THE CASTLE OF SAGAN.
The broadly flowing Kofn forms part of the north-eastern boundary of the
State of Maäsau. Its dark waters rush tumultuously from the gorge below
the Castle of Sagan, and fling a vast enclosing arm about the bleak
plains and marshes of which the wastes of the frontier consist.
It is a land where even summer dwells coldly.
To the north a chain of hills rises black against the sky, and there,
set upon a boldly jutting spur, the Castle of Sagan dominates the
inhospitable landscape like a frown upon a sinister face.
The whole spur and the hill behind it are rough with ragged pine-woods,
and, below, the banks shelve to the river with a broken scattering of
deciduous trees, that leave on the eye the chill impression of leafless
branches tangled against a background of grey and stony slopes.
Some two or three miles south of the Castle the river breaks across a
step-like outcrop of rock, and thus forms that famous ford, across which
the Counts of Sagan used in the old days to lead their foraging
expeditions over the border.
Simon of Sagan, the present Count, inherited in an unmodified degree
the more predatory and uncivilized instincts of his forefathers.
Illiterate, brutal, and cunning, the thin veneer laid by the nineteenth
century upon his coarse-grained nature was apt to rub off on the very
slightest friction, bringing the original savage to the surface.
He was at once the terror and the pride of the stolid, silent peasantry
that lived under his rule. A fierce and fearless sportsman, his
dependents delighted in boasting of the prowess of a master whose
capricious cruelties they never dreamed of resenting. With Sagan,
throughout life, to desire was to have, and in his pursuit of the
wished-for object, he was hampered by no new-fangled sentiments of
honour, truth, or loyalty. Like other savages he quickly tired of his
fancies when once gratified. Not four years ago he had been possessed by
a frantic passion for the beautiful young wife whom he had now come to
regard with something dangerously near hate.
In dealing with such a temperament as this both Elmur and Selpdorf were
well aware that they were handling an explosive that might at any moment
wreck their most carefully laid plans. They would very much have
preferred to have made a tool of the reigning Duke, but Selpdorf, who
had been plying him for more than a month with a ceaseless and
exhaustive course of innuendo, discouragement, and veiled temptation,
was at length convinced, by the Duke's reply on the day of the review,
that nothing further was to be hoped for in that direction.
For this reason the German party was obliged to fall back on Count
Sagan. That he was untrammelled by principle, and was, moreover,
prepared to meet them half-way, rendered their schemes no whit safer.
The only hope of security lay in clinching the matter as quickly as it
was possible to do so. Once the German grasp had been fairly laid upon
the State, the nominal sovereign might struggle as he liked, he could
hurt no one but himself.
M. Selpdorf's chief contribution towards the new plot--which was to be
carried out at the Count's own fortress, the Castle of Sagan--consisted
in sending an urgent letter after his daughter, begging her to fall in
with von Elmur's wishes.
Valerie received the letter in Madame de Sagan's apartments. The
Countess lay on a couch, reading a French novel and yawning.
'What a devoted papa!' she exclaimed, glancing up.
Valerie did not immediately reply. She was standing at the deep embayed
window that looked out towards the river and the apparently endless
desolation beyond. She only moved very slightly, thereby turning her
back even more completely upon her companion. The girl had not lived so
long in an atmosphere of diplomacy without learning the wisdom of
keeping her own counsel.
She had for some time been aware of Baron von Elmur's admiration, but
only of late had he seemed anxious to make his aspirations manifest to
the public--a much more significant fact. For the German was in one way
a universal admirer, he made qualified love to most of the good-looking
ladies about the Court, and also, perhaps, more pointedly, to some who
were not so good-looking, thus gaining much profit and some pleasure.
His high-shouldered, portly, personable figure, his handsome face with
its close-set narrow eyes, rose before Valerie's mental eye. Her future
husband? How absurd, how impossible! And she suddenly laughed a soft,
throaty ripple of laughter.
Isolde moved noiselessly, and coming behind Valerie, caught her by the
shoulders and swung her half round.
'What are you laughing at?' she asked over the girl's shoulder.
Valerie moved away gently from under the slender hands.
'Can you imagine yourself in love with Baron von Elmur?' she asked.
'Were you laughing at that?' inquired the other incredulously.
'Yes,' with another little laugh.
'Ah! the devoted papa has been writing of Baron von Elmur?' said the
Countess, with an arch smile.
'But, I can understand being in love with von Elmur! He is--difficult.
Men no longer in their first youth are much the more interesting. The
love of a young man is simple, he says what he means; but when he grows
older it is not so. By that time he has gathered memories,
enlightenment, experiences; and he begins by thinking he knows one
through and through. And why?--because he knows other women--and them
how imperfectly! As if we were not as various as the colours in the old
Sagan diadem! Each woman is made differently, and each reflects her own
colour. To teach a man--old enough to appreciate it--this little fact
about ourselves is, I assure you, never a dull amusement.'
Valerie paused before she spoke.
'Now I know why you are married, Isolde!'
'Ah, yes; but I was too young to realize that Sagan is a bear who cannot
be taught to dance. I had just left school. I could not choose. But you,
Valerie, you have a future before you! Poor Anthony, like all other
young men, is desperately in earnest, he gives one the blues. I know he
already bores you; but von Elmur----Ah, that is altogether another
affair!'
Madame de Sagan sank down beside a little buhl-table, and tapped on it
impatiently with her slight fingers. Against the light of the afternoon
glow she watched the outline of Valerie's cheek. For Mdlle. Selpdorf had
returned to her contemplation of the landscape. A curl of blue smoke
from among the trees on the nearer bank of the Kofn held her gaze and
suggested thoughts, which she was taking up one by one, as it were, and
examining soberly enough.
Rallywood had been stationed at Kofn Ford when first Isolde made his
acquaintance. The girl recalled a description she had heard of the tall
young Englishman galloping along the flat road to the rescue of the
pretty, terrified Countess, whose Arab had been merely cantering along,
capering now and again from sheer light-heartedness and without
malicious intent, until its timid rider chose to scream, when it reared
and started with flying hoofs towards the marshes. Valerie went on to
picture Rallywood holding the trembling woman on her saddle till her
escort and grooms overtook them, and at the picture the girl's lip
curled and quivered with angry scorn--of a sudden she hated and despised
them both, but especially she despised Rallywood for having succumbed to
Isolde's shallow beauty! Thus it will be seen that Mdlle. Selpdorf was
inclined to under-rate Madame de Sagan's points. Isolde was not only
wonderfully pretty, but she was endowed with a superficial cleverness,
and kindliness and tact, all of which rendered her irresistible to nine
men out of ten. A moral chameleon, Isolde almost always believed in
herself and her own moods, therefore it was little wonder that the men
whose phases of humour she reflected believed in her also, and moreover
thought her as adorable and as full of delicious changes as Cleopatra.
Isolde had told the story of her adventure to Valerie, dwelling on the
facts that the hero detested--absolutely detested--all other women, also
that in physique he followed the most approved English pattern, and was
an exceptionally good specimen at that. Altogether Valerie had found the
description sufficiently attractive to induce her to pay Rallywood that
coquettish little visit in the ante-room of the Hôtel du Chancelier.
While these things passed through her thoughts her eyes were still fixed
upon the blue plume of smoke that rose and melted over Kofn Ford, for
its position indicated the whereabouts of the block-house used by the
Frontier Patrol, and there Rallywood had lived during the early part of
his acquaintance with Isolde.
'What are you thinking of?' inquired Madame de Sagan suddenly; then, as
Valerie made no immediate answer, she added, 'Shall I tell you,
Valerie?'
The other turned, with the pink of sunset lighting up her pale face.
'I don't imagine you can guess,' she said, with a faint smile.
Madame de Sagan's little trill of laughter was not quite so childish and
irresponsible as usual.
'But I can. You were thinking of Rallywood. You think rather often of
Rallywood, my dear girl.'
The guess, so near the truth, startled Valerie, although she gave no
sign. What could have suggested such an idea to Isolde? Instantly
Valerie was on the defensive. Her delicate nostrils quivered slightly,
and her hand--a larger and more capable hand than Isolde's--closed more
firmly upon her father's letter, as she replied, with that firm
directness which was so surprising a trait in her father's daughter:--
'Yes, I was thinking of him--and you. The block-house where he lived is
down there, I can see the smoke. That reminded me of it all. By the way,
Isolde, it seems that some young men have a shade of interest about
them.'
'This one is rather unlike all the others,' returned Madame de Sagan,
with gravity. 'He saved my life, and, well, he is different to anybody
else. He assumes nothing.'
It is a fact worthy of consideration that while a man rarely establishes
a claim on a woman by rendering her a service, a woman always
establishes a claim on a man by being rendered a service. Perhaps this
is as it should be.
'No,' repeated Valerie, thoughtfully, 'he certainly assumes--nothing.'
'What do you mean by that, Valerie?' exclaimed Isolde irritably. 'You
are in one of your incomprehensible moods to-day. What do you think of
Rallywood?'
'I hardly know what to think yet. Very likely I shall never come to any
conclusion about him. He is not my affair, and what can be more
uninteresting than a man who has saved some other woman's life?' She
laughed. 'You have recommended von Elmur to my notice--I shall certainly
spend my time to more profit in studying him.'
A servant entered.
'His Excellency Baron von Elmur wishes to wait upon your ladyship.'
Elmur advanced bowing. After greeting his hostess, he turned to Valerie
with a manner that was new in their intercourse. He dropped from the
courtier to the man pure and simple.
Kissing the girl's hand he said earnestly:
'I feared you were not to arrive until to-morrow.'
Madame de Sagan, who had raised her eyebrows and made a little grimace
at Valerie behind the Minister's back, here interposed:
'I persuaded her to travel here with me. I hope, Baron, you feel how
greatly I have befriended you!'
'You will find me grateful, Madame. In the meantime, I have been sent to
warn you that his Highness has already arrived at the foot of the hill,
and to beg you to descend to the great hall, where the Count is waiting
to receive him.'
'Come, Valerie,' said the Countess, with a little catch in her breath,
and an added fleck of colour in her soft cheeks.
The great hall was half-filled with servants and retainers, ranged
according to the fashion, which has obtained at Sagan during the memory
of man, for the ceremonious reception of the reigning Duke. Half a dozen
huntsmen held in leash as many couples of huge boarhounds at one side of
the hall; on the other, servants, carrying gold trays of refreshments,
stood in line. Above these, again, clustered the numerous guests who had
already arrived.
As the Countess, looking very young and fair and slender, walked down
the centre, Sagan, who had been draining a goblet of wine, thrust the
cup back upon the tray, and catching his wife's hand roughly, said, with
an audible oath:
'You're late.'
She shrank back, suppressing a cry, from his angry grasp; but few had
time to notice the incident, for the outer door clanged back upon its
hinges to admit the Duke, who, shivering in his furs, entered upon the
arm of Colendorp.
Sagan advanced to meet him, but the Duke, glancing round the hall with a
shudder, cut his formal greetings short.
'Sagan wears a more gloomy and cut-throat air than ever, Cousin,' he
said, irritably.
Sagan's response was covered by the entrance of the suite, the whole
party being brought up by Rallywood and a couple of troopers of the
Guard. Then Sagan, with a scowling face, offered the Duke the customary
cup of wine, and, comparative silence being restored, the ducal answer
came peevishly to all ears:
'No, my good Simon, your wine is like yourself, rather too strong and a
trifle rough for my taste. Let Briot be called. I have brought my own
drinking.'
So saying, he waved the attendants aside, and, approaching Isolde, he
raised her as she curtsied deeply.
'There is one point, Madame, in which I can never hope to rival my
cousin of Sagan. My wine may be more palatable; but I could never find a
wife more beautiful or--more wise than his!' he said, with malicious
gallantry.
Then bending forward he kissed the Countess with empressment on both
cheeks. She trembled under the caress, though she was hardly aware of
it, for her eyes were on her husband, whose daily increasing dislike of
herself she could not understand, and was only newly beginning to dread.
Valerie, standing immediately behind the Countess, overheard and
resented the details of the scene. It was unbearable to see Isolde
helplessly baited by Sagan and the Duke--each man gratifying the spleen
of the moment at the expense of a woman, who was obliged to submit to
their discourtesy. Of all the guests Mdlle. Selpdorf alone stood erect,
forgetting, in her indignation, to join in the general obeisance. The
Grand Duke, looking up, found her flushed and flashing, and
superlatively handsome. His flabby cheeks twitched, and his bleared eyes
brightened.
'Mademoiselle Selpdorf, since you will not salute me, I can at least
claim the right as your Duke to salute you,' he said, stepping towards
her.
Instantly Valerie sank into an exaggerated curtsy, thus adroitly
avoiding the Duke's outstretched hand and ready lips. His feeble legs
failed, he stumbled forward and pitched into the arms of Elmur, who set
him upright with a gentle skilfulness that almost cheated the eyes of
the spectators.
The Duke, slightly shaken, and exceedingly annoyed, turned upon the
girl:
'Mademoiselle grows proud!'
'Forgive me, sire; I did not dream that you would stoop so low!'
rejoined the girl, with apparent humility.
'If you will not accept the salute of your Duke, Mademoiselle, may I ask
to what you aspire?' he added contemptuously.
Valerie was not of a meek spirit, and she saw a way in which she might
revenge Isolde, little comprehending the far-reaching consequences of
her thoughtless words.
'I aspire to be maid of honour to the Grand Duchess of Maäsau!' she
answered, with a glance towards the Countess.
The Duke glared around him into the circle of half-curious,
half-terrified faces, for this was a piercing home-thrust, his eye dwelt
for a moment on Sagan, towering tall and rugged and strong as one of his
own native rocks, and he recognised that his cousin, although ten years
his senior as age is counted, was infinitely younger in his unimpaired
energies and rude health. Also, Duke Gustave of Maäsau was
superstitious, and it struck him as an ill omen that the representative
of Selpdorf should have failed him at the critical moment, and thus
flung him headlong into the arms of Germany!
Out of all these crowding thoughts arose not only vivid fear, but a
resolution, of which none at that time believed him to be capable. He
grew white about the mouth, his protruding lip twitched ominously.
'It is not always lucky for even so young and beautiful a woman as you
are to count on dead men's shoes,' he said, in a low, penetrating voice.
A happy inspiration came to Madame de Sagan. She took Valerie's hand in
hers, and addressed the Duke with a quivering smile that somehow vouched
for her earnestness at the moment.
'You mistake Valerie, sire; she and I both desire the same honour--to
attend your Highness's Consort, if it would please you to take one.'
'It might please me, Madame; but I doubt it would please your husband
little,' retorted the Duke.
'I hoped your Highness knew me better!' protested Sagan sulkily.
'I do, my good Simon, I know you much better!' said the Duke laughing.
'Now, pray lead me to my apartments. The journey to Sagan fatigues in
this weather--and, after all, it would look better if I died at home--in
the palace at Révonde.'
At a glance from Elmur, Sagan motioned his wife forward.
'I will lead you to your apartments, sire,' she said, offering the Duke
her slender hand. 'I am sure that the air of Sagan is as loyal as
ourselves, and will do for you all that we should wish it to do.'
For answer the Duke shook his head feebly; and, calling Colendorp to his
side, passed up the long hall through a rustling silence.