course. You cannot imagine how fast
the brain works under such circumstances.”
“I believe you are trying to tease me,” she said, detecting in his
tone something that, if not exactly false, was assumed; but as she
bent forward to look into his face, the raised voice of Anna Mirkovics
struck on their ears from the anteroom.
“Monsieur, I tell you that her Majesty is engaged in going through the
household books with his Ex----with Count Mortimer. I cannot imagine
that she will receive your Excellency at present.”
“Perhaps you will have the goodness to inquire her Majesty’s wishes on
that point, mademoiselle,” replied the voice of M. Drakovics. “My
business is of the gravest importance.”
“I hope your Excellency will excuse me to her Majesty for disturbing
her in this way,” was the reply, given in the same distinct tones, as
the maid of honour approached the door of the inner room, and knocked
as loudly as she dared without arousing the suspicions of the
intruder. But her precautions had not been in vain. Cyril had grasped
the situation at once, and risen from the Queen’s chair. “Sit here,”
he said to Ernestine, and drew another chair to the table for himself.
When M. Drakovics was ushered in, his former colleague was sitting
surrounded by account-books, and looked up with mild surprise as he
entered. The response was immediate. After the first glance at Cyril,
the Premier seated himself, unbidden. Ernestine’s eyes flashed, but
she took no notice of the solecism save by rising from her own seat,
an example which Cyril followed instantly, leaving M. Drakovics no
choice but to imitate him.
“You wished to see me, monsieur?” said the Queen.
“I was anxious to obtain the settlement of a very important point,
madame, or I would not have ventured to interrupt your interview with
Count Mortimer.”
“I am ready to give you my attention, monsieur; but I must ask you to
be brief. The details of these accounts are somewhat intricate, and I
am determined to understand them myself before they are handed over to
Count Mortimer’s successor.”
“Nothing could be more praiseworthy than such a spirit, madame. I will
not detain your Majesty longer than is necessary to attach your
signature to this paper--the mandate authorising the Synod to proceed
to the appointment of a Metropolitan.”
“But this is a matter that needs consideration, monsieur. I cannot
consent to make the appointment hurriedly in the midst of other
business. I should prefer to see you about it at another time.”
“There is no time like the present, madame.” The Premier’s tone was
dogged, even menacing, and Ernestine’s colour rose.
“That is a matter for me to decide, monsieur. If you will be good
enough to leave the paper, I will read it at my leisure, and give you
my decision to-morrow.”
“Madame, I cannot consent to leave about important state papers for
the eyes of persons unconnected with the Government. If your Majesty
wishes to discuss the subject of the nomination, I have the honour to
be your adviser--and not any person who has thought fit to dissociate
himself from me.”
“I do not understand you, monsieur. I am not prepared to discuss the
subject at this moment, and I do not intend to sign the paper without
consideration. You may be sure that it shall not leave my possession.”
“If you wish for plain speaking, madame, you shall have it. I decline
to leave the document for the inspection of Count Mortimer, with the
certainty that as soon as my back was turned he would advise your
Majesty to act contrary to my recommendations.”
“Your language is very strange, monsieur. I thought you had just
recognised the fact that Count Mortimer is no longer one of my
advisers.”
“Then how comes it, madame, that you have entered into a conspiracy
with him to defeat the measures I feel it my duty to bring forward? Do
you imagine I am ignorant of the determination you have expressed to
refuse your assent to this document, and thus force me to resign
office? You may be a very clever woman, madame; but you have not yet
succeeded in hoodwinking me.”
“What is the purpose of these remarks, M. Drakovics?” The question
came sharply, as Ernestine looked at the Premier with icy disdain.
“To show your Majesty that I am not a man to be trifled with. This
paper which I hold is of the nature of an ultimatum. If you sign it, I
remain in office; if you refuse or temporise, I resign--and you take
the consequences.”
“Thank you, I will take the consequences. _Bonjour, feu M. le
Ministre_!”
The crisply spoken words came on M. Drakovics like a thunder-clap, and
appeared literally to take away his breath. He glared round helplessly
for a moment; then his eyes fell on Cyril, fingering his account-books
unconcernedly, and he made a step towards him as though to seize him
by the throat. Ernestine placed herself between them involuntarily,
and by the movement drew down his wrath on herself.
“You will take the consequences? Ha, ha! do you know who I am and who
you are, madame? You owe your crown to me, as your husband did his. I
fear you have forgotten the days before you came to Thracia. Do you
realise that I brought you from a German principality about as large
as your palace garden here, from a Court which was the scandal of
Europe--that I seated you on the Thracian throne--do you realise this,
I say?”
“I had imagined that it was the King who did all that,” said Ernestine
coldly, as he broke off, foaming with rage; but the warning tone in
her voice only served to excite him afresh.
“I made you, and I will break you!” he cried furiously. “I might have
done it before. Perhaps you did not guess that it was I who persuaded
your husband to patience when he was goaded into wishing to seek a
separation on account of your conduct towards him? That is new to you,
is it? It was not for your sake I did it--it was for the sake of
Thracia, that no slander might touch my country’s royal house. But it
might have been well if I had allowed my master to take the course he
proposed. Then at least I should have been spared the knowledge that I
had bestowed my charity upon a treacherous, heartless coquette”--this
was not quite the word which M. Drakovics used--“scheming to place her
lover on the throne from which she had successfully removed her
husband.”
“Drakovics!” cried Cyril, springing forward, but Ernestine waved him
back.
“This is my affair, Count. M. Drakovics, you may go; and never venture
to present yourself in my presence again. Your services are dispensed
with.” M. Drakovics hesitated, tried to speak, then recoiled, unable
to face the eyes burning with indignation which seemed to pierce him
through and through, and departed; while as he went he heard the
Queen’s voice saying in very different tones, “And now, Count, let us
return to our account-books!”
But the words were the last effort of which Ernestine was capable.
Cyril, stepping forward to close the door behind the fallen Minister,
returned to find her cowering in her chair, with her face turned away
from him.
“My dearest,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder; but she
shuddered and shrank from him.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried. “I can’t bear it. You heard what he
called me, Cyril?” her voice rose almost to a shriek.
“He was really not responsible for his language at the moment, dear.
And you faced him splendidly. You certainly had the best of it.”
“That he--or any one--should be able to say such a thing to me!” she
wailed, not heeding his attempts at comfort. “I know that I behaved
wrongly to my husband--that I was hard, cold, proud--but never in word
or thought was I--and that other thing he said--Cyril. _Cyril_, say
that you don’t believe it.”
“Believe it? My dearest, the man doesn’t believe it himself. He
wouldn’t have said it if he had been in his right mind, but he wanted
to hurt you, and he said the first thing that came into his head,
though he knows that no human being would credit it for an instant. It
would stamp him as mad if he ever uttered it to any one.”
“No, no; I don’t mean that, though I should die of shame if I thought
that any one knew it had been said. It is that he said it to me, and
that you heard it. Oh, you can’t understand; it hurts, it hurts! Say
something to me; make me forget it, or I shall go mad.”
Little as she imagined it, Cyril understood her feelings perfectly. He
knew that she was quivering in every fibre under the insults hurled at
her, knew how much the agony was increased by his own presence when
they were uttered; and his own heart, which did not often interfere
with his policy, supplied an additional sting, which Ernestine would
not have inflicted even had it occurred to her mind--she owed it to
herself that it was in the power of M. Drakovics to torment her in
this way. For the moment, as he stood beside her with his hand on her
shoulder, the thought was in his mind that, come what might, he would
save her from further torture of the sort. He would cast away duties
and prospects and high hopes and marry her at once, and face the world
at her side, let that world say what it would about his motives. But
the impulse was only momentary. Give up everything when his hand was
even now grasping the prize, leave the field again to Drakovics when
the day was his own at last, and for the sake of a woman? No, a
thousand times no; although she was the woman he loved, and who loved
him. After all, one must risk one’s queen in the game as well as one’s
pawns.
“My darling,” he said gently, in response to her passionate outburst,
for he could well afford to lavish upon her the small coin of kindness
when the treasure of his ambition was untouched, “you are making me
very unhappy by talking in this wild way. Can you imagine for an
instant that I could remember a thing you wished forgotten? I will
forget it completely if you will only banish it from your own mind, so
that I may not be reminded of it by the look on your face. After all,
it was aimed at me as much as you. Consider that it was addressed
altogether to me, and help me to forget it. It hurt me far more than
it did you.”
“Oh no, it could not do that,” sobbed Ernestine, but she allowed him
to raise her head from the arm of the chair and lay it on his
shoulder, and her tears became less bitter as he soothed and kissed
her. Let no one under-estimate Cyril’s chivalry and self-control at
this moment. He was wasting precious time in comforting her--time on
which his political future might depend. There were a hundred things
to do if he consulted his own interests, but he recognised that she
possessed a claim upon him, and not a word or movement showed that he
was putting strong constraint upon himself in remaining with her. To
reward his patience, it was Ernestine herself who opened the way for
the discussion of mundane matters.
“What have you done to your moustache?” she asked curiously, when she
had dried her eyes, and could look at him again. “It seems to be a
different shape, and surely the colour has changed?”
“I didn’t know you were such a keen observer,” said Cyril, taking off
the false moustache he had worn since returning from his journey to
Vienna, for he had been compelled to sacrifice his own to the
efficiency of his various disguises. “You must put down the change to
my illness--or to political exigencies if you like--but no one else
must know, or we may have disastrous revelations. Shall I let it grow
again, or not?”
“Of course. I don’t like you without it. It makes you look cruel,
Cyril. But don’t let us talk of politics. I hate the word.”
“I am sorry to hear that, dear, for I am afraid that unless we can get
through a little political business our lately departed friend may
steal a march on us. I won’t mention him more than I can help,” as a
shudder ran through her, “but if we are to make this escapade his
last, we must strike while the iron is hot.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Ernestine, helplessly.
“I suppose we are to take it for granted that Drakovics will not be
regarded as a possible Minister of the Crown in future?”
“Can you insult me by imagining that after what has passed I would
ever receive him again as an adviser?”
“I did not imagine it for an instant, but your assurance was
necessary. With your permission I will give directions for the issue
of a special Gazette, setting forth that the Premier has resigned
office on account of failing health.”
“Resigned? Failing health? I dismissed him--and in your
presence--because he had grossly insulted me. What can you mean?”
“My dear Ernestine, the man was obviously out of his mind. He must
have the benefit of the fact, and so must we.”
“I don’t understand, but he is not to be allowed to escape
punishment.”
“Quite so. His punishment will be the most severe you can
inflict--dismissal. It will not make it the less bitter for him if we
call it compulsory resignation, but it will smooth the way for us. If
we do not stop his mouth, he will raise the country against us
to-morrow.”
“But I don’t see how your special Gazette will stop his mouth.”
“There is something else to be done as well. If you will allow me, I
will send Stefanovics to him at once, with a message which must be
delivered either to him or to his nephew, and only to them. If he will
resign office promptly and without any fuss, on the ground of his
health, you will overlook his conduct of to-day in consideration of
his past services to Thracia, and permit him to retain the honours
which have been conferred upon him, although he must remain at a
distance from the Court. Moreover, we will give him a suitable
pension, and find some permanent post under Government for Vassili. If
he refuses, he will lose everything, and we shall take legal
proceedings against him, of course _in camerâ_, for insulting the
Crown.”
“He will prefer to appeal to the people,” said Ernestine decisively.
“I think not. In the old days he would have done it like a shot, and
most effectively--the patriot Minister cast off in his old age by the
ungrateful family he had raised to power, stripped of his well-earned
honours, and persecuted revengefully by those whose unprincipled
conduct he had sought to restrain. But he is not what he was, and I
believe his outburst just now showed that he knew the game was played
out. He has lost his nerve, he is in bad odour with the Powers--and he
is afraid of me, while it is obvious that you and he can never work
together again.”
“But it is not fair! You wish to allow him to escape altogether.”
“Not at all, pardon me. He has fallen; but I do not wish him to drag
us down with him.”
“Oh, do what you like,” said Ernestine pettishly. “Make your own
arrangements. It seems to me that whatever happens, I have always the
worst of it. I should have thought----” tears choked her voice.
“If your Majesty will excuse me,”--Cyril’s tone was severely
businesslike, and he ignored the tears altogether,--“I will proceed to
take the steps I have mentioned, and also to communicate them to my
colleagues. You will not require my presence again to-day, perhaps?”
“Yes, I shall,” was the angry reply. “You are to come back as soon as
you have sent your messages. I could not be so cruel as to detain you
longer now.”
Cyril made no answer, and departed with an absolutely unmoved face.
When he returned, after despatching his business, he observed that
Ernestine had evidently improved the interval by what an Englishwoman
would have called “having a good cry.” She was calm again now, but in
a frame of mind which could only be described as injured, and Cyril
braced himself for a tussle.
“You wished to see me, madame?” he remarked.
“Sit down,” she said imperiously. “I don’t want you to be ill again,
in spite of your unkindness to me.” She paused for a reply; but as
Cyril only bowed in acknowledgment of the favour, she found it
impossible to remain silent. “I am quite convinced,” she went on,
“that you care far more for politics than you do for me. If I died
to-day, I believe your first thought would be how to get yourself made
regent to-morrow.”
Still no answer, and she became desperate.
“If it is not true, at least you might say so. You don’t--you can’t
mean me to understand that you have only made--made use of me as a
step to your own advancement--that you have never cared for me at
all?”
“That is enough, Ernestine,” said Cyril bitterly, rising from his
seat. “It is indeed generous and noble in you to taunt me with the
difference in our positions. I thought that you believed me
disinterested, if no more; but I see that I was mistaken. I will make
no attempt to defend myself--how can I? It is quite true that at your
entreaty I broke with Drakovics, and resigned office. This has led, as
it happens, to the prospect of higher office, and therefore it is
clear that I acted with that in view. I will not deny it; I will only
say that I did not expect to find my action cast in my teeth by the
woman for whose sake it was taken.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked, frightened.
“I am going to see Mirkovics, and hand the Premiership over to him.
Then I shall leave Thracia as soon as possible. I promise you that you
shall not be offended by the sight of me longer than I can help.”
“Cyril!” She came flying after him, and fairly dragged him from the
door. “You are not to go--you shall not. Forgive me. I was so
miserable I scarcely knew what I was saying. I am a wicked, ungrateful
woman. What can I do to show you how sorry I am? Oh, you are not going
to leave me?”
“You have said too much,” returned Cyril resolutely, unclasping her
hands from his arm. “I am afraid we have been mistaken in each other,
Ernestine; but what I can do to mend matters shall be done.”
“If that means that you will leave Thracia, it shall not be done,” she
retorted. “I forbid you to go. You belong to me, and I will not give
you up. Dear, you have not forgotten that journey of ours? You know
how unreasonable and angry I was so often then, and yet you found out
afterwards that I loved you even when I was most cross. Won’t you
believe it now?”
“Believe it or not, I cannot stand such accusations as you are
bringing against me. My meekness is not equal to the strain.”
“I am glad it isn’t. I could not have been proud of you if it was. It
was despicable of me to say what I did, Cyril. I can’t expect you to
forgive it, I know. Only stay here, for I cannot do without you, and
then you will forgive me in time, for you will not be able to endure
seeing me so miserable. Promise me, dear, promise me--just that you
will stay.”
“If you are content that I should remain here without forgiving
you----”
“But I am not. I shall be perfectly miserable until you do. Ah, you do
forgive me. You know that it is only because I love you so much that I
cannot bear anything to come between us. I am jealous of politics,
Cyril; I am afraid they may separate us from one another. I know it is
wrong and foolish; but it is because I love you. You will forgive me?
I will try to conquer the feeling, and I will never, never say again
what I did just now. Like M. Drakovics, I was mad for the moment.”
“I don’t want to seem hard on you, Ernestine--on my honour I
don’t--but you make it very difficult for me to stay here. I can never
feel sure that you will not take offence at some necessary move of
mine and do something that will shatter my plans and make a fool of me
in the face of Europe. You see what I mean?”
“Cyril, you don’t think that I would let any one else see that I was
displeased with you? My dearest, I would uphold you to the world if we
were in the midst of a quarrel. Only try me; and see if anything would
make me forsake you. Do you know that I had a letter from my mother
this morning, scolding me for having taken you back to your house in
my carriage when you were wounded--just as Baroness von Hilfenstein
scolded me when she heard of it? How delighted I should have been to
be able to tell them the truth! But since you will not allow that, I
have written to tell my mother that I should despise myself if I had
neglected to do such a small service to a man who had been attacked
solely on account of his faithfulness to Michael and to me.”
“You quixotic little person! Don’t defy the proprieties too boldly, or
we shall have a commission of inquiry consisting of your mother and
aunts coming here to investigate matters, which might lead to alarming
discoveries.”
“I should not mind. You cannot say that I should forfeit the regency
if it became known that I was engaged to you.”
“No; but my remaining here would be very strongly felt to be an
impropriety, and besides, dear, you don’t seem to see that we--or at
any rate I--have more in view than simply being able to marry at the
end of eleven years or so without damage to Michael and his kingdom.”
“Why, what is that?” she asked, surprised.
“I want our marriage to be recognised. If your cousin Sigismund--who
is very strong on these matters--chose to regard it as morganatic, all
Europe would go with him.”
Ernestine’s eyes blazed. “Let it!” she said; “I don’t care. You and I
know what we mean to do, and when we are married we will go to England
and live in a cottage, and be simply Mr and Mrs Mortimer. There are no
morganatic marriages there, are there?”
“You would at least be Lady Cyril Mortimer, so there is no need to
contemplate quite such a descent,” said Cyril, disregarding the
question. “But I think you must see that it would be more satisfactory
to me if the marriage was recognised.”
“I would not have you degrade yourself by appealing to Sigismund for
any favour--or even any right--whatever.”
“There is no question of appealing to any one. My aim will simply be
to establish myself in such a position that either Sigismund or the
Emperor of Pannonia will have no difficulty in recognising our
marriage--or might even be glad to do it.”
“But how would you do that? Have you any plan?”
“I have some sort of an idea.”
“Cyril, you are wonderful! I will never grumble at your devotion to
politics again, since I know what is involved. Oh, there is Michael!”
as youthful footsteps crossed the anteroom at a run, and the handle of
the door was violently agitated. “He will want me to tell him a story
now that his lessons are over. Say good morning nicely to Count
Mortimer, my little son. Then I will not detain you longer, Count.”
“Poor dear little woman!” was Cyril’s thought as he left her. “She is
so easily managed that it seems almost a shame to try it on with her.
But it was really necessary to make that no more scenes of jealousy
should occur at inconvenient times.”
He went back to his house, passing on the way Sir Egerton Stratford,
who was taking an afternoon ride. It gave Cyril intense pleasure to
respond to the startled and almost mechanical salutation of the
British Minister, and he anticipated with glee the explanation which
could not be long delayed. But he had no time to call at the Legation
at present, and there was a good deal of business to be arranged
immediately with Prince Mirkovics and the rest of his colleagues, in
view of the important political changes to be announced on the morrow.
When he had got rid of them he returned to the Palace, where he had a
long interview with Stefanovics in his office, after which he prepared
to go home, thinking that he had accomplished a pretty fair day’s work
for an invalid. But his time for rest had not yet arrived, for just as
he was on the point of locking his desk for the night, Baroness von
Hilfenstein entered the room, to his great astonishment.
“What can I do for you, Baroness?” he asked. “Pray sit down.”
The old lady complied, but seemed to have some difficulty in declaring
the object of her visit. At last she spoke in a kind of gasp.
“Count, I have been making up my mind for some days--since I saw how
political events were tending, indeed--to seek this interview with
you, but I have found no opportunity hitherto. At last, fearing that I
should be too late, I asked her Majesty’s permission not to appear
this evening, pleading a headache, and thus succeeded in finding you
alone. May I ask if it is settled that you take office to-morrow, and
if you have any hope of retaining it?”
“It is a little unusual to communicate political details of this kind
to any one outside Cabinet circles,” said Cyril, “but to you,
Baroness, I cannot hesitate to speak freely. So far as anything human
can be said to be settled, it is settled that I enter upon office, and
(although this is not generally known) I have strong hopes of being
able to maintain my position.”
“Would it appear to you extremely strange, Count, if I entreated and
advised you very strongly to give up your intention, and to return to
England for good?”
“I fear I should regard it as inconceivably strange, Baroness.”
“Nevertheless, that is what I am here to do. Can you not imagine a
reason?”
“Really, Baroness, I am unable to do so.”
“Think. Is there nothing, no possible complication, in your
circumstances, or in those of the--Court, which might make it
undesirable for you to remain?”
“I fear I am very dense, Baroness, but I do not see anything of the
kind.”
“Then I must speak plainly. I know that you are a gentleman and a man
of honour, Count, and therefore I need not entreat you to keep what I
say a secret. I trust you as I would a son of my own.”
Cyril bowed, in much perplexity. “Is she going to tell me that her
daughter has fallen in love with me?” he thought. “That would be a
complication with a vengeance!”
“On the evening on which you left Tatarjé, Count,” the Baroness went
on, “you may remember that in view of your plan of escorting her
Majesty in disguise to a place of safety, I told you that I was afraid
of circumstances. Now I have reason to believe that my fears were
justified. Need I speak more plainly?”
“I begin to understand you, Baroness. You would imply that her Majesty
does me the honour to regard me with more than friendly feelings?”
“You are right, Count. I have observed a change in her Majesty’s way
of speaking of you since our return from Tatarjé, but that I ascribed
simply to natural gratitude. Her anxiety when you were wounded,
however, and the grief she displayed on learning of your serious
condition, have made it evident to me that--that her feelings towards
you have changed in the direction you indicate.”
“I can never sufficiently admire, Baroness, the delicacy and
discretion with which you are handling this most difficult topic. But
you must consider that you have revealed to me a most astonishing and
gratifying fact. What steps do you expect me to take in consequence of
this revelation, if I may venture to inquire?”
“Can you ask, Count? To a nobleman of your high character there is but
one course open--to sever immediately and for ever your connection
with the Court, and thus render it easy for her Majesty to forget this
temporary indiscretion.”
“I see; and you do not think that such a course might tend to bring
matters to a climax?”
“Count! her Majesty is a Princess of Weldart, and knows that _noblesse
oblige_. She could only be grateful to you for the delicacy of your
conduct.”
“And my feelings in the matter, Baroness----?”
“It is quite impossible that you can have any feelings in the matter,
Count. The crisis is one which demands a correct attitude, not fine
feelings.”
“Thank you, Baroness. It is unfortunate that you should have pointed
this out a little late in the day. Who knows but I might have been
able to assume a correct attitude if I had been warned in time! But as
it is--I know that you are a woman of honour, and will keep what I say
a secret. Are you prepared for a shock, Baroness? I do not want to
startle you too much. The Queen and I have been engaged ever since our
return from Tatarjé--nearly a year ago now.”
“_Lieber Himmel_!” was the shocked exclamation of the Baroness. “I
wish you had not told me,” she broke out, after a few moments of
horror-struck silence.
“Not at all,” said Cyril politely. “We shall be glad to think that you
are a sharer in our secret.”
“I do not doubt it, Count. But do you consider what is my duty in the
matter?”
“I know what I should consider your duty, my dear Baroness, but
whether you will see it at first in the same light is open to
question.”
“And what is your view of my duty, may I ask?”
“To go on as before, seeing and knowing nothing. Anything else could
do no good, and would only make the Queen miserable.”
“You appear to disregard the absolute necessity of my laying the
matter before her Majesty’s family, that they may exercise their
influence to bring about your removal from Thracia.”
“But why should I be removed from Thracia?”
“Because it is absolutely impossible for you to remain here.”
“How? If we have been engaged for nearly a year without so much as
rousing your suspicions, it seems to me quite possible that we should
go on in the same way.”
“When you have the presumption to aspire to the hand of her Majesty?”
“Precisely. Now, Baroness, listen to me. The Queen does not propose to
marry me until the King is of age, and the regency at an end--which
means a twelve years’ engagement. You will be at hand to watch over
the decorum of the whole thing--as you have been doing unconsciously
hitherto. Now isn’t it better to acquiesce in that quiet and peaceful
state of affairs than to hound me out of Thracia, and then discover
one fine day that the Queen had escaped to join me?”
“But you cannot marry her Majesty.”
“Pardon me, Baroness; we differ on that point. I mean to try.”
The Baroness sat nonplussed for a time. “After all,” she murmured,
“eleven years may bring about many changes.”
“Quite so. It is natural that our hopes with regard to any such
changes should differ, but we will not quarrel over that.”
“You are inducing me to betray my trust, Count.”
“I would not do such a thing for the world, Baroness. Only remind me,
and I will see that the Queen relieves you formally of your duties
before our marriage takes place. You shall not be forced to
countenance it in your official capacity. As a private friend of both
parties, of course----”
“I am overwhelmed,” said the Baroness, not in allusion to Cyril’s
considerate offer, as he opened the door for her. “I could never have
suspected this of you, Count.”
“Ah, Baroness, we live and learn--some of us. Others live and love.”
And he went back into the office to laugh quietly over the disdainful
pose of the Baroness’s head and the contemptuous swish of her skirts
as she swept away from him. He had no fear that she would betray him,
or even attempt to prejudice Ernestine against him. The whole affair
was a crime that admitted of no palliation--but the good lady had a
tender corner for him in her heart.
To his great relief, Cyril found that no further interviews were
demanded of him that night, for he was so tired that he made no
objection when Dr Danilovics arrived, in a towering rage, to conduct
him home. The doctor’s lectures on the proper treatment and correct
behaviour of invalids during the drive back to Cyril’s house might
have edified a whole medical school, but they were lost on their
present auditor, for Cyril was fast asleep in the corner of the
carriage when he reached his destination.
“Take charge of him,” said the doctor wrathfully, delivering the
invalid over to Paschics and Dietrich; “I wash my hands of him. What
can a self-respecting medical man do with a patient who acts like a
madman, and expects nature to cure him--especially when nature does
it?”
In spite of his own indiscreet behaviour, and thanks to the
unprofessional conduct of nature, Cyril slept well, and awoke
refreshed in the morning, to hear from Dietrich that the British
Minister had called to see him, and on being told that he was not up,
had said that he would come again in an hour.
“He means to have it out,” said Cyril to himself. “Well, one can’t say
that life has been dull during the last few days. It’s only a pity
that all this pleasurable excitement can’t manage to distribute itself
a little more.”
When he went down to his study, he found Sir Egerton waiting for
him--not sitting down, as would have been the case on ordinary
occasions, but standing wrathfully in the middle of the room, like
Nemesis armed with a riding-whip. As Cyril entered, the British
Minister stepped forward with a stiff bow.
“Good morning, Count Mortimer. Your sudden restoration to health is as
astonishing as it is gratifying. You may have observed that I was
surprised to see you yesterday. As a matter of fact, I had heard it
said that you would accompany your colleagues to the Palace, but I
imagined that the report had been spread by your servants in order to
put off as long as possible the discovery of your escape.”
“I am sure you can’t have been half as glad to see me again as I was
to see you. A friendly face----”
“Excuse my interrupting you. Five days ago, by representing yourself
to be in a state of abject terror almost amounting to madness, you
induced me to smuggle you out of the city, on the understanding that
you would not return to Thracia. Now I find you back again, and
apparently quite restored to health. I should be glad to know what all
this means.”
“Simply that three days’ rest and change gave tone to my nerves and
set me up again. You forget that I expressed my intention of returning
if that should prove to be the case, Stratford.”
“Sir Egerton Stratford to you in future, if you please.”
“I beg your Excellency’s pardon most humbly. Well, then, Sir Egerton
Stratford, may I ask to what you object in my return?”
“You were no more ill at that time than you are now. You had some
scheme in your head for capturing the government, and you made a
catspaw of me to enable you to carry it out. Instead of getting you
out of Thracia, I have in some way or other made you a present of the
Premiership. I don’t pretend to understand how you have worked it, but
it is quite clear that I played into your hands and ensured the
success of your plot.”
“Not at all. You are judging yourself too hardly. You did a kindness
to a poor beggar in a tight place. Well, don’t try to get behind that.
You may be sure that I shall keep your act of charity dark, and I
don’t think you’ll want to publish it abroad, though I fancy you had
some idea in your head of preventing me from returning to Thracia by
making known the manner of my leaving it, eh? If I had not been so
anxious to keep you from getting into trouble I should have taken you
into my confidence, so be grateful.”
“You know perfectly well that if you had told me your intentions I
should have refused entirely to take any part in furthering them.”
“Ah, well, perhaps that was one of my reasons for reticence. But you
shouldn’t go back on your good deed now it’s done.”
“I have not asked advice from you, Count Mortimer, and after what has
happened, I am scarcely likely to take it. You succeeded in getting my
help in a discreditable job by means of a dirty trick, which was
successful because I regarded you as a friend and an honourable man.
Now that you are proved not to be the one, it is impossible for you to
continue to be the other. I wish you a very good morning. In future,
if you should take the trouble to call at the Legation, Lady Stratford
will not be at home.”
“I knew Stratford would be fearfully wild when he realised that he had
been had,” reflected Cyril, as the British representative departed,
“but I didn’t expect he would put on frills quite to such an extent. I
suppose he can’t get over my having worked on his feelings. Well, the
best of friends must part. But it will be a bore not to be able to
drop in at the Legation in the evenings.”