VERSIONS DIFFER.
“Birnsdorf!” said the Princess.
There was no answer. Truth to tell, poor Countess Birnsdorf was dozing
in an uncomfortable high-backed chair in the great drawing-room, where
she had remained during Cyril’s interview with her mistress, after
delivering a softened version of the latter’s message to Princess
Soudaroff. Her knitting and her spectacles were left behind in the
anteroom beyond the boudoir, where Captain Roburoff was improving the
shining hour in a way that would have made her hair stand on end had
she known of it, and the low murmur of voices from the intervening
room had lulled her to sleep. The imperious tone in which the Princess
repeated her summons reached her ears, however, and she made her
appearance, full of apologies, at the inner door. The Princess was
sitting at the table, her head supported pensively upon her hand.
“If Count Mortimer should present himself here again, Birnsdorf,
remember that I will not receive him,” she said.
“No, madame?” hazarded the Countess, consumed with curiosity. It was
evident that the crisis which every member of the household had been
anticipating, although the Princess had apparently been blind to its
approach, had come; but how, and with what result?
“He would scarcely venture to show himself,” pursued the Princess,
meditatively, “but one can never tell. And exciting scenes of the kind
are too much for me. Positively, I cannot stand them. I am too
tender-hearted.”
“Indeed, madame, it has made you look frightfully ill.” Countess
Birnsdorf was horrified by the strained paleness of her mistress’s
face. “You will permit me to summon a physician? No?” Then, her
indignation increasing as the Princess shook her head with the smile
of a martyr, “I could never have believed that Count Mortimer would
forget himself so far as to persist in a conversation disagreeable to
your Highness, even if he had the bad taste to enter upon it.”
“Ah, when these self-restrained men have once lost control of
themselves, there is no holding them. Did you see the poor man go out,
Birnsdorf?”
“No, madame. I am certain he did not pass through the drawing-room.”
“Oh no, of course. I allowed him to escape by the private stair. One
does not wish to subject to public humiliation a man who is already
unhappy, even though it is by his own fault.”
“Ah, madame, in presence of your angelic kindness, I do not wonder
that the unhappy nobleman forgot himself.”
“Nonsense, Birnsdorf! You are a sad flatterer,” with pathetic
sweetness. “Where is Lida?”
“I believe her Highness is walking in the gardens with Mlle.
Delacroix, madame,” replied the Countess, with a perceptible sniff.
The elderly Frenchwoman who had been Princess Lida’s governess, and
was now her chosen confidant, played the part of Mordecai to Countess
Birnsdorf’s Haman.
“Beg her to come to me when she returns to the house. I have something
important to say to her.” The lady-in-waiting departed, and the
Princess, finding herself alone, threw aside the mask for a moment.
Her right hand clenched itself involuntarily, the left was pressed
upon her heart as she rose and paced the room.
“Yes,” she said to herself, “I will be prudent. I cannot afford to
fail again. Lida must be safely married, or I shall lose my only
chance of returning to power. I must have some standing-ground from
which to move my world--a recognised position in some country or
other. But as soon as I am sure of my footing--then, Count, look to
yourself! You shall not return to Ernestine. You may scorn me if you
like, but she shall not have you. I will track you step by step when
you try to slink back to her, and, when you think you have won her, I
will come between you. I can tell her a few little truths that will
place you in a new light, my dear Count!”
She laughed mirthlessly, and returned with a swift step to her seat at
the table as she heard her daughter crossing the anteroom. There was a
pretty mixture of triumph and girlish timidity in Princess Lida’s
manner as she came into the room, and her shining eyes and
rose-flushed cheeks were eloquent of shy happiness. At any other time
her mother’s eagle glance would have perceived the change immediately,
but now the Princess was too much engrossed with her own thoughts to
observe it.
“Ah, Lida!” she said. “I wanted to tell you that I think it advisable
to hasten on your wedding a little. It will be a year next month since
your father died, and there is no reason why you should not be married
the month after.”
“Oh, mamma!” faltered Princess Lida, in dire dismay. “Michael is such
a boy,” she explained, recovering herself.
“He will be nineteen then. Many kings have been younger when they
married.”
“But he is so--so disagreeable. You know, when I have complained to
you of his behaviour, you have always said he would undergo a change
and become quite different before we were married; but he hasn’t done
anything of the kind yet. Lately he has been worse than ever.”
“Well, you will have the pleasure of superintending his reformation
yourself. You are not the girl I think you if you can’t make him treat
you with proper respect.”
“Oh, I am not afraid of that.” Princess Lida raised her dark head
proudly. “But, mamma, I don’t see any reason for being in such a
hurry. I don’t care to be married just yet.”
“My dear child, you talk as if you had only to hold up your finger and
Michael would come whenever you chose to claim him. But that is not
the case. He would be little Philippa’s bridegroom now if she would
have taken him.”
“I only wish she had!”
“Lida, this is childish. Michael can give you a crown, and you don’t
find crowns hanging on every bush. The eligible princes of Europe are
not contending for the light of your _beaux yeux_, my dear--far from
it. You must take what you can get, or you will end by getting
nothing.”
“It’s very hard,” pouted Princess Lida, “that the only person I can
get should be so horrid. Bettine had no trouble of this kind. Look how
devoted Albrecht is to her.”
“I know he is, my dear child; but that can’t be helped. Bettine’s
marriage was arranged for her just as yours was, and we could not tell
how differently Michael and Albrecht would turn out. Of course
circumstances were more favourable at the time of her wedding. Your
father’s death, and your brother’s unkind behaviour in depriving us of
a home, place us in a difficult position at present, and Michael does
not show the consideration he might. But for your comfort, Lida, I
will say this. Michael is one of the most pliable men I know, if you
take him the right way. Once get rid of his present companions, and
make yourself necessary to him, and he will be your devoted slave as
long as you take care not to pull the chain too tight.”
“I should like to snap it at once. I don’t want to marry him. Mamma,
you married for love, didn’t you?”
“My dear Lida!” The Princess was shocked. “Who has been talking to you
of such things? You have picked up a wrong idea, of course. What
really happened was only that when my father chose to turn against the
lover whom he had himself recommended to me, I did not.”
“I knew that was it! And you married him?”
“I did; but then, you see, we had been allowed to fall in love with
one another. I have taken care that there should be no complication of
the sort in your case.”
“But Bettine and Albrecht love one another.”
“My dear child, pray don’t cavil. I mean, of course, that I have taken
care you should have no chance of falling in love with any one but the
man you are to marry.”
“But he doesn’t love me.”
“You are becoming a little tiresome, Lida. There were unfortunate
circumstances which obliged me to hasten on your betrothal before
Michael had perceived the nature of his feeling for you, and unhappily
he resents being bound, as he considers it. But I have already said
that you will be able to set things right as soon as you are married,
if you go the right way to work.”
“But, mamma, you say you were right in disobeying your father because
it was for your lover’s sake. If I had a lover, mamma----?” She came
forward a little with clasped hands, and her eyes rested entreatingly
on her mother’s face. The Princess laughed coldly.
“Don’t imagine impossibilities, my dear child. You have no
lover--could not have one without my knowledge, and I have no
intention of allowing you such a luxury. You will marry Michael two
months hence, and I shall write to him to-day to make arrangements.
The letter will take some time, for I must be careful how I put
things. That equerry of his had better wait until to-morrow before
returning, Czartoriski and he must amuse one another.”
“We were thinking of a ride this afternoon,” suggested Princess Lida
meekly. Her mother nodded assent.
“That will do very well. By the bye, Lida, if you should come across
Count Mortimer, you need not speak to him. Bow, of course, but nothing
more.”
“Yes, mamma. Has he done anything?” Princess Lida’s eyes were dancing.
“Count Mortimer has thought fit to lose sight of the difference
between his position and mine, and address me in a very strange way.
That is all.”
It was enough for Princess Lida, who never dreamt of regarding Cyril
as anything but an unhappy victim of her mother’s charms. She told the
story with great glee to Mlle. Delacroix, and Mlle. Delacroix retailed
it to a compatriot who was visiting the baths. Since every one at
Ludwigsbad takes a childlike and unabashed interest in every one
else’s affairs, it was known by the evening from one end of the little
town to the other that Count Mortimer had conceived a romantic
adoration for the Princess of Dardania--and had declared it to its
object! Coming so soon after the revelations put forth by Dr Texelius,
the story met with instant and universal acceptance, and there were
only a few people who remarked that Count Mortimer must have been
playing for very high stakes when he allowed himself to appear such a
fool. Mansfield had been spending the afternoon at one of the
shooting-galleries, where the gilded youth of both sexes were wont to
consume much valuable time in massacring little wooden soldiers by
means of air-guns. Here he heard the tale, and returned to the hotel
with a settled gloom on his countenance such as even the fact of
Philippa’s departure had been insufficient to produce.
“Why so sad, gentle youth?” asked Cyril, catching sight of his face.
“They are saying all over the place that the Princess of Dardania
has--has given you the sack, Count,” said Mansfield tragically.
“They are--are they? Really there’s something positively demoniacal
about that woman’s cleverness! And you, Mansfield, you--try to comfort
me in my misery with the assurance that my sad plight is known all
over the town!”
“It’s not true?” burst from Mansfield.
“Since the Princess has spread the report, she must intend it to be
believed. Is it for me to contradict a lady? Rather let me study how
best to corroborate her assertion. I must go to dinner in a Norfolk
jacket, I suppose, and neglect my appearance generally. If Dietrich
could only be induced to forget to shave me! But perhaps it would be
just as effective if I let my moustache droop for a day or two. What
do you say, Mansfield? You will look disconsolate too, of course--in
fact, you are doing it already--but you will wear your rue with a
difference. The Confidant is only allowed to go mad in white linen,
you know. Tilburina’s white satin must be reserved for me.”
“But the Princess has given orders that you are to be refused
admission if you try to see her.”
“Oh, that’s what is afflicting you, is it? Make your mind easy; I have
no intention whatever of trying to see the Princess.”
“But will you let her go on spreading these lies about you?”
“Why not, if it pleases her? They are telling worse lies about me all
over Europe, and it does me no harm. You and the Chevalier Goldberg
seem to take these things to heart much more than I do. By the bye,
mind you show up when the Chevalier arrives to-morrow. He wants to
speak to you.”
The Chevalier’s reason for wishing to see Mansfield was made clear on
his arrival the next day, when the unwilling secretary found himself
invested with a gold watch and chain of surpassing magnificence. The
watch was decorated with an inscription to the effect that it was a
slight token of admiration and gratitude for Mansfield’s bravery in
saving Count Mortimer’s life, and the chain carried a small fortune in
the way of charms, which puzzled the recipient not a little. The
Chevalier had originally intended his testimonial of gratitude to take
the form of a diamond ring of the size and lustre commonly seen only
on South African mine-owners and the monarchs of high finance, but on
consulting Cyril he found that such an ornament in Mansfield’s
possession would never see the light of day, and with reluctance chose
instead the best watch that money could buy. He had taken a great
fancy to Mansfield, purely on Cyril’s account, and he dismissed him
now with an assurance of future favour which would have driven one of
his own nation wild with joy. Mansfield, who was English, and failed
to appreciate properly the power which the Chevalier possessed in
right of his millions, received the promise without any particular
emotion, and went out for a mountain walk. Left alone together, the
Chevalier and Cyril turned their attention to business. They spoke in
English, for the Chevalier was proud of his proficiency in that
language, and liked to keep himself in practice.
“Well, have you come to tell me that I am the best-execrated man in
Europe?” asked Cyril.
“If dere was such noose to tell you, I would not be de men to do it,”
was the quick response. “No, my frient, de storm is passed ofer your
head like water off a duck’s beck.”
Cyril smiled involuntarily. “This is extremely gratifying, Chevalier.
You think Texelius has overreached himself, then?”
“Undoubtedly. You know he was placed on de board off manachement off
de United Nation? Well, de directors met yesterday, and expelled him,
solely on account of his atteck on you.”
“But that was purely your doing, of course.”
“Not at all. Dere were some det took your side from de first, and de
rest came ofer to it ess soon ess dey heard off your confersation wid
de Emperor about Prince Franz Immanuel. Dey saw at once det you hed
been foolink de Scythians all de time dey thought dey were foolink
you, and det it was not you, but de mysterious lady, who hed been
deceifed in de metter.”
“But how did the Franz Immanuel business come out?”
“I saw to det, my frient. Dere was an inspired paragreph in all de
Findobona papers yesterday which related de fects.”
“I am sorry you did that, Chevalier. If the proposal has become
public, it means that there is no hope of getting it adopted.”
“Dere nefer wass any,” said the Chevalier calmly. “I hed sent an
achent to sound de Prince’s parents, and dey would not hear off his
goink to Pelestine. Dey mean him to merry de young Queen of Frisia.”
“Another check!” cried Cyril. “I thought we were on firm ground at
last. Then my journey to Vindobona was all for nothing?”
“By no means, Count. De proposal may hef failed, but at least it safed
you first. It was so netural and so suitable det no one could beliefe
de story off Texelius. Herschel Rubenssohn, whom I met passink through
Vindobona, hess written a great article on de subchect in my paper,
which I hef wid me, and you shell see it. Transferrink his republican
fiews to you, he says det de nobility off your cheracter and aims
would prefent you from efer dessirink to make yourself a prince.”
“It is dangerous to dogmatise,” said Cyril gravely. “If Palestine was
offered me by a unanimous vote of the Powers, I fear all Mr
Rubenssohn’s pledges on my behalf would not make me refuse it.”
The Chevalier smiled, but wistfully. “Ah, my frient, why were you not
born a prince--efen a Cherman princelink?” he said.
“Probably because Europe would have been too small to hold me. Now,
pray, Chevalier, no hankering after impossibilities.”
“You might efen now become a confert to Rome, and buy a dukedom from
de Fatican,” suggested the financier, with the uneasy smile of a man
experimenting on the edge of a slumbering volcano. “De money iss et
your serfice, and wid de Chews supportink you on one side and de
Chesuits on de oder, not efen Scythia could hope to keep you out of
Pelestine.”
“Ah, if I could take you over to Rome with me, there might be
something in the idea,” responded Cyril instantly. “The Goldberg
millions would be welcome indeed at the Papal Court. But without
them---- No, Chevalier, it won’t do. And what has happened to
Texelius?”
“He retains de direction off de colonisink scheme, but he hess lost
his influence in our cheneral councils,” replied the Chevalier,
accepting the change of subject obediently and gratefully. “Det will
allow Koepfle to come to de front--a better men off business, dough
widout de European lustre off Texelius, and one det hess nefer yet
receifed de full recognition he desserfes. It was from an idea off his
det I gained de first notion off foundink our Syndicate, in order to
help to completion de schemes he hed outlined. We shell do better now
den before, I think.”
“When do you expect to get your concession?” asked Cyril suddenly.
“Fery soon,” replied the Chevalier. “It may be two--three days, det
iss all.”
“And when you have got it, you will have no need of me for a month or
so? I want a holiday. A trip to Syria would do me good, I think.”
“To Syria? to Pelestine, you mean. Ah, my frient, you hef a plen! You
will not hide it from me? De Goldberg millions are all et your
serfice. You intend to make yourself master off de Land by a _coup de
main_?”
“My dear Chevalier, I don’t intend anything of the kind. I am quite in
earnest in saying that the governorship is out of my reach. My visit
would be purely private and unofficial. You may call it a pilgrimage
if you like, although the saint whose shrine I have in view is alive
and not dead.”
“You would not deceife your frient?--dough I shell not be engry if I
hear you hef esteblished yourself dere. I know your prudence, Count.
But you will not be lonk away? Our affairs in Europe will go to ruin
widout you.”
“I don’t expect to be long, but it depends on the success I may meet
with. If others get before me, I shall have a poor chance. But
business first, Chevalier. If you need me in Europe, I won’t go.”
“My frient, if dis fissit iss for your adfantache or pleassure, you
shell go whatefer heppens. Dere iss always the telegreph by which I
may consult you.”
In the fulness of his generosity, the Chevalier proceeded to develop a
plan by which a staff of operators with a field telegraph were to
follow Cyril from place to place, so as to keep him always in touch
with the European headquarters of the Jewish movement. His schemes
were interrupted by the arrival of a telegram in cipher, which he read
to Cyril with triumph in his tones: “Czarigrad. You are wanted here.
Concession will probably issue to-morrow or next day.”
“It iss well,” said the Chevalier. “To-night I leafe for Czarigrad. I
return wid de concession, den you start for Pelestine. One
confersation we must hef first, to settle our line off ection in
future.”
“All right,” said Cyril, and the financier departed. On his return
from his walk, the astonished Mansfield was desired to hold himself in
readiness for a journey to Syria, which might become necessary at any
time within the next month. No explanation was given, but he
attributed the probable necessity to the business of the Syndicate,
and having made his preparations, awaited placidly the summons to
start.