LXXVII

He was instantly, tremendously sick, as an overeaten ogre might have

been in an Eastern story. When he had finished vomiting, he heaved

up his huge, shuddering bulk. She put her slight shoulder under the

groping hand, and guided him. With this slight aid he reached his

room. The couch stood drawn forward at an angle toward the

fireplace. He staggered to it, let himself drop upon it, and said,

in a groan:

"Drink!..."

He pointed to the night stand at his bedside. When she poured from

the jug that stood there into the glass and brought it to him, he

gulped the contents greedily.

"Barley water ... good for the throat!" he gasped, giving the glass

back. She filled it again, and again he emptied it.

His sweat-dabbled face was regaining a more natural color. She went

to the washstand, filled a small shaving basin with cold water from

the hand jug, and brought it with a fine clean towel to his side.

She dipped the towel in the water and laved his face and forehead.

That he experienced relief and refreshment from this she saw by the

placid air with which he submitted, leaning his head back against the

pillowed sofa end, and closing his eyes.

She dried his face, and suddenly the great eyes opened. The voice of

the Chancellor said:

"There.... That will do!"

From the passive victim he had suddenly reverted to the master;

potent--authoritative....

"Go to bed, Mademoiselle de Bayard, and sleep," he told her. "I am

comfortable ... I shall do well enough!"

She replaced the basin and towel in silence, bent her head to the

figure sitting upright on the sofa, and moved noiselessly to the

door. As she touched the broken handle, he said to her abruptly:

"You will be silent upon the subject of to-night's--misadventure?..."

She answered:

"I will be silent, Monseigneur!"

He said, lifting a finger to detain her yet another instant:

"Do not err in supposing me ungrateful. I know very well that you

have saved my life!"

A shudder passed through her slight figure. She averted her eyes,

remembering.... He finished:

"I lunch with the King at the Prefecture to-morrow. I will see you

before I leave the house."

"As you will, Monseigneur!"

He added with something like a twinkle:

"With regard to all that ... _débris_ upon the landing ... it will

not be the first time Niederstedt has been guilty in that way. Good

night, Mademoiselle--or, rather, good morning.... Hark! Was not

that the bell of the house door?"

"I--am not sure, Monseigneur!"' she said, in hesitation, for so

ragged and weakly a peal had been evolved by the ringer that the

sound might have passed unnoticed by ears less keen than his.

"They are all asleep or drunk belowstairs!" He began to raise

himself stiffly from the sofa. "I will go down...."

"No; I will go!" she said.

And she left the room. He let himself sink back on the sofa.

"_Grosser Gott!_" he said to himself. "How near a thing! ... And

that the little Fury should have stopped the brand from quenching....

Well, now, at this rate, I may live another thirty years. Not that I

should find much zest in a prolonged spell of power and authority.

The King-Emperor in the ordinary course must die before long. My

master in that event would be a good-natured booby, who in assuming

the supreme dignities of Imperial authority would value the stage

setting beyond anything else!"

He quoted with acerbity increased by recent suffering:

"'Pomp and solemnity' ... 'The ancient Crown of Charlemagne from

Vienna' ... 'I shall write to my wife to-night' ... Pray do!... And

while Your Royal Highness is about it you had better consult little

Prince William, who would probably give you as valuable advice."

His thoughts reverted to the fair-haired, puny-limbed eleven-year-old

urchin in kilt and plaid of Royal Stuart tartans.... "Now," said he,

"what sort of a future Emperor may be enclosed in that husk?... That

the boy has a crippled left arm, and a capital set of sharp teeth,

which he uses on the calves of his Military Governor and tutors, is

practically all I know of him.... Come in!"

He had been so lost in thought as to miss the sound of chains undone

and bolts drawn back, though he had shivered unconsciously as the

opening of the hall door had admitted a volume of fresh, piercing air

to the heated house. Now he reared himself upright upon the sofa,

stared for a moment at the figure that responded to his gruff "Come

in!" and burst into an irresistible laugh.

"Quite right, Mr. Breagh!" he said, in his clear and fluent English.

"I told you to come up to me at whatever hour you might get back.

But I forgot that you would naturally visit Madame de Bayard in the

costume proper to Jean Jacques Potier, to whom I suppose that

extraordinary overcoat and the wolfskin cap must have belonged.

Frankly, I did not recognize you.... The condition of your clothes,

and that bandage on your forehead are responsible, more than my lapse

of memory. You certainly look rather shaken. Let me hope you have

sustained no serious hurt?"

P. C. Breagh grinned mirthlessly, and looked ruefully down at his

snowy boots and trousers, from which the melting snow was beginning

to drip in little rills upon the carpeted floor. By the light of the

two gas lamps depending above the table, it could be seen that the

gory bandage surmounting his pale face had been applied by an

experienced hand. He needed no immediate surgical aid. But his blue

lips and drawn and pallid features betrayed him exhausted. The

Minister, noting this, pointed to a chair.

"Sit down," he said, "and rest before you speak! There is brandy in

that flask that stands upon the bureau.... But something hot would

be better for you--that is what you most need."

There was a sound upon the landing ... a faint tap upon the door

panel.

"See who it is!" said the Chancellor.

As Breagh rose, the door opened, wide enough to admit a little tray

bearing two steaming coffee cups.

"Capital!" said His Excellency, addressing the unseen cup-bearer.

"Now, that I call an excellent thought!"

He took a cup from the tray Breagh offered, bidding him:

"Sit down and drink the other. I should have got none except for

you!" When the steaming cup was empty, "Proceed," he said, ignoring

the gray daylight outlining the curtain poles and filtering between

the drawn curtains.

"At what hour did you get to Maisons Lafitte? For I presume you did

get there?"

P. C. Breagh said:

"I got there at about two o'clock.... I had an appointment at the

Cathedral, otherwise I should have started before."

"I hope she was pretty!" said the Minister, smiling.

P. C. Breagh went on, as though he had not heard:

"The snow was beginning to freeze. It was not such bad walking, but

that hill of St. Germain was a winder, and in the Forest I lost my

way.... If a party of men--peasants in sheepskin caps and

jackets--forest keepers possibly--had not turned out of an avenue and

kept marching ahead, I might never have got as far as the Seine

road...."

"The men were marching, and not walking," commented the Minister, and

his great brows scowled, and his bulldog jowl hardened as he added:

"And they carried guns, or you would not have taken them for

keepers.... I have no doubt that they were _Francs-tireurs_."

"I lost them where the road winds by the Seine," P. C. Breagh

continued. "And then I had a real stroke of luck. I came across a

hack cab from Versailles at a regular standstill. The snow had

balled in the wretched horse's feet, and the driver was as drunk as

David's sow. The fare was asleep inside, but he woke as I opened the

cab door and flashed one of the lamps in his face, and then he

said"--the narrator unconsciously gave the tone and accent of the

Doctor--"'By the piper that played before Moses, my boyo! I was

dreaming of you, and here you are.'"

The Minister broke in:

"That man was the English correspondent of _The Times_ newspaper. He

is of the same surname, though no relative of Odo Russell, the

English Envoy, who has been sent out here upon a Mission to our

German Court.... Ill-natured diplomatists whisper that Great Britain

is jealous of the great successes of Prussia, and does not welcome

the prospect of a United Imperial Germany. _Au fond_, we Germans

have a kind of sentimental regard for your nation. She is an

offshoot of the great Germanic stem--it is impossible that we should

not regard her as nearer to us than others.... Though, should we

ever seriously quarrel, it may be found that the bitterest variance

may exist between those of the same blood.... And so you have never

confided to your friend the secret of your presence in Versailles!

Reticence in the young is an unusual gift. Possibly he gave you a

lift in his vehicle?"

"----Till the unlucky Rosinante gave out," acquiesced Breagh, "and we

had to leave her with her Jehu at the wreck of the railway station,

and then the Doctor stopped at the diggings of the friends he was on

the way to look up, a half squadron of Barnekow's Hussars who are

quartered in a deserted chateau. They gave me some sandwiches and

beer, and then I went on by myself to the Villa Laon where Madame de

Bayard"--he stopped and added in a low voice--"used to live."

Something in the tone attracted the attention of the Chancellor. He

repeated:

"Used to.... Does she not, then, live there now? Has she gone with

M. de Straz--the pair of love birds together?..."

Said P. C. Breagh, seized with a shudder that knocked his knees

together, and speaking in a low voice:

"I--I beg of Your Excellency to spare her your irony.... Madame de

Bayard is dead!"

"So!..."

The Minister's ejaculation was followed by the order:

"Now the details!... Has she died naturally, or by accident--or by a

murderer's hand?"

P. C. Breagh said, lowering his voice apprehensively:

"She was killed by a shell. There was a bombardment from Mont

Valérien.... It broke out at about a quarter past two this

morning--just as I reached the Villa Laon...."

"Ah! now I understand how you got that love token on your forehead!"

said the Minister.

Breagh nodded, and wiped his wet forehead with a blood-stained

handkerchief, and shuddered and went on:

"Nobody had gone to bed when I got to the villa. The blinds of what

I could see was a dining-room were drawn up and the curtains all

drawn back. The room was brilliantly lighted, lots of mirrors and

crystal girandoles. It was like a scene on the stage, looking at it

from the snowy garden. Shin-deep in snow, because the paths had not

been cleared.... You could not tell where the paths were, in fact,

so I steered my course by the big shining window. Then I saw him,

moving before me----"

Queried His Excellency:

"By him, you mean whom?..."

"A man," said P. C. Breagh, "whom I saw moving along before me,

taking cover behind snowy bushes and clumps of frosted prairie grass.

When he stood up, I saw that he was short in figure and had immensely

broad shoulders. I was quite sure that I had seen the fellow before.

In fact----"

"In fact," the Minister sharply interrupted, "you recognized him as

the man who posed as M. Charles Tessier, and who can have been nobody

but M. Straz. Now tell me, whom was he watching? Madame and a

companion, I venture to guess?" He added, as P. C. Breagh assented:

"What was the man? A civilian or an officer?"

P. C. Breagh answered, repressing another shudder:

"A tall, fair officer of the Prussian Guard Infantry. He and Madame

were at supper, or they had just finished. He had opened a fresh

bottle of champagne and was leaning over to fill Madame's glass when

I noticed the short man standing still, watching them closely. He

seemed to have his right hand in his pocket. He drew it out and

then--I don't know very well what happened. There was the heavy boom

of a big gun, and a shell came shrieking like an express train.... I

remember how the spitting flare of the fuse lit up the sky. And

there was a terrific crash--and something hit me on the head--a bit

of masonry, it must have been--for when I came to myself other shells

were hurtling, and hitting, and bursting.... One smashed the stables

of the chateau where the Hussars are quartered, and another has dug a

crater, they tell me, in the side of the Terrace of St. Germain. The

flashes made everything show up clear like lightning, and I picked

myself up.... The blood was running down into my eyes, blinding me.

But I'm not likely to forget what I saw. It was ... so awfully

stagey ... so like a picture of the sensational, blood-curdling,

highly colored kind."

"Go on!"

"It was like this. The upper story of the Villa had been shaved

off--simply. There was the interior of the dining-room before me,

all color and mirrors and gilding and twinkling wax candles in

crystal girandoles. The French windows had been shattered, and there

was a great hole in the ceiling. On the mantelshelf, just in front

of me, between two Sèvres candlesticks, was a clock, the hands

pointing to half-past two. There were Sèvres figures on each side of

the clock--I have seen them here in the shop windows, '_Pierrot qui

rit_' and '_Pierrot qui pleure_.' The crying Pierrot had been

smashed by the shell splinter that shivered the mantel mirror, but

the laughing Pierrot was untouched. He seemed to be holding his

sides and screaming at Valverden sprawling across the table with his

skull shattered, and Madame de Bayard sitting stone-dead in her

chair. She had the cigarette in her fingers, still alight.... It

must have been painless.... There was only a small blue hole in her

temple--just here."

The Minister was repeating:

"Valverden!... Are you clear that you mean Count Max Valverden?...

But of course you are! There is no other officer of that name in the

Prussian Guard Infantry. How you came to be acquainted you shall

tell me to-morrow." He laughed harshly, looking at the clock upon

the mantel. "I should say to-day, at a somewhat later hour." He

added, as Breagh rose: "Have you told anything of this matter to

Mademoiselle de Bayard? Then, I advise you, do not enlighten her at

all. Or, if you must do so, tell her after you are married!"

He drove the sentence home with another that left the listener

gasping:

"For of course you will marry, you are capitally suited to one

another. The mother exists no longer and M. Straz if he escaped,

which is most likely, will not be able to interfere. Let me

recommend you to get some rest. You will require it. For at twelve

you leave Versailles with Mademoiselle de Bayard en route for

England. Now go!..."