They arrived on the following afternoon, the Emperor and his American
guests, his relatives, his primate, two or three members of his
household, and his ministers. It was raining when they left the
train at the little mountain-station, and there was no driveway, no
alternative but to walk down the steep and winding paths and stairs,
sheltered by the umbrellas the lackeys held over them. As the long file
under the umbrellas emerged from the arbor into the garden, the Emperor
picking his way daintily on his diminutive toes, and the Archbishop
holding up his gown with both hands, while the gorgeous flunkies
streamed with rain, the sight was not as imperial as it should have
been, and two girls in an upper window giggled irreverently. Being
uncertain of their status, they left Maria Leopoldina to receive in
solitary state, and did not appear until dinner; but when this solemn
hour arrived, Ranata, in an evening-gown of pale-green velvet and all
her pearls, entered the audience-chamber where the party was assembled,
greeted her father and the guests as she had done many times before,
and led the Archbishop down to dinner. With Fessenden it was not
possible to exchange more than a flash.
It was a dreary function. The Emperor did not utter a word, although
he was graciously pleased to intimate that his guests might talk if
they could. Mr. Abbott ate his restricted meal with an expression
of grim honor, and felt himself exempt from verbal expression. The
Emperor, perhaps with a corresponding sense of irony, had asked him
to occupy the state bedroom, lodging himself in the little camp-bed
with its tentlike curtains, beloved of the sailor in Maximilian. The
archdukes and ministers mumbled at each other; Fessenden and Ranata
were many feet apart. Even Alexandra was depressed, and stared at the
ugly old masters on the walls, longing for the solace of Zrinyi. Maria
Leopoldina was still in a state of bewilderment and horror, which made
her fearful of attempting speech lest she gibber. At times the ticking
of the clock in the ceiling above the table could be distinctly heard.
After dinner the Emperor and three of his friends retired hastily to
the study for a game of whist, the others scattered, and Ranata and
Fessenden found a few moments alone in Carlotta’s boudoir in the tower.
For a time there was no conversation; then Fessenden placed his hands
on her shoulders and held her from him, his eyes narrowing to a fiery
point.
“Do you realize that I have won?” he said--“that you and I are changing
the face of the world?”
“Yes--Alexandra has told me everything. I think you more wonderful than
ever--but--is it for the best? Changes should come in the slow course
of events.”
“No change occurs that the world is not ready for. The world has never
been readier for the extermination of Russia, particularly now that she
has become a menace to the United States. And the sooner Europe is a
republic the better.”
“I believe you care more for this part of your accomplishment than for
me.”
His eyes relaxed and the fires spread.
“No,” he said; “I do not. And we are all mere tools, my dear.”
“If I were still superstitious,” she said a while later, “I should
feel very uncomfortable. I am sure this is a subtle revenge of my
father’s--not only to marry me in this castle, but to force me to
embark from the very spot on which Maximilian said good-bye to Europe
forever. Your yacht is where the ship stood which took him to Mexico.
Not that my father wishes me any such terrible fate, but he believes me
to be superstitious, and that I shall be punished by my imagination,
if not by my conscience. But it is too late for that! And Maximilian
failed because he was Maximilian. I believe you could not fail if you
tried.”