DANGER SIGNALS.
A week later Rallywood returned from the frontier to take up his
appointment in the Guard. Advised by a note from Wallenloup that his
quarters were not yet in readiness for him at the Palace, he drove
direct to the Continental on his arrival in Révonde.
Here presently Counsellor dropped in upon him. Rallywood was in his
dressing-room, transforming himself as rapidly as possible into the
likeness of an English gamekeeper; for a magnificent festivity in the
shape of a masked ball was about to take place at the Palace. All the
world had been invited, and as many of the world as could go were going,
each with his or her own dream or purpose, as the case might be.
Major Counsellor sat and surveyed his friend, occasionally offering
suggestions and remarks.
'Are you aware that the Guard of Maäsau never condescends to show itself
in Révonde in any costume but its own blazing uniform? I see you have
your edition of it lying on the chair over there. Why are you not
conforming with their amiable peculiarities?'
Rallywood had his back to Counsellor at the moment.
'So I have heard, but I do not join until to-morrow,' he replied in an
expressionless voice.
'And your quarters in the Palace? How about them?'
'I shall also have the rooms to-morrow.' Then he wheeled round and his
eyes lit on his companion. 'Hullo! I didn't notice you before. Is that
your notion of the gentle art of masquerade? What are you meant to be--a
sort of Tommy Atkins?'
'I believed myself to be disguised as an officer and a gentleman,'
returned Counsellor, rising to give Rallywood the full effect of his
sturdy figure, clad in the uncompromising scarlet so dear to his
country's heart. 'This is the uniform of the 30th Dragoons as worn in or
about the year of grace 1730.'
'Your old regiment?'
Counsellor nodded. 'And my grandfather's,' adding, 'What's the matter
with the dress?'
'Nothing,' said Rallywood, laughing. 'Perhaps I imagined on an occasion
of this kind you might possibly stoop to something more misleading than
this blatantly British get-up.'
'What were you expecting--a troubadour? I am satisfied to appear in my
own character. Only a proportion of the people wear masks at this ball;
it's an annual affair. Besides, life with a purpose is too wearing; one
must always be on the alert and have the purpose in view, like the actor
in a sixpenny theatre, who plays up to the gallery and keeps his eye
open for the rotten egg of his enemy. The egg may not be thrown, but he
must be ready to dodge it all the same. And--I have never excelled in
dodging.'
'Ah--just what the Chancellor thinks. He says he has an immense
admiration for you as the most honest diplomatist in Europe.'
'He put himself to the trouble of mentioning that fact to you, did he?
Then I shall take the precaution of insuring my life. Anything might
happen to a man of whom he has so villainous an opinion.'
Rallywood was arranging his gaiters.
'Why? You don't suppose Selpdorf is going to throw the egg? He spoke of
you with absolute affection.'
'My good John, he has already thrown it! Now I must harass myself to
find out the reason,' said Counsellor. 'You have spoilt my evening out.
Before I had no purpose; now you have thrust one upon me. You should
have kept your news until to-morrow.'
Rallywood was getting himself into his velveteen coat with a good deal
of unnecessary violence.
'I don't believe the Chancellor is so dangerous,' he said carelessly.
'He is a consummate actor, but one knows it.'
'Yes,' assented the Major thoughtfully; 'yet the moment to watch him is
the moment when he acts that he is acting. With the others of us acting
is troublesome; with him it is habitual and a pleasure. However, he has
given you your company; the rank is substantial, as far as it goes, and
at least the accompanying pay is not altogether visionary.'
'Yes, he's done all that.' Rallywood was flinging some of his belongings
back into his portmanteau.
'The next thing will be to find you a mission.'
'He has done that also.' Rallywood raised an expressive face. 'I am to
reform the Guard!'
Counsellor burst into a great laugh, but as suddenly grew grave.
'They will take it kindly! Their welcome to you is likely to be ...
interesting!'
'So I expected. But I went down to the mess last week and was introduced
by old Wallenloup. They were very civil.'
'Ah! and since you left they have been very silent. They are overdoing
it--too civil and too silent. Looks bad, you know.'
'Oh, that's all right; Selpdorf told me not to be drawn into any shallow
quarrels,' Rallywood answered with a smile.
But the Major did not take up the smile. The two vertical lines above
his fleshy nose deepened.
'It strikes me, my boy, that you've got the devil by the tail this
time,' he said gruffly, as his eyes rested for a moment on Rallywood;
'but you know how to take care of yourself. Ready? We can drive to the
Palace together. I have a carriage waiting.'
The couple proceeded downstairs, bought cigarettes of the waiter, and
started. The wind was howling in its usual twanging cadences down the
broad streets, increasing in force as they gained the open, lighted
embankment of the river, along which they passed for some distance
before reaching the courtyard of the Palace.
The great entrance hall was still full of arrivals, while up the wide
central staircase trooped masks and dominos in a changing kaleidoscope
of form and colour. Eager heads thrust this way and that, picturesque
figures grouping and greeting, cavaliers of all periods, maidens of all
nations, monks, barbarians, cardinals, queens, and clowns--sometimes the
wisest heads under the most foolish caps--while here and there a few
favoured paper-folk made desultory notes and sketches.
The painted ceiling stretching overhead is one of the triumphs of
Renaissance art. The identity of the master hand who achieved that
marvellous work has been a mooted point in art circles for a couple of
centuries or thereabouts, and quite a library on the subject exists. The
Maäsauns are very proud of their ceiling, prouder still of the
controversy which has raged and still continues to rage around it.
M. Selpdorf, as representing his master, stood at the head of the
staircase, and received the guests with a good deal more politeness and
discrimination than the Duke himself might have shown, for that
personage was said to have an awkward habit of turning his back upon
those whom he happened to dislike.
Major Counsellor was greeted with effusion; Rallywood with raised
eyebrows and a slight reserve.
'I had hoped to welcome the new captain of the Guard this evening,'
Selpdorf said in a low voice and with a significant glance at
Rallywood's velveteens.
'I have not yet joined, your Excellency. To-morrow I hope to have that
honour,' returned Rallywood and passed on into the gallery beyond. This
gallery, opening from the head of the staircase, ran round the great
saloon, which served the purpose of a ballroom, and many of the guests
were amusing themselves by looking down over the silk-hung balustrade on
the dancers below.
In the gallery Counsellor paused to say a word here and there to several
persons, who, like Rallywood and himself, were without masks, but he
seemed to have curiously little facility in penetrating disguises.
Presently a burly old man in the glittering green and gold of the Guard
disengaged himself from the curtains at the back of the gallery, and
nodding a supercilious acknowledgment of Rallywood's salute, brought his
hand down with a rough heartiness on Counsellor's shoulder.
'Back again in Maäsau, Major Counsellor. I'm glad to see you!' he said
with the laugh in his small eyes marred by a wrinkle of suspicious
cunning, an expression which seemed startling on what was at first
sight a big, bluff, sensual face. 'What good wind has blown you back
among us?'
'Thanks, my lord;' Counsellor turned with ready response. 'I am glad to
find that some of my old friends, especially Count Sagan, have not
forgotten me,' he said simply.
'We believed you had forgotten Maäsau.'
'Maäsau will not allow herself to be forgotten!' laughed Counsellor.
'She is a coquette, and demands consideration from all the world.'
Sagan's face changed.
'Yes, a coquette, who trifles with many admirers but who knows how to
hold her own against them,' he replied significantly. 'Who is that?' he
added, staring after Rallywood. 'I think I recognise him as an English
lieutenant in the Frontier Cavalry.'
'He is the same to-day,' said Counsellor.
'What?' exclaimed Sagan. 'Why to-day? Has he, then, come in for one of
your colossal fortunes?'
'Who can say?' returned Counsellor. 'A fortune or--a colossal
misfortune. Ah! there is Madame Aspard. Au revoir, Count.
Counsellor passed on, perfectly well aware of the heavy meaning attached
to the wilful ignoring of Rallywood's appointment to the Guard by its
colonel-in-chief. There was certainly danger ahead.