I.

Some queer things had taken place in this same hall--some very queer

things; but there were indications that this present affair was going to

be queerer yet.

The old duke always had been a worthy descendant of his ancestors; like

them, a little mad, with flashes of genius, very fine, very brutal, a

murderer at heart, with a love for poetry and philosophic speculation.

The guests were already in a smiling tremor of curiosity when they

arrived. Some of them whispered among themselves:

"It's on account of the Princess Gabrielle."

"They say the duke is furious."

"Not astonishing. But--a marriage! How can there be a marriage?"

Yet it looked as if a marriage there would be. Manifestly, the hall had

been prepared for some such event.

It was a chamber long, lofty and broad, walled and floored with the

native Burgundy rock, richly carpeted, hung with tapestry. And down a

portion of the length of this ran a wide table already spread with the

viands of a wedding-feast--huge cold pasties, hams and boarheads

beautifully jellied, fresh and candied fruits from Spain and Sicily,

flagons and goblets of crystal, silver, and gold.

What aroused curiosity and conjecture to the highest point, however, was

the discovery that the immense fireplace of the hall had been

transformed into a forge. It was a forge complete--bellows and hearth,

anvil and tub, hammers and tongs. There was even a smutty-faced imp

there to tend the forge fire, which already hissed and glowed as he

worked the bellows.

"Aha! So there _was_ a smith mixed up in the affair, after all!"

"_Mais oui!_ Gaspard, the smith, whose forge is down there on the banks

of the Rhone."

"But what does the duke intend to do?"

It was a question which more than one was asking. There was never any

forecasting what a whim of the duke might lead him to do even in

ordinary circumstances--declare war on France, call a new Crusade. And

now, with this menace of scandal in his family!

There in front of the fireplace where the forge had been set up, the

valets had placed the ducal chair. All the same, the arrangements had

something sinister about them. There fell a period of silence touched

with panic. But not for long. Curiosity was too acute and powerful to be

long suppressed. The whispering resumed:

"The duke surprised them together--the princess and her smith."

"It looks like the torture for one or both."

"They say the fellow's an Apollo, a Hercules."

"You wait until the duke--"

"Silence! He comes."

One of the large doors toward the farther end of the hall was thrown

open, and through this there came a surge of music--hautboys, viols, and

flutes. Two guardsmen came in, helmeted, swords drawn, and took up their

stations at either side of the door.

There entered the duke.

He looked the philosopher, perhaps, if not the student--tall, bent,

bony; a brush of white hair bristling over the top of his high and

narrow head; a fleshless face, sardonic and humorous. The guests were

pleased to see that his mood was amiable. He came forward smiling, waved

his musicians into retreat; and half a dozen valets were assisting him

into his chair as he greeted his guests. They all bent the knee to him.

Some kissed his hand--and some he kissed, especially those who were fair

and of the opposite sex.

If Princess Gabrielle had shown herself fragile in the matter of her

affections, well, she had come by her failing honestly.

Seated in his chair, the duke delivered himself of a little pun which

convulsed his audience--something about "court and courtship": "_Je

fais--la cour._"

And with no other preliminary he spoke to a page:

"Summon _mademoiselle_."

Then to another:

"Fetch in the smith."

There was a bitter smile on his face as he sank back into his chair and

studied the forge set up in the fireplace. The imp went white under his

smudge and worked the bellows until the fire on the hearth was spouting

like a miniature Vesuvius.

The wait was brief.

Once more the musicians struck into the royal march of Burgundy, and

there was the Princess Gabrielle.

Every one who looked at her must have experienced some thrill of the

heart--envy, desire, pure admiration. It was impossible to look at her

without some emotion; for she was eighteen, slender, white and

passionate; with dusky, copper-colored hair hanging in two heavy curls

forward over her brilliantly tender shoulders; and she had a broad, red

mouth, and slightly dilated nostrils; dark eyes, liquid and heavily

fringed, with disquieting shadows under them.

She came forward with a number of maidens in her train, but she so

dominated them that she appeared to be alone. She took her time. She was

a trifle rebellious, perhaps. But she was brave, not to say bold. She

tossed her head slightly. She smiled. She and her maidens, familiar with

the duke's intentions, grouped themselves at one side of the improvised

forge. Every one present was still looking at her when there came a

rough command:

"Stand aside!"

A good many of the guests were not in the habit of hearing orders except

from the duke himself; but the command came again:

"Stand aside! Let me pass--me and my people!"

At that there was a rapid shifting of the crowd and a whispered cry:

"The smith! It's Gaspard the smith!"

And he attracted even more attention than the princess had done; for,

manifestly, here was not only a man who could play the game of love, but

could play the game of life and death as well--to shout out like this,

and come striding like this into the presence of his ruler.

But he looked the part.

He was all of six feet tall, blond and supple and beautifully fleshed.

He was wearing his blacksmith's outfit of doeskin and leather, but he

was scoured and shaven to the pink. His great arms were bare; and the

exquisitely sculptured muscles of these slipped and played under a skin

as white as a woman's.

He stood there with his shoulders back, his arms folded, feet apart.

But, curiously, there was no insolence in the posture. Insolence is a

quality of the little heart, the little soul, and shows itself in the

eyes. Gaspard the smith had gentle blue eyes, large, dark, fearless, and

with a certain brooding pride in them. There may have been even a hint

of virgin bashfulness in them as well, during that moment he glanced at

the Princess Gabrielle. Then he had looked at the duke, and all his

courage had come back to him, perhaps also a suggestion of challenge.

But neither had the smith come into the ducal presence alone.

There were two old people--a man and a woman, peasants, both of them

very poor, very humble, so frightened that they could breathe only with

their mouths open; and so soon as they were inside the circle of guests,

they had dropped to their knees. The other member of the smith's party

would have done the same had he permitted. This was a girl of twenty or

so, likewise a peasant, healthy, painfully abashed, but otherwise not

notable. To her the smith had given a nudge and a word of encouragement,

so that now she stood close to him and back of him.

"Our friends," said the duke, with studied nonchalance, "we are about to

present to you the initial operation of scientific experiment. Like all

scientific research, this also should be judged solely by its possible

contribution to the advancement of human happiness. Ourself, we feel

that this contribution will be great. God knows it is concerned with a

problem that is both elusive and poignant."

All this was rather above Gaspard's head. He turned to the imp at the

bellows.

"Stop blowing that fire so hard," he whispered. "You're wasting

charcoal."

The duke smiled grimly.

"The problem," he continued, "is this: Can any man and woman, however

devoted, continue to love each other if they are too closely held

together?"

There was a slight movement among some of the younger gentlemen and

ladies present--a few knowing smiles.

"There have always been those who answered _No_; there have always been

those who answered _Yes_," the duke went on. "Which were right?" No

answer. "My granddaughter here, while having her horse shod some weeks

ago, became enamored of this worthy subject of mine." He nodded toward

the smith. "She would have him. She would have no one else. We knew how

hopeless would be any attempt to impose our will--in an affair of the

heart." He smiled gallantly. "We are familiar with the breed."

"Long live the House of Burgundy," cried the chivalrous young Vicomte de

Macon. But the duke silenced him with a look.

"And now," said the duke, "we wish to test this so great passion of

hers--test it under conditions that while apparently extraordinary are

none the less classical and scientific. Our experiment is this--"

For the first time since he began to speak the duke now leaned forward,

and both his face and his voice took on that quality which made his name

a source of trembling from Spain to Denmark.

"Our experiment is this:

"_To have the princess and her smith, whom she is so sure she loves,

handcuffed and linked together by a ten-foot chain._"