yet plausible excuse for Stovik's absence. The Countess Muhlen-Sarkey
was placidly sleeping in the corner. Trusia was sitting with
palm-propped chin, gazing straight out of the window. This kept the full
view of her face away from such of the party as might chance to enter
the car. Carter saw enough, however, to convince him that she had been
weeping. One forgotten tear hung tremulously on her lashes as though too
reluctant to part with her grief. A fierce resentment seized him. He
turned to leave the car, determined to drag back the graceless King by
the neck if necessary.
"Don't go," she pleaded as though comprehending his intentions. Unable
to refuse her request he sat down beside her.
"Duchess," he began in the alternative of explanation; "His Majesty----"
"Has chosen to ride in another car," she interrupted, loyally unwilling
that even he should criticise the King of Krovitch. "It is his right. I,
a subject, would not attempt to pass in judgment upon the acts of my
sovereign." There was a sad weakening of voice as she completed her
defense, which convinced Carter that she had seen the whole disgusting
performance.
"Forgive me," he said very gently.
"I saw," she admitted in distress. A woman, urged by pride, she had at
first refused his sympathy. Finding pride insufficient for her solace,
she now, womanlike, sought what she had refused. The entrance of Josef,
at this juncture, however, and the resumption of the journey, deprived
Carter of what had been the most propitious moment he had yet had to
bind her heart indissolubly to his own.
How much the King had disclosed, how much the woman had discovered,
Carter was unable to find out, as Stovik maintained a sulky silence in
the face of all inquiries.
XIX
IT WAS JUDSON'S FAULT
Calvert Carter had a very democratic conversation with His Majesty of
Krovitch. They were standing on the platform of the station at Vienna
waiting with ill-concealed impatience for the train which was to carry
them into Krovitch. Needless to say, their talk turned upon the King's
recent misbehavior. It contained a sketchy outline of what the American
considered would happen did the monarch again put such an affront upon
Her Grace.
"You threaten, Major Carter?" asked Stovik with the insolence
inseparable from a recent exaltation from humble life.
"No, Your Majesty," replied Carter, no whit annoyed by the other's
ill-temper; "I never threaten. I promise." That was all that was said.
Neither Eugene Delmotte in his proper person nor the future ruler of
Krovitch was able, however, to withstand the cool, hard glitter in the
American's eyes.
They boarded the waiting train as they came to this understanding. King
Stovik's conduct for this new journey was exemplary. Nor were there
other pretty coquettes available. He even exerted himself sufficiently
to take an interest in the general conversation, at which Trusia's face
brightened with appreciation.
Houses, fields, woods, mountains and sky fled by as the train sped on.
At last the Vistula was crossed. Trusia's face grew radiant as the
landmarks of her country began to appear on every hand. With grumbling
wheels the cars drew nearer Schallberg.
"See, away off there to the northeast. There, that tiny speck against
the sky," she cried rapturously as one returning home from a long
sojourn abroad. "That is my castle. Do you see it, Your Majesty?" she
asked, as she turned appealingly to him. "Schallberg, your capital, lies
this side of it. The city is in a valley on the far side of this
mountain we are now climbing." The whole party were peering out of the
windows on the rapidly changing landscape, eagerly awaiting the first
view of the place of their hopes.
The train, sobbing out its protests against the steep ascent, soon
brought them into a region of puzzling circumstances. Flashing past
rural crossroads, they could see large groups of excited peasants
talking, gesticulating and laughing, as they one and all were pointing
in the direction of the capital. To their greater bewilderment, videttes
in jaunty black and gold could be seen, as if courting publicity,
patroling the public highways.
"What can it mean?" asked Trusia, whose heart beat wildly with a surmise
she dare not voice.
The crest of the mountain was reached. The city lay spread before them.
Over the Government buildings floated the Lion of Krovitch. The
standard, waving gently in the breeze, seemed beckoning them to
approach.
"The city is ours," burst simultaneously from their lips. The train in
one headlong descent drew up at the station at Schallberg.
Looking out they could see a multitude of eager, expectant faces turned
trainward. All Schallberg and most of the surrounding country had
congregated to welcome their sovereign.
In the front rank Carter espied his former friends, while last but not
least a jubilant Carrick awaited his alighting. A guard was drawn up
about the platform on which stood the little group of officers.
Urged to the front, King Stovik was the first to step into view of the
throng. Recognizing him, the officers drew their swords and raised them
high above their heads.
"Long live King Stovik!" they cried.
For the life of a sigh there was a silence while the multitude realized
that this man was their King. Then a pandemonium of cheers shattered
the air. A roar of two centuries of repressed loyalty greeted him. He
would indeed have been of meagre soul not to have been touched by such
devotion. Handkerchiefs, hats, and flags were waved by his people--his
people--at sight of him. What could be the limited fame of an artist
compared to the devotion of an entire people for their sovereign? He
stood erect, proudly lifting his hat to the full height of his arm in
dignified response. There came a mightier cheer.
"Long live Stovik Fourth!"
"God save the King of Krovitch!"
"A Lion for the Bear!"
Filled with the moment's majesty, Stovik stepped down to greet his
officers.
Next came Trusia. The crowd caught sight of her happy, inspired face.
She was recognized by all; they knew and worshiped her. A wilder cry, a
mightier joy, made up of mingled cheers and tears, went up at sight of
her. Her bosom heaved, her lips trembled. At the thought of her
country's salvation her glorious eyes grew soft and moist. Lovingly,
almost maternally, she held out her arms to her beloved countrymen.
Somewhere in the crowd a woman's voice was heard to cry: "Saint Trusia;
angel!" Ten thousand voices took up the acclaim. She shook her head
reprovingly as she, too, joined the group about His Majesty. After
Carter and the others stepped upon the platform, the former looked about
him for his whilom chauffeur. Carrick, with some difficulty, pushed his
way through the crowd and was soon at his master's side.
"'Ave a pleasant trip, sir?" he asked, his mobile countenance abeam with
joy at the meeting. The aide cast a significant glance at the crowd,
then at the Krovitch standard, before replying.
"Fairly, Carrick," he said. "I notice that you and our friends have been
busy hereabouts in our absence," he added, hinting at an enlightenment.
The Cockney's face grew red with embarrassment as he answered lightly,
"Yes, we 'ave sort of kept our hands in, sir. It's a long story," he
appended, appreciating that his master must have some natural curiosity
regarding the premature change in plans which had resulted in the
capture of the city before the coming of the King. The American smiled,
he felt sure that the fellow had had a greater part in the proceedings
than he would like to confess in public. Something on Carrick's sleeves
seemed to confirm this supposition.
"All right," he answered, "I guess it will keep until we have reached
our quarters. By the way how did you get the chevrons of a
sergeant-major? That's the highest rank a non com. can aspire to."
Carrick grinned. "That's part of the story, sir," he retorted.
Zulka, having made his devoirs to the sovereign, now approached his
friend.
"Surprised, Cal?" he queried.
"I surely am, Zulka. How----" Carter began when he was interrupted by
the Count who laid a friendly hand upon his shoulder.
"Things are moving," said the Krovitzer with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm
busy, ask Carrick." He chuckled as if it were a huge joke.
"I feel as if I had missed something big," the American replied with the
generous regret of one who would have thoroughly enjoyed his own share
of the labor.
"Thank Carrick for that. Here comes Sutphen. He'll be Marshal for this,"
he said as the grizzled commanding officer approached. All three
saluted.
"Congratulations, Colonel," said Carter as the elder man acknowledged
their formal courtesies.
"Sorry I can't congratulate you, Major," the veteran replied with a dry
chuckle; "the truth is that you have lost a valuable asset by the
victory." Calvert was properly mystified.
"So?" he questioned; "I haven't missed anything yet."
"A good attendant," the other explained, pointing to the Cockney. "Our
army will never let him go, now. They'd sooner give him my place.
Nothing but continued obstinacy on his part hinders him from wearing
shoulder straps."
"Carrick seems in high favor about here," Carter remarked as a more
pronounced hint for enlightenment. Sutphen grunted.
"Let him tell you, then," he said. "Excuse me. Her Grace is looking this
way." He straightway departed to escape explanations and Zulka followed
him.
While these greetings were being exchanged, the populace were not idle.
With enthusiastic vigor they had removed the horses from the equipages
meant for the royal party, and now, through a spokesman, begged
permission to draw the carriages themselves as a token of their devoted
allegiance. Stovik gaily agreed when their request was explained to him.
"Come with me, Sergeant," Calvert requested. Elated at the opportunity,
the Cockney leaped into the landau beside him. Pulled, pushed and
surrounded by a cheering, happy pack, the entire suite was whirled along
toward Trusia's castle. When well under way, the New Yorker turned to
the man beside him. He seemed to beg Carrick for an explanation of the
day's mystery.
"Well," he ejaculated, in the assurance that the Cockney always
comprehended his monosyllabic meanings. Carrick reddened sheepishly
under the other's gaze.
"You remember Judson? Sergeant Judson, of old E Troop?" he inquired, not
knowing how to commence his narrative.
"Yes," Carter replied, "what of him?"
"It's his fault," Carrick answered, pointing at the densely packed mass
of Krovitzers about them.
"What are you driving at?"
"It's this wye, sir," said his whilom chauffeur, taking grace of words.
"You know we struck this plyce yesterday. Feelin' out o' plyce among
them furrin-speakin' Krovitzers I hiked down to the Russian guard
mount."
"You mean that you understood Russian better than the native language?"
"Not that, sir, but I knew I would feel more at 'ome there than I would
with the big bugs. When I got there the band was a plyin' over at the
side o' the square, the flags was aflyin', and blyme me if something
didn't stick in my throat, thinkin' of old times, sir." His eyes grew
soft at the recollections evoked. "When it came time for 'Sergeants
front and centre' I got to thinkin' how old Sarge Judson used to stalk
up as proud as Colonel Wood himself. I 'ad to rub my bloomin' eyes, for
large as life, there was Doc Judson with all them whiskered chaps."
"Surely, Carrick," interrupted the astonished Carter, "you must be
mistaken. You don't mean Sergeant Judson of the First Volunteer
Cavalry?"
"The syme, sir. When they countermarched back to barracks I saw 'im
again. That was fine, sir," said the fellow enthusiastically. "Quite
like old times, sir. Right 'and grippin' the piece; left 'and swingin'
free. Swingin' along, swingin', swingin', swingin' to the music o' the
band. When a fellow who is out of it has been in the service, 'e feels
bloomin' soft when 'e sees the fours sweep by 'im. I wanted to cheer and
swing me bloomin' cap just to keep from blubberin'. Then, right guide of
his four, come Judson. Six paces awye he saw me. He turned white, then
red, but like the good soldier 'e was, 'e never let it spoil 'is
cadence. 'E tipped me the wink and passed by. I waited. Presently 'e
came back. 'Are you with the gang at the castle?' 'e arsked. I said I
was. 'Cut it, Bull, and run,' 'e said. They used to call me John Bull,
you know. Then 'e added slow as if 'e was not sure 'e 'ad the right to
tell--'I'm on to their game. To-morrow mornin' I'm goin' to squeal on
'em to the commandant. That'll give you plenty o' time for you to get
awye. For old times' syke, Bull,' 'e said as 'e gripped my 'and."
Then Carrick went on to narrate how Judson had told him that a fellow
named Johann, who had broken jail, had just that morning drifted into
the guardhouse where the sergeant had the relief. He had promised Judson
if given twenty-four hours' start he would disclose a big game of
treason. Judson promised, and the fellow,--none other than the
pent-browed peasant,--had related all he knew of the Krovitzers' plans.
Carrick confessed to some trepidation when he had heard that so much was
known outside their own party. But he had stood his guns manfully and
refused to fly. He gave as his reason his loyalty to Calvert Carter.
When Judson learned that his old captain was walking straight into the
impending peril he was greatly surprised, but promised to take care of
him or forfeit his life. Carrick by way of reply had innocently inquired
who was sergeant of relief that night.
"'E was wise, though," said Carrick with a laugh. "'E looked at me
suspiciously. 'I am,' 'e said with a jerk; 'why?'
"'Better 'ave ball cartridges,' I says, 'I'm goin' to give you a
surprise. That's a fair warnin' for a fair warnin', Doc,' I said. 'E
showed 'e was worried. 'E begged me not to do it, sayin' that they'd
'ave ball cartridges an' reinforcements a-plenty to-morrow, which is
to-day, sir. I knew by that that they were shy at that time, sir. I
found out that their strength was only 'arf a battalion. We sprung our
surprise last night, sir, overpowered the sentries and took the bloomin'
town."
"It will surely be traced to Judson, Carrick. You know what that means
for him. I hope the poor fellow made his escape before they had the
chance of standing him up against the wall. Did you see him again?"
Carrick's mobile face took on an unaccustomed gravity.
"Once," he answered with some effort. "Don't worry, sir, the Russians
won't bother _him_. You see," he hurried on with obvious haste, "we
sneaked on each sentry until we came to Number One Post. It was near the
gates--connected by phone and electric light wires with the barracks."
"How did you manage?"
"Cut the bloomin' wires."
"Didn't the guard rush out?"
"They did, sir. Couldn't find their pieces in the dark. They rushed
right into the arms of the two companies Colonel Sutphen had there
waiting for them. Only one, a sergeant, 'ad grit enough to fight. 'E
picked me out, sir. Rushed me with 'is sword and gave me all I could
do," said Carrick giving gallant tribute to a valiant foe. The Cockney
became silent.
"Well?" inquired Carter after a prolonged season of expectancy.
"The old trick you taught me in E Troop did for 'im, sir. As 'e fell, 'e
said, 'Bull, you are a damned rascal,' and laughed as if the joke was on
'im. 'I'm done for, Bull,' 'e went on, 'but I'd rather die this wye in a
fair fight with a friend, than blindfold against the wall for a traitor.
Take care o' Cap Carter, 'e said. Then 'e croaked."
"Judson," cried Carter regretfully at the death of a brave man.
"Judson, of old E Troop," replied Carrick solemnly. "We sounded taps
over 'im this mornin', sir."
XX
A SOUND AT MIDNIGHT
Two days later a royal banquet followed by a cotillion celebrated the
coming of the King. The monarch was in the white uniform of a Field
Marshal, above which his handsome face rose in striking contrast. His
collar, heavy with gold embroidery, seemed held in place by the Star of
the Lion. At his right hand sat Trusia, resplendent and warmly human,
while flanking him on the left was the grizzled Sutphen. Carter's place
as an aide was far down the side of the table. Only by leaning forward,
and glancing past those intervening, could he get a glimpse of the
marvelous woman, who, young as she was, had made this event a
possibility.
Sallies, laughter, repartee came floating down to him. A momentary pang
of envy shot through him that the royal party, which to him meant
Trusia, should be in such high feather. Owing to his remoteness it was
impossible for him to participate in their mirth, so he resigned himself
to the duty of entertaining the daughter of an elderly nobleman who was
under his escort.
"And you," he said, "you, too, are delighted with the dashing King.
Confess."
"I am afraid," she laughed back, "that all girls, even in America, dream
what their ideal king should be."
"Your sex's ideal man?" he inquired quizzically.
"Oh, no, monsieur," she replied with grave, wide eyes. "Our ideal man is
only a prince."
"Then your ideal king must be something more than a man," he said in
soberer mood as she unfolded to him the working of a maiden mind, which
is always awe-inspiring.
"Yes," she responded, "something less than a god."
"And the maidens of Krovitch, what have they dreamed?"
She glanced up to see if his expression matched the apparent gravity of
his words. Reassured by the entire absence of banter in his face, she
answered him sincerely. She was too guileless to analyze his possible
mental attitude save by these superficial indications. "A demigod like
our ancient sovereign, Stovik First," she responded reverently.
"So you have deified His Majesty already?"
"God save His Majesty from ill," she answered, "but I think he is very
human--and handsome." She blushed uneasily. A merry peal of laughter
from the group about the King drew their attention. Leaning her elbow on
the cloth, the girl turned her head to learn the cause of the hilarity.
Carter, thankful for the opportunity, employed the pause in studying
Trusia. The Duchess's eyes were sparkling like some lustrous jet. The
deep flush of the jacqueminot burned in her cheeks as she smilingly
regarded Natalie, the heroine of the jest. Was all this scintillation a
mask, he wondered, or had the coming of the King--the remembrance of her
vow--driven the recollection of that momentary surrender in Paris from
her heart? He sighed. The girl next him turned in apology.
"Forgive me, monsieur, for forgetting you. But Her Grace--is she not
beautiful? When she makes us girls forget, is it any wonder the youths
of Krovitch are oblivious of our poor existence?"
"She has had many suitors, then?" Carter to save him could not refrain
from the question.
"A legion," she answered; "but all have withdrawn nobly in favor of the
King. Even Paul Zulka and Major Sobieska. They are transferring to him
their lives and their swords to please her."
A slight commotion at the head of the table again caused them to turn
their heads in that direction. The King was rising.
"He is going to announce his betrothal," suggested the girl at Carter's
side. Carter's face grew grim and white. But such was not the royal
intent. Being assured that all present understood French, King Stovik in
a short speech thanked the people of Krovitch for their devotion to his
House. He promised that, if destiny placed him on their throne, he would
treat his power as a trust for them.
"For this day at least we give ourselves over to the joy of meeting you.
To-morrow comes the fearful care of kings. You have labored faithfully,
to-night be merry," he said in conclusion. He lifted a bubbling glass
from the table. "Our battle cry, my lords, is 'God and Krovitch.'"
There was an hysteric outburst. Men and women leaped to their feet to
drain the toast. When the King regained his seat the cheers subsided.
Slowly, impressively Trusia arose at his side, the light of inspiration
radiating from her glorious self like the warm light that comes from the
sun.
"There can be only one other toast after that, my people," she said.
"God save the King." Like a real prayer, solemn and soul-felt, arose a
responsive, "God save the King." Then deliberately, that the glasses
might never be profaned with a less loyal toast, the guests snapped the
fragile stems between their fingers and cast the dainty bowls to the
floor in tinkling fragments.
At a signal from Stovik the banquet was over. He arose, and, taking
Trusia by the hand, escorted her to the great hall to lead the cotillion
with him. The royal pair having departed, the guests arose and, in the
order of their precedence, filed into the ballroom in the train of their
King.
The first figure, patriotically named the "Flag of Krovitch," was danced
by Stovik, Trusia and seven other couples all nearly related to royalty,
each person waving a small silken flag bearing the Lion of their race.
Carter, from the throng, with hungry eyes saw but one wondrous form,
supported on the arm of royalty, glide through the graceful maze. A lull
came in the music and Stovik, bowing the Duchess to her seat, turned
with evident relish to a coquettish brunette who had assured him that
they were first cousins.
Having fulfilled the demands of Court etiquette in yielding first place
to her sovereign, Trusia was now free to indulge any other preference
for partners for the ensuing figures. The American glanced covetously
toward the place where Sobieska and Zulka stood, expectantly awaiting
her invitation. With a mild negation of her head she passed them, moving
to where Carter was engaged talking to the Countess Muhlen-Sarkey.
Seeing her approach, his heart beat with a foolish hope and his remarks
to his matronly auditor, took on a perplexing shade of incoherence.
Evidently Trusia shyly expected him to accept the courtesy; as through a
myriad phantoms, where only she was real, he threaded his way to her
side.
"You are the stranger within our gates," she explained as in rhythmic
unison they drifted into the cadence of the waltz.
"Have I awakened," he inquired, "or is this part of the dream I had in
the Boulevard S. Michel?"
"It must have been a dream, monsieur," she said with sad finality. "It
is folly to encumber one's life with useless dreams."
"Your Grace wishes it?" he asked in halting syllables wrenched from a
heavy heart.
"For your own happiness, now," she answered with a meaning nod toward
the King.
"But," he pleaded, "it was such a beautiful dream."
"Dreams are--sometimes. Then we awake." He felt the slight tremor
against his arm as she spoke.
"I wish," he sighed impotently, "that you were an American girl."
She smiled mechanically to hide the sadness welling in her breast.
"Wishes," she murmured resignedly, "are too near akin to dreams for me
to indulge them. Besides I have a country to hope for. Why should I join
you in such a wish?"
"Have you, then, realized your wishes in His Majesty?" It was a brutal
thing to say; he saw it when too late to recall the words which had
passed his lips.
She shrank as if struck. Her eyes spoke the volumes of her appeal. They
read in his a hopeless prayer for forgiveness, and graciously, gently,
she pressed his arm under her hand as a sweet upward glance assured him
of absolution. Like the sigh in his own soul, sweet and low, the music
died out. The figure was finished.
Pleading fatigue, Carter sought the quarters assigned him in the castle.
His senses were awhirl, his spirits high in the chimera that Trusia
cared for him. Had he been compelled to remain in attendance he felt
certain that he would have bruited his glad tidings abroad. Between the
throbs of hope, however, with growing insistence threaded the stinging
pulses of despair and pity; despair that destiny would never give her to
him as wife, pity that she should sacrifice her own sweet self to a man
who had no real affection for her. Hers was a nature, he well knew,
requiring the full measure of tenderness to bloom in its fullest beauty.
Believing her beyond his reach he felt a sudden overpowering sense of
utter loneliness. Fully clad as he was, he flung himself upon his bed,
but his arm, his breast, still tingled with the contact from the dance.
Sleep held aloof from him. Darkness was no refuge from her tempting
face, for, visible to his soul, it stood between him and the gloom.
From the distant hall, augmenting his restlessness, came occasional
snatches of music mingled with the hum of voices. The hours passed on
while he tossed nervously on his bed. Then the music stopped. Laughter
and farewells floated up to him. In a few minutes all was silence save
for the footfalls of the sentries on their posts.