A FALSE POSITION
Chancellor Rollmar had that night much food for cogitation and
scheming. That he had been shrewdly tricked was an idea which an
interview with his son did not dispel. Udo was sulky and inclined to
be defiant. He did not see why he might not be a sufficiently suitable
match for the Princess. The notion was attractive enough to the Baron’s
ambition, but his knowledge of the world and politics told him that it
was practically out of the question, and he said so.
“I do not see it, father,” Udo protested in an aggrieved tone. “You are
to all intents Duke here, since you are universally acknowledged as the
Duke’s master. Where, then, is the inequality?”
But the astute old Minister’s answer was ready. “You forget, my dear
Udo, that royalty and intellect are two vastly different things. They
are, and must ever be, unequal. They are as the owner and the captain
of a ship. The captain is in trusted command, yet not one inch of rope
or stitch of canvas belongs to him.”
“The captain’s son may aspire to the owner’s daughter,” Udo argued.
“Not on an equality,” his father rejoined; “moreover, and by the
articles of the ship of state, such contingencies are interdicted. No,
Udo, it is a magnificent idea and as manifestly impracticable. You will
do well to put it from your mind.”
“Even if the Princess herself be willing?”
The Baron had shrewd doubts of that. “It seems to me that this is more
an affair of the maid than the mistress.”
Udo flushed. His father’s suggestion found unpleasant corroboration
in the fact that it had indeed been Minna who had invited him that
afternoon to the chapel. The Baron took sagacious note of his silence.
He was, perhaps, notwithstanding, a little disappointed at the token
that he had hit the mark so nearly, for although its growth may be
stunted yet ambition is a plant that will spring up and force its way,
refusing to be choked and withered by the sturdier bushes of discretion
and sagacity with which time besets it.
“Have you any reason to think that the Princess is in love with you?”
he asked bluntly.
“Hardly that yet,” Udo was fain to answer, laughing a little awkwardly
under his father’s searching gaze.
“The Princess dislikes the idea of this projected marriage with Prince
Ludwig. She is likely to be rebellious. You must not let her in any
reckless spirit make a fool of you.”
The words carried more sting than the speaker intended. “It is you,”
Udo returned sneeringly, “who have set your heart on this marriage. I
cannot expect you, where affairs of state are involved, to care even
for your son’s happiness.”
“You cannot expect me to foster your foolish hopes,” old Rollmar
retorted.
“I have a rival provided and backed up by my father,” Udo declared
hotly.
The Baron gave a shrug. “You talk nonsense.”
But the young man was not in a state of mind to see the weak point of
his grievance. “It is unfortunate for you,” he continued viciously,
“that this husband you have provided does not come to your bidding. Is
it not time you produced him?”
The Baron smiled indulgently. Perhaps he could make allowances for a
son to whom he had transmitted the whole of his malignity and but a
modicum of his cleverness. “You will allow me to know best,” he said
quietly, “how to conduct the affairs of this duchy. Prince Ludwig will
be here soon enough, and were he not to come at all it would hardly
open the door to your pretensions. Did I think there was a chance of it
I should hardly overlook you in the matter.”
But the young man was still ruffled. “A chance! You seem to take care,
my good father, that I shall not have a chance, with your ill-timed
descent upon our meeting-place----”
“I looked to find any one but you, my dear Udo.”
“And yet you think you know everything.”
The Baron was content to reflect that there was not much that escaped
him, and this trifling ignorance was temporary. “I heard,” he said,
“that the Princess was in the habit of meeting a man in the chapel,
but the identity of the lover was, possibly from motives of delicacy,
withheld from me. It was my business to discover who was hidden in the
organ.”
“May I ask how you came to suspect my hiding-place?”
“I heard of your being shut up in the organ the previous night.”
“What?” Udo was surprised out of his sullen humour. “I shut up in the
organ? Never in my life till to-day.”
The suspicion in his father’s mind that he had been deluded became
a certainty. “So,” he exclaimed, without betraying the slightest
discomfiture, “then if you speak the truth, my dear Udo, we have both
been prettily tricked.”
Udo’s face grew darker. “How tricked?”
The Baron shrugged. “Our Princess has a lover, and you, my boy, are not
he.”
“Who is he?” Udo demanded with vicious eagerness.
“Ah, that is what I must know, shall know in a few hours,” his father
replied grimly. “He will not enjoy your immunity.”
“I hope not,” Udo observed amiably.
“I have a blood-hound on his track. You may trust me to run him to
earth. When a woman stoops to trickery she is more than a match for the
cleverest man; her strength lies in her weakness--and in his.”
Which saying was not exactly a soothing balm for Captain Udo’s smarting
vanity.
So the Chancellor had been outwitted for the nonce; he was, however,
far too diplomatic to let the Princess or Minna see that he was aware
of it, or to show the slightest spleen. On the contrary, he took an
opportunity when they met at a royal dinner-party that evening of
mildly bantering the Princess on her supposed predilection for his son.
“It is scarcely a fair game to play with my poor boy, Highness,” he
said half ruefully, “to lead him on to dream of the unattainable.”
“Was it my fault, Baron?” she returned. “And for that matter, is it not
yourself who insist on placing me above everybody’s reach--save one?”
“Do not blame the steward for keeping guard over his master’s
treasure,” Rollmar rejoined.
“Burying the talent, Baron.”
“Nay, keeping it for the man who can put it to the best use, not
allowing it to be frittered away and wasted.”
“And in the meantime we are beggars since our fortune is locked up and
unnegotiable. Really, Baron, your plan may be sound policy, but it has
its disadvantages. To go no farther, you have deprived me of a willing
organ-blower.”
“I shall be happy to replace him by a less aspiring one,” he returned
with a smile; “whose position will not warrant his exploring the
interior of the organ when the music is interrupted.”
She gave a petulant shrug. “I see poor Minna will have to resume her
work at the bellows. Perhaps it is best. I presume you have told
Captain Rollmar that his services are dispensed with?”
“I have told my son that wind is apt to fan a spark into a dangerous
flame.”
“You hear, Minna?” the Princess said to her friend who was near. “You
are not in future to call young men to your assistance when I play the
organ. The wind blown by a man is nothing but the breath of scandal,
and our dear Baron is going to have a lock put on the door lest the
works should be tampered with by our cavaliers taking sudden refuge
inside.”
Meanwhile Captain von Ompertz had received instructions to keep a
close watch on the chapel and the park, and especially to note all the
less conventional goings and comings of the Princess and her maid.
Notwithstanding this, however, Minna had, before the order had been
given, found an opportunity of warning Ludovic to keep away from the
palace. Had it not been for this it is likely that the Chancellor’s
desired prey might, after all, have fallen into his hands that
afternoon. As it was, Ludovic, though troubled and impatient, kept
safely away. The message, however, was not entirely one of despair, for
Minna had, on her own responsibility, added a few words to the effect
that should the Princess or she think proper to write, the missive
would be placed under the slab of a ruined sun-dial which stood in a
remote nook of the royal park. Nearer to the palace than that point
he was warned not to approach unless especially bidden. That, at any
rate, was something to feed his hopes upon, and he lived in happy
anticipation of what, perhaps, the next of his morning and evening
visits to the old sun-dial might have in store for him.
Von Ompertz did his best to deserve his patron’s confidence, although
this detective work was not exactly what he had been used to, or indeed
congenial to him. Still he was a soldier of fortune, literally and
figuratively, and ready to take any official work that came in his way.
The pay was good, the prospects, at least as he fancied, still better;
and, after all, he was serving the state, and to hire his services
and his fealty to one state or another was his vocation. Yes, he told
himself, he was lucky to have come so well out of a hanging matter, and
must not grumble if the work which had practically earned his release
was not quite such as he would have chosen. So he paraded the park,
keeping a wary eye on the chapel and the private entrances to the
palace, with his beloved sword, now happily restored to him, loose in
its scabbard, and when the first distasteful idea had been dulled he
found himself as eager to earn his pay by catching the Princess’s lover
as though he were but a bravo or secret agent, and not the man of such
honour as he had through a mettlesome career always striven to maintain.
His sentinel work did not, however, long remain unnoted by Countess
Minna’s sharp eyes. He was, of course, easily recognized as the man
whom Baron Rollmar had summoned to his aid in the chapel. Consequently
the reason of his patrol was not far to seek. Whenever Minna took a
stroll across the park she found herself followed by the swaggering
Captain, now gallant in his dress, his better case throwing up a
certain distinction in his appearance which his former rough, unkempt
attire had all but effaced. It was like the restoration of an old
picture; the traits of a certain nobility came out through the film
gathered by years of rough usage and neglect.
But the espionage was intolerable. Minna turned upon her follower and
demanded in high indignation what it meant. The Captain, taken by
surprise, was gallantly deferential and apologetic. He had no idea of
annoying the honoured Countess or of forcing himself upon her notice.
But strange men, presumably bad characters, had been seen loitering
about the royal precincts and it was his duty to keep watch and account
for them.
“It is, I presume,” Minna said resentfully, “no part of your duty to
follow me?”
Only as a protection and that at a most respectful distance, he assured
her. It was, he ventured to point out, the honoured Countess who had
accosted him, not he the noble Countess.
Minna was a pretty girl, and there was a certain wistful admiration in
the Captain’s eyes as he uttered the somewhat disingenuous explanation.
“When I require your escort, your protection,” she retorted, quite
unsoftened by his hyper-courteous manner, “I will ask for it.”
“When you require it, gracious Countess, it will probably be too late,”
he rejoined. “My orders are----”
“To force your services upon the ladies of the household who walk in
the park,” she exclaimed indignantly. “Perhaps when you understand that
they are uncalled-for and distasteful you will see the desirability
of a not too strict obedience to your precious orders; that is, if a
soldier can understand anything beyond the word of command.”
If the taunt stung him his low bow hid its effect. “The noble Countess
will pardon me, but the humble soldier who has been so unlucky as to
offend her has also some pretensions to nobility. The soldier’s trade
is killing; but I hope my profession has not killed the chivalry in the
last of a noble Austrian race.”
He spoke with a certain dignity and a marked softening of the bluff
manner which a rough life had given him. But Minna was in no mood to
be interested in one whom she looked upon merely as a creature of her
arch-enemy, the Chancellor.
“You can easily prove your pretension,” she returned coldly, “by
ceasing to molest me. I am quite able to take care of myself, and to
be followed about the park is hateful.”
Without waiting for further parley, she turned abruptly and walked off,
leaving him to gaze after her with a discomfited look on his face.
“A plaguey business this of mine,” he muttered. “I must either neglect
my duty or my manners. After all, Albrecht von Ompertz is a gentleman;
it goes against the grain to play the spy. And on a sweet pretty girl,
too, though, by the lightning, something of a spit-fire. Ah, there was
a time when a girl of her sort would not have spoken like that to me.
Pfui! Can I blame her if she took me for--what I am, what I have made
myself? Bah! Let me get on with it. Duty before everything; even at the
risk of offending a proud little pair of bright eyes.”
With something like a sigh he took up the burden of a false position
and strolled off watchfully in the direction Minna had gone.