TAKING COUNSEL WITH BABES.
On the third morning after the departure of the Chevalier, Mansfield
was sitting writing in the anteroom at the hotel, when the garden door
opened violently, and an elderly lady hurried up to the house.
Mansfield thought she was a _Kurgäste_ who had lost her way, for she
was wrapped in a loose cloak, and had a lace scarf thrown over her
head, in the style affected early in the day by ladies who were taking
the waters. On going to the door, he was astonished to find himself
face to face with Countess Birnsdorf, in a state of violent
excitement.
“Where is Count Mortimer?” she cried, trying to push past him. “I
insist on seeing him immediately.”
“I will find out whether his Excellency is able to see you, Countess,”
said Mansfield, holding his ground. “He may be engaged.”
“Oh, then he is here? Then I am not too late!” and the old lady sank
down upon a bench and broke into gasping sobs. “Oh, Mr Secretary, let
me see him. I must see him, I tell you!”
Surprised and perplexed, Mansfield knocked at Cyril’s door. “Countess
Birnsdorf is here, Count, and says she must see you. She is in a
terrible state about something,” he added, stepping inside the room.
“What can be the matter now?” said Cyril. “Some trick of the
Princess’s, I suppose. Well, you had better ask her in.”
Before Mansfield could obey, the Countess, her suspicions roused by
his closing the door behind him, forced her way in. For an instant she
stared wildly round the room and incredulously at Cyril, then flung
herself at his feet.
“Oh, Count, give her back to us! Where is she? What have you done with
her--my little Princess? She never did you any harm. You may cherish a
grudge against her mother, but have you the heart to revenge yourself
on the child?”
“Calm yourself, Countess,” said Cyril, so gently that the old lady
choked back her sobs and allowed him to raise her and lead her to a
seat. “What has happened to the Princess? I don’t understand you.”
“She is gone,” sobbed Countess Birnsdorf, “and so is the Frenchwoman,
her attendant. No one saw them leave the house, and there is not so
much as a note to say where they are gone. As soon as the poor
Princess--her mother--heard the awful news, she said, ‘This is Count
Mortimer’s doing. He is taking his revenge on me,’ and I threw on a
cloak and ran all the way here in the hope of softening your heart
before it was too late.”
“Alas, Countess, I cannot tell you where the Princess is,” said Cyril.
“But let us consider what we can do to obtain news of her Highness.
You did not intend to speak before my secretary, did you? Mr
Mansfield, please see that this visit is not mentioned.”
Mansfield retired, and finding in the garden the old man-servant who
had accompanied Countess Birnsdorf, told him to wait in Paschics’s
room, lest his livery should be recognised by the hotel servants.
Scarcely had he returned to his writing when footsteps upon the path
announced a second visitor. This time the intruder was Colonel
Czartoriski, a white-moustached veteran of many fights, and master of
the household to the Princess of Dardania.
“Where is your master, young man?” he inquired, looking Mansfield over
in a peculiarly irritating way.
“Count Mortimer is in his office,” returned Mansfield curtly,
resenting the style of address.
“Oh, indeed! Then I wish to see him.”
“Unfortunately you can’t. His Excellency is engaged.”
“So early?” very mildly. “I am indeed unfortunate. Who is with him,
may I ask?”
“A lady.”
Colonel Czartoriski’s face became livid. “And you venture to
acknowledge that to me?” he roared. “Who is the lady?”
“I am not at liberty to mention her name.”
“Out of the way, young man! Let me pass.”
“Gently,” said Mansfield, shifting the old soldier adroitly from the
inner door. “I don’t know what you mean by coming here and behaving as
if you were in a comic opera, but it won’t take much more to make me
kick you down the steps.”
Colonel Czartoriski’s hand went promptly to the place where his
sword-hilt was wont to be, but remembering that he was in plain
clothes, he repressed his wrath, and made a gallant effort to be calm.
“I ask your pardon, young sir. If you knew the reason for my
excitement, you would excuse it, but you have not, I am sure, fathomed
the full villainy of your master’s character. No,” as Mansfield made a
threatening movement, “I will not speak against him. I ask you only to
risk his displeasure for a moment for the sake of the honour of an
august family, and the future of an unfortunate and misguided young
lady.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Mansfield, unconvinced.
“You see my position?” Colonel Czartoriski turned to the wall, and
stood with his face almost touching a map of Western Asia which he
appeared to be studying. “I give you my word of honour that I will
maintain this attitude while you approach the lady, and entreat her to
return immediately with her attendant to the home she has forsaken. I
will not move until she is outside the garden, when I will venture to
attend her back to the villa. I shall not have seen her here, you are
a young man of honour and will not speak, the world will only know of
an early walk. Come, you will help me to save her?”
“I am sure you are making some mistake about the lady,” said
Mansfield, in much perplexity; but he approached the door of Cyril’s
study, reaching it just as the owner opened it to escort Countess
Birnsdorf to the gate. The old lady’s cry of surprise on catching
sight of him made Colonel Czartoriski forget his promise and turn
round, and both looked unutterably guilty.
“I suppose,” said Cyril, “that I ought to feel flattered at your both
regarding me as such a Lothario; but I assure you the honour is quite
undeserved.”
“It was the words the Princess used,” explained Countess Birnsdorf,
apologetically. “A mother’s instinct----”
“I am afraid her Royal Highness’s instincts are not to be trusted
where I am concerned. This is not the first rumour she has set afloat
about me, you will remember.”
“Do you intend to impute malice to her Highness, Count?” demanded
Colonel Czartoriski hotly.
“By no means, Colonel. I merely state a fact.”
“Of course,” said Countess Birnsdorf, unaware of the admission she was
making. “How can you try to pick a quarrel with the Count, Colonel,
when he may have given us a clue to our poor Princess’s flight? If you
will make inquiries about Captain Roburoff’s destination when he left
this place three days ago, while I go home to try and calm her
Highness’s mind, it may help us a little.”
“Oh, if Captain Roburoff has acted as Count Mortimer’s deputy----”
“The Count once saw him talking to Princess Lida, that’s all. But if
you go on wasting time like this, how are we to save her? Come, come,”
and Countess Birnsdorf hurried the old soldier out of the house, and
saw him start in the direction of the station. But her haste was in
vain. A telegram which arrived that evening from Princess Lida
informed her mother that she was married to Captain Roburoff, and that
the ceremony had been performed by an Orthodox priest in the chapel
attached to the Thracian Legation at Vindobona. This astonishing fact
made it clear that some personage high in authority had been acting in
collusion with the fugitives, and before long every one at Ludwigsbad
knew that the Princess of Dardania had solemnly declared she would
never forgive Count Mortimer for his part in the affair. Cyril smiled
when the news reached him.
“Excellent!” he said. “She has now a legitimate reason for hating me,
whereas before she could not very well avow the cause of her enmity.”
The person who had told him of the rumour, and to whom he spoke, was
the Chevalier Goldberg, just returned in triumph from Czarigrad with
the long-coveted concession in his hands. The possession of Palestine
was once more secured to the Hebrew race.
“But wid whom is she seekink to inchure you?” asked the financier in
reply. “Europe knows now de truth about her defeat in de affair
celebrated by Texelius, and will not beliefe her. Dere must be some
one outside de ranche off politics det she wishes to influence.”
“It is just possible,” said Cyril drily. The Chevalier took heart of
grace.
“My goot frient,” he said, “you will not take it amiss if I alloode to
your prifate affairs? You hef nefer honoured me wid your confidence
about dem, and I do not ask it off you; but chust et dis moment it iss
so closely connected wid de future off our great enterprice, det
unless you command me epsolutely to be silent, I must speak.”
“My dear Chevalier, there was nothing to confide. My private affairs
are common property all over Europe, it seems to me. If you have any
contribution to make to the discussion, pray let me hear it.”
“I hef a request to make off you first. You must know det since it
became efident det de concession would be granted, we hef hed ill
noose from Pelestine. Rubenssohn, who iss chust gone out dere to
inspect de colonies, says de officials are prepared to ressent our
comink. A pasha here, a sheikh dere--dey all fear we shell confiscate
deir offices and cut short deir dishonest gains. De Greek and Letin
Churches encourache dem in dis epprehension, hopink to raise a
rebellion against us, so det Europe may step in and refuse us de Land.
Now, you are about to fissit Pelestine. Will you go about amonk dese
officials ess de emissary off de Syndicate, and quiet deir minds? Dey
could nefer stend out against you.”
“You are very kind. If I can do any good by reassuring the timid, I
shall be glad to be useful.”
“You will make what arranchements and promises you please; dey shell
be kerried out. Some off de officials might be continued in deir posts
et a fixed selary, oders be pensioned off. Den dere are de Beni
Ismail--dose Arabs in de desert between Damascus and Baghdad. Dey hef
been told by some enemy det we intend to gerrison Palmyra and exect a
heafy tribute from dem, and deir chieftainess, whom dey call de Queen
off de Desert, threatens to appeal to Europe. You will come to terms
wid de lady, and reassure her ess to our intentions? Dere nefer wass a
woman you could not talk ofer.”
“I will certainly do my best to conciliate her dusky Majesty. An
appeal to the Powers would land us in endless complications.”
“True; but dere iss more at stake still. While de diplomatists are
squabblink in Europe ofer de gofernorship off Pelestine, you are on de
spot, treffellink ess a prifate indifidual, yet makink peace and
pleasantness wherefer you go. It iss well for you to be out off Europe
et dis moment, my frient, but it is better for you to be in Pelestine.
You are already a _persona grata_ et Czarigrad, et Vindobona, et de
Magnagrecian Court. Hercynia will follow Pannonia. You are de right
men for Pelestine, and dey must see it.”
Cyril shook his head. “It sounds excellent, Chevalier, but, after all,
I am not big enough for them. They might accept me as an emergency
man, just to do the dirty work and put the place in order; but it
would be strictly stipulated that as soon as things were pretty quiet
some princeling should step into my shoes.”
“No!” cried the Chevalier, with almost a shout. “Not if your prifate
intention in goink to Pelestine iss what I think. De saint you desire
to fenerate--pardon my boldness--iss it not de Queen Ernestine?”
“It is,” said Cyril, not quite calmly.
“Den all iss well. You merry de Queen; dere iss de position you need.
Through her you are connected wid half de royal femilies off Europe.
Dey must profide for her, find some post not disgraceful for you. Here
it iss.”
Cyril rose involuntarily from his seat, and began to walk up and down
the room, while his companion, trembling with excitement, watched him
narrowly. “You have taken me by surprise, Chevalier,” he said at last,
returning to his place. “It was my last thought, in seeking to recall
myself to the memory of the lady you mention, to better my own
fortunes.”
“Yes, yes; I understend det. But what do you say now?”
“The matter is too complicated for me,” said Cyril idly. “I must refer
it to some one who can only see one side to a question. I will take
counsel with babes, and be guided by the advice they give me.
Mansfield,” he stepped into the anteroom, “I want your opinion on a
point of morals.”
Mansfield glanced up quickly, suspecting a hidden irony in the
request; but Cyril’s eyes met his gravely enough.
“Suppose you had behaved badly to the woman you loved--broken her
heart in fact. Oh, for pity’s sake----” as Mansfield attempted a
protest, “isolate your thoughts from my niece for the moment, and
imagine it possible that you could treat a woman cruelly. What would
you do when you repented and wished to undo the past?”
“Go to her and ask her to forgive me--if I could muster up sufficient
cheek.”
“Quite so. And if she refused to look at you?”
“I think,” with diffidence, “I should ask her again.”
“And worry her until she consented, I suppose? Well, that is not the
question I wanted you to consider. Suppose a reconciliation with the
lady meant the greatest possible improvement in your worldly
prospects, would you still feel free to seek her forgiveness?”
“I see.” It was evident that Mansfield was somewhat staggered by this
view of the case. He sat silent, turning it over in his mind, for some
minutes. “It would be perfectly beastly if people--or she
herself--thought one had done it for the money,” he muttered at last.
“Is it supposed that the lady still cares for you--I mean me--Count?”
he asked suddenly.
“How can I tell? Well, yes; suppose she does.”
“Oh, that makes it all right, of course; if it would be a comfort to
her. A man couldn’t fight shy of making what amends he could, just
because of what people might say, could he? If she seemed inclined to
forgive him, I suppose he would have to tell her about the money, and
see what she said. If she was willing to take him on again----”
“He must be doubly grateful, and behave better in future,” interrupted
Cyril, finishing the sentence for him. “Thanks, Mansfield. See what a
good thing it is to know exactly what other people ought to do! Well,
Chevalier, the oracle has spoken, and the die is cast. I go to
Palestine.”
The Chevalier’s beaming countenance testified his delight, and he
proceeded to draw up, and submit for Cyril’s approval, a paragraph to
be sent to the newspapers, stating that Count Mortimer was about to
visit Palestine in the interests of the Jewish race, with a view to
the discovery of spots where new colonies might advantageously be
located. When the paragraph appeared the next day, the Princess of
Dardania was among those into whose hands it came. She smiled
contemptuously at the reason given for the journey, and called to
Countess Birnsdorf for writing materials. That evening Colonel
Czartoriski passed through Vindobona on his way to Syria, in charge of
an autograph letter from his mistress, which he was ordered to deliver
to no one but Queen Ernestine herself. The old soldier was frankly
exultant on the subject of his errand. The villain who had lured away
Princess Lida would at any rate not be allowed to find happiness with
another woman.
In the meantime, the person whose life was most deeply affected by
Princess Lida’s elopement bore himself with the utmost equanimity. It
was Prince Mirkovics who outstripped the courier despatched from
Ludwigsbad, and carried the news to King Michael in his mountain
shooting-box. When he had delivered himself of his self-imposed
message, the old nobleman paused suddenly, his weather-beaten face
shining with fresh hope. The King, who had listened to the
announcement with sullen acquiescence, glanced up and perceived his
expression.
“What is it, Prince? You look as if a bright idea had struck you.”
“That is the case, sir. Does it not occur to your Majesty that this
event removes the chief obstacle to your marriage with Lady Philippa
Mortimer?”
The King laughed harshly. “The chief obstacle?” he said. “You should
have heard what Count Mortimer said when I spoke to him on the
subject. I might have been a pickpocket. He told me I was not fit to
look at her.”
“Sir,” said Prince Mirkovics, “I am no courtier. I cannot, as your
Majesty knows, twist my rough tongue to speak smoothly, and I will not
attempt to say that Count Mortimer was wrong. Even when I was doing my
utmost to marry you to Carlino’s daughter a few weeks back, I was
ashamed of my own schemes. You were not fit then to address words of
love to her, sir; you are not fit now. But the remedy lies in your own
hands. Do you wish to be worthy of the lady?”
“You mean that I might promise to give up all this sort of thing?”
King Michael gave a comprehensive wave of the hand, which included at
once the pictures that adorned the walls of his room, the empty
bottles on the table, and the scattered cards strewing the floor. “If
she would marry me, I should be perfectly willing to make such a
promise--and I would keep it, too,” he added, with some anxiety, for
Prince Mirkovics still looked forbidding.
“No, sir, that would not be sufficient. I know Lady Philippa and her
parents well enough to feel sure that they would not be satisfied with
promises. Your Majesty must give up all these habits at once, and
submit to a period of probation, to show that you have really forsaken
them, before you attempt to obtain the lady’s hand.”
“What a disgusting idea!” The King looked blank. He had paved the way
carefully for his own suggestion, but it was quite another matter to
adopt the uncompromising scheme of reform set before him. “It would be
so wretchedly hard to have to do it all without even being sure of
her,” he added.
“Is the lady worth it, sir?” demanded Prince Mirkovics. “And would it
not give you a claim on her respect, her admiration, if you could go
to her and say, ‘Without seeking to bind you, I gave up all my
unworthy pleasures for your sake, merely in the hope of rendering
myself less unfit to address you. In order to have more to offer you,
I have tried to govern my people better, and to raise my kingdom again
to the position it occupied under your uncle’s administration’?”
“But suppose she won’t marry me after all?”
“I would not suppose such a thing, sir. The lady could scarcely fail
to see that it was her duty to marry your Majesty, in order to secure
the happiness of your people and the welfare of the kingdom, and I am
certain that she will do whatever she feels to be her duty.”
“All right, then!” King Michael dashed his fist upon the table. “By
the bye, you know, you must take office if all this has to be done. I
can’t carry it through alone. Roburoff’s conduct furnishes us with an
excellent pretext for coolness towards Scythia, and then the Ministry
will have to go. You shall be Premier, and cultivate Pannonia instead.
That will only be until we are married, of course. Lady Philippa will
certainly want her uncle to return to Thracia with her. Oh, I say,
that reminds me; what about that secretary fellow? Roburoff declares
he is in love with Philippa, and Count Mortimer makes a great pet of
him. What is there to prevent his running off with her while I am
carrying out my reformation?”
“I saw Count Mortimer only this morning, sir, before I left
Ludwigsbad, and he mentioned that he was about to make a pilgrimage to
Palestine, taking his suite with him. The secretary will be farther
from the lady than your Majesty.”
“So he will. Well, Prince, I will try your plan for three months--not
a day longer. That ought to be proof enough for any girl of a man’s
sincerity. Don’t you think you have reason to be grateful to Roburoff?
I should be if I hadn’t paid him in full. Oblige me by looking at
this.” He held out a folded paper, which Prince Mirkovics received
doubtfully, and read with astonishment. It was a promise on the part
of the King to pay Captain Roburoff a sum of money which to the frugal
mind of the Thracian appeared colossal.
“What is this, sir?” he asked, bewildered.
“Princesses are expensive wives for commoners,” returned King Michael
calmly, “and Roburoff had no intention of marrying Lida on a captain’s
pay. I was obliged to make it worth his while.”
“Impossible, sir! You arranged the elopement with your equerry?”
“Oh no, not at all. I discovered that he was in love with her through
his dropping a note of hers when we were fencing one day. After we had
teased him about it a little, it occurred to me that since he had gone
so far for his own pleasure, he might as well make himself useful. It
was very hard to convince him, for he was quite contented to let
things go on as they were, and I had to point out that the prospect
for the future was not exactly to my taste. At last we came to terms,
and I despatched him on a special mission, giving him credentials that
would carry him anywhere (of course never dreaming of the use he would
make of them), and this is the way he repays my confidence! Don’t you
think we are well rid of him?”
Too much disgusted to speak, Prince Mirkovics bowed in answer. The
King laughed. “Come, Prince, I must drink one last toast before I
become a total abstainer, and you will join me in it with all your
heart.” He touched the bell. “Bring a bottle of champagne,” he said to
the servant who answered his summons. “Fill the glasses, Prince. To
Queen Philippa!”
“To her Majesty Queen Philippa!” repeated Prince Mirkovics gravely,
touching the glass which the King held out with his own.
King Michael was as good as his word. Twelve hours before Prince
Soudaroff, despatched in hot haste to bear him the condolences of the
Scythian Imperial family, and to discover how the loss of his bride
seemed to affect him, could reach the hunting-box, its tenant was
hastening homewards across Europe. The state of affairs in Thracia
demanded his presence there, so he gave out. Arrived at his own
capital, the King found that he had accidentally spoken the truth
respecting the political situation, and that the course of events was
all in his favour. The shock of the sudden rupture of the betrothal on
which he had built all his hopes proved too much for Drakovics, the
great Premier whom Cyril had driven from office, and who had in turn
ousted him. The unholy compact with the Princess of Dardania which
restored him to power had become void, and almost simultaneously with
the arrival of the news, a stroke of paralysis dragged from his
failing hands the reins which he had clutched with such persistent
determination. The rest of the Ministry, deprived of their head, and
painfully aware that they held their places merely at the pleasure of
Scythia, were in no condition to combat the vigorous measures of their
youthful monarch. Drakovics would have bowed to the storm and
maintained his position, but his colleagues, left to themselves,
resisted, and gave the King the excuse he wanted for dismissing them.
Returning humbly, after an interview with the Scythian agent, to
tender their submission, they found their places filled up. Prince
Mirkovics had accepted office, and the scattered forces of Cyril’s
supporters rallied round him with magical unanimity. They were of the
King’s opinion. Prince Mirkovics was merely holding the premiership in
trust for his leader, and very shortly the period of progress at home
and high prestige abroad, which had ended with King Michael’s
attainment of his majority, might be expected to return.
It was in vain that the Emperor of Scythia sought to conciliate the
young King by removing Captain Roburoff’s name from the roll of his
regiment, in vain that he despatched his brother, the Grand-Duke
Eugen, on a special mission of friendship, in vain even that the
Princess of Dardania sent her “beloved, deeply injured Michael” a
heartrending message entreating him to return to Ludwigsbad, if only
for a day, that she might know he had forgiven her. Prince Mirkovics
pointed out to his master with a grim smile that the beautiful
Grand-Duchess Sonya Eugenovna was now staying at the villa, and a
polite refusal was returned. The opportunity of regaining her credit
with Scythia by entangling King Michael a second time was not to be
granted to the Princess.