TEN MINUTES' GRACE
NOT a window of the fourteenth-century yellow marble palace, in its
famous "garden of the nine fountains," that was not ablaze with
light, glittering against a far, dark back ground of snow-capped
mountains. From afar, the crowd who might not pass the carved lions or
the statuesque sentinels at the gates, stared, and pointed, and
exclaimed, without jealousy of their betters. "Unser Max" was giving a
ball; it was for them to watch the glittering line of state coaches
and neat closed carriages that passed in and out--striving for a peep
at the faces, the grand uniforms and the jewelled dresses, commenting,
laughing, wondering what there would be for supper and with whom the
Emperor would dance.
"There she is--there's the beautiful young lady who saved him! Isn't
she like an angel?" cried a girl in the throng. Up went a hearty
cheer, and the police had to keep back the good-natured flock that
would have stopped the horses and pressed forward for a long look into
a plain dark green brougham. Sylvia shrank out of sight against the
cushions, blushing and breathing quickly, as she pressed her mother's
hand.
"Dear people--dear, kind people," she thought. "I love them for loving
him."
She had chosen to wear the white dress, though up to the last minute
her mother had hesitated between the rival merits of seed pearls and
gold spangles; and her beautiful face was as white as her gown, as the
two ladies passed between bowing lackeys into the palace, through the
great marble hall, on through the Rittersaal, to the throne-room,
where the Emperor's guests awaited his coming.
It was etiquette for no one to arrive later than ten o'clock; and five
minutes after that hour, Baron von Lynar, in his official capacity as
Grand Master of Ceremonies, struck the floor thrice with his ivory
gold-knobbed wand. This signified the approach of the Court from the
Imperial dinner party, and Maximilian entered, with a singularly plain
Russian Royal Highness on his arm.
Until the moment of his arrival the lovely stranger (admitted here by
virtue of her service to the Emperor) had held all eyes: and even when
he appeared she was not forgotten. Every one wished to see how she
would be greeted by a grateful monarch.
The instant that his proud head--towering above most others--was seen
in the throne-room, it was observed, even by the unobservant, that
never had Maximilian been so handsome. His was a face notable for
strength and intellect rather than any conventional beauty of feature;
but to-night the stern lines that sometimes marred his forehead were
smoothed away. He looked young, almost boyish; there was an eager
light in his dark eyes, and he gave the impression of a man who had
suddenly found a new interest in life.
He danced the first dance with the Russian Royalty, who was the most
important guest of the evening, and, still rigidly adhering to the
line of duty (which obtains in Court ballrooms as on battlefields),
the second, third, and fourth dances were for Maximilian penances
rather than pleasures. But for the fifth--a waltz--he bowed low before
Sylvia.
Not a movement, scarcely a smile or a glance of hers that he had not
seen, since his eyes first sought and found her, on the moment of his
entrance. He had noted how well Baron von Lynar carried out his
instructions regarding Miss de Courcy; he knew the partners who were
presented to her for each dance, and to save his life or a national
crisis he could not have worn the same expression in asking the
Russian for a waltz as that which brightened his face in approaching
Sylvia.
"Who is that girl?" inquired Count von Markstein in his usual gruff
manner, as the arm of Maximilian circled the slim waist and the eyes
of Maximilian rested on a radiant countenance upturned to his.
It was of Baroness von Lynar that the Chancellor asked his question,
and she fluttered a diamond-spangled fan to hide smiling lips, as she
answered, "What, Chancellor--are you in jest, or do you really not
know?"
Count von Markstein turned his cold eyes from the two figures, so
close together, moving rhythmically as poetry--to the face of the
middle-aged beauty. Once he had admired her as much as it was in his
nature to admire any woman; but that day was long past, and now such
power as she had left over him was merely to excite a feeling of
irritation.
"I do not often jest," he answered slowly.
"Ah, we all know that truly great men have seldom a sense of humour,"
purred the Baroness, who was by birth an Austrian, and loved laughter
better than anything else in the word--except her vanishing beauty. "I
should have remembered, and not tried your patience. 'That girl,' as
you somewhat brusquely call her, is the English Miss de Courcy, whose
mother has come to Salzbrück armed with such sheaves of introductions
to us all. And she it is who yesterday saved the most valued life in
the Empire. They are staying at the Hohenburgerhof; I thought you must
have known."
"I did not see the young lady's face yesterday," returned the
Chancellor, whose indifference to women and merciless justice to both
sexes alike had early earned him the sobriquet of "Iron Heart." "As
for what this girl did, if it had not been she who intervened, it
would have been another. It was merely by a chance that her arm struck
up the weapon first."
"Do you not think, then, that His Majesty does right to single her out
for so much honour?" Baroness von Lynar's eyes were on the dancers,
yet that mysterious skill which some women have, enabled her to see
the slightest change of expression on the Chancellor's square, lined
countenance.
"His Majesty could not do otherwise," he replied. "An invitation to a
ball; a dance or two; a call to pay his respects; a gentleman could
not be less gracious. And His Majesty is a most chivalrous gentleman."
"He has had good training." This with a smile and the dainty ghost of
a bow to the man who had been as a second father to Maximilian, when
his own father had died. "But--we are old friends, Chancellor" (it had
not been her fault that they were not more, in the days before she was
Baroness von Lynar); "do you _really_ think it will end with an
invitation, a dance, and a call? Look at the girl's face, and tell me
that?"
Old "Iron Heart" frowned and glared, and wondered what he had seen
twenty years ago to admire in this woman. He would have escaped if he
could, but he would not be openly rude to the wife of the Grand Master
of Ceremonies; and besides, he was willing perhaps to show the lady
that her innuendoes were as the buzzing of a fly about his ears.
"I am half-way between sixty and seventy, and no longer a judge of a
woman's attractions," he retorted. "Even were she Helen herself, the
invitation, the dance, and the call--with the present of some jewelled
souvenir, perhaps--are all that are permissible in the circumstances."
"What circumstances?" was the innocent, questioning reply.
"The young lady is not of Royal blood. And His Majesty--thank God--is
not a _roué_."
"But he has a heart, and he has eyes. He may never have used them
before. Yet there must always be a first time; and the higher and more
strongly built the tower, the greater the fall thereof."
"Need we discuss improbabilities, Baroness von Lynar? Neither you nor
I is the Emperor's keeper."
"We are his friends--his most intimate friends. And you and I have
known each other for twenty years. It amuses me to discuss what you
call 'improbabilities'. Come--for once, humour me, Chancellor. Not for
the world would I hint that His Majesty is less than an example to all
men, in honour: nor would I suggest that Miss de Courcy could be
tempted to indiscretion. But yet I'd be ready to wager--the Emperor
being human and the girl the most dazzling of beauties--that an
acquaintance so romantically begun will not end with a ball and a
call!"
"What could there possibly be more, madam--in honour?"
The Chancellor's voice shook with stifled anger, and he looked--so
thought his quondam friend--with his square face, his wide nostrils,
and his prominent eyes--delightfully like a baited bull. The Baroness
von Lynar was thoroughly enjoying herself. She well knew the old man's
desire for the Emperor's marriage, and, though she was not in the
secret of his plans, would have felt little surprise at learning
that an eligible Empress had already been selected. What fun it was
to ruffle the temper of the surly old bear! How much more fun it would
be genuinely to alarm him for the success of his schemes!
"What could there be more?" she echoed. "Why, they will see much of
each other. There will be many dances, many calls--in a word, a serial
romance instead of a short story. Why should His Majesty not know the
pleasure of a pure platonic friendship with a beautiful young woman?"
"Because Plato is out of fashion, and, as I have said, the Emperor is
a man of honour," growled the Chancellor. "Even if--which I doubt--a
woman could deeply influence his life----"
"You doubt that? Then you don't know the Emperor!"
"If it were so, when he felt the danger he would keep aloof for the
woman's sake. You tell me this English miss is at a hotel in
Salzbrück. What would be said of her if Maximilian continually visited
her there? To meet her incognito would be an insult. For the Emperor
of Rhaetia to call upon a young woman day after day at the
Hohenburgerhof would bring a storm of scandal about her ears. That
would be but poor reward for the woman who saved his life."
Baroness von Lynar flushed faintly, under the delicate apology of her
rouge. For the fraction of a second she looked rather blank, for she
had insisted upon the argument, and it was going against her. She had
not stopped to view the question from every side, in her haste to
annoy the Chancellor. So far she had only vexed him, She owed him a
great deal more than a petty stab of vexation--a debt which during
twenty years, she had been repaying in small instalments. If she could
prove her point now--or rather, if Maximilian would prove it for her,
and she could wipe the slate clean once and forever from the
obligations of revenge, it would be something to live for. Yet how was
that to be done, since Count von Markstein was in the right about his
Imperial master?
But the wife of the Grand Master of Ceremonies was a woman of
resource. The cloud on her still handsome face gradually lifted, and
she beamed more brightly than before. The little pin-point prick she
had inflicted need not be an anti-climax after all.
"Dear Chancellor, how well you know His Majesty!" she ejaculated. "If--
being but a young man, and a hot-blooded one, despite his high
principles and his former indifference to women--he should not stop to
count the cost for himself, you would no doubt take advantage of your
warm friendship to remind him?"
"I should indeed do so," said the Chancellor grimly, "were there the
slightest chance of such necessity arising."
"It is but a piece with your well-known integrity and courage. What a
comfort, therefore, that the necessity is _unlikely_ to arise!"
The old man stared her in the face. "I must have misunderstood you,"
he sneered. "I thought, in your opinion, the opposite conclusion was
foregone?"
"But" (and the Baroness smiled her most charming smile) "suppose that
Lady de Courcy and her daughter were not remaining at the hotel?"
The Chancellor's cold eyes brightened--for, in reality, she had given
him an uneasy moment. "Ah--then they are going away?"
"I hear," returned Baroness von Lynar slowly, pleasantly, and
distinctly, "that they have been asked to the country to visit one of
His Majesty's oldest and most intimate friends."
* * * * *
Maximilian was said not to care for dancing, though he danced well--as
it was his pride to excel in everything worth doing. Certainly there
was usually a perfunctoriness about his manner in a ballroom, a
suggestion of a man on duty in his grave face, his readiness to lead a
partner to her seat when a dance was over.
But to-night! The white arm on his--the girlish arm that had been firm
as a man's in his defense; the perfume of her hair, and the glamour of
the light upon it; the beating of her heart near his as they danced
(or did he only fancy that he felt it?); the glory of her eyes, when
they were lifted from a wonder-shadow of lashes; the lissom grace of
her girlhood, so childlike, so suggestive of spring, contrasting with
the voluptuous summer of Rhaetian types of beauty; the rose flush that
spread and spread from her cheeks to the Madonna arch of her brows, as
he looked, because he could not help looking! To-night was different
from any other night, because she was different from any other woman;
Maximilian fancied that an accident had befallen the musicians when
the music for that waltz came suddenly, as it seemed, to an end.
At the Rhaetian Court there was always a stately interval of ten
minutes after each dance. But what are ten minutes to a man who has
things to say which could not be said in ten hours?
They had hardly spoken yet--since the day on the mountain; and, at
this moment, each was wondering whether or no the memory of that day
should be ignored. Maximilian did not intend to speak of it; Sylvia
did not intend to speak of it. But, then, how few matters turn out as
people plan!
Next to the throne-room was the ballroom; and beyond was another
called the "Waldsaal." Maximilian had had this fitted up for his own
pleasure; and it was named the "Waldsaal" because it represented a
forest. Walls and ceiling were skilfully covered with thickly growing
creepers, trained over invisible wires, through which peeped stars of
electric light, like the chequers of sunshine that stray between
netted branches. There were realistic grottoes of dark rock, growing
trees planted in huge boxes hidden by ivy; while here and there, out
of shadowed corners, glared the glassy eyes of birds and animals--
eagles, bears, stags, and chamois--that the Emperor had shot. This
room, so vast as to appear empty when dozens of people wandered under
its trees and among its rock grottoes, was thrown open to the dancers
when ever a ball was given at the palace; and, because of its novel
and curious effect, it was more popular than the conservatories and
palm-houses. It was here that Maximilian led Sylvia after their waltz;
and as she laid her hand upon his arm, an almost overmastering desire
seized him to kiss the long white glove, upon the wound she had
received for him.
"This is a madness," he said to himself. "It must pass." And aloud,
meaning to say some thing else--something courteous and common place,
he exclaimed, "Why did you do it?"
Sylvia glanced up at him in surprise.
"I don't understand." And then, in an instant, well-nigh before the
words were out, she did understand. She knew that he had not intended
to ask the question; but, having spoken, it was characteristic of him
to stand by his guns.
"I mean--the thing I shall have to thank you for always," he replied.
If Sylvia had been given time to think, she might have prepared an
answer. But given no time, she told only the bald truth. "I couldn't
help it."
He looked straight into her eyes. "You couldn't help risking your life
to----" He did not finish.
"It was to save----" Her words also died incomplete.
Then it was that he forgot various restrictions of etiquette which an
Emperor, in conversing with a commoner--be the commoner man or woman--
is not supposed to neglect.
For one thing, his voice grew unsteady, and his tone was eager as that
of some ineligible subaltern with the girl of his first love.
"There is something I should like to show you," he said. Opening a
button of the military coat, blazing with jewels and orders, he drew
out a loop of thin gold chain. At the end dangled some small object
that flashed under a star of electric light.
"My ring!" exclaimed Sylvia in a breathless whisper.
Thus perished the Emperor's intention to ignore the day that had been
theirs in the past.
"Your ring. You gave it to Max; he has kept it. He will always keep
it. Are you surprised?"
Sylvia wished to say "Yes," but instead she answered "No," because
pretty fibs require preparation; it is only the truth that speaks
itself.
"You are not? Then--you guessed, yesterday?"
"I knew--at Heiligengelt. But I wish I need not tell you."
Silence between them for a moment, while Maximilian digested her
answer, slowly realizing what it meant. He remembered the bread and
ham; the cow, and the rücksacks; he remembered everything and laughed
out, boyishly.
"You knew, at Heiligengelt! But not on the mountain when----"
"Yes, I knew even then. It was only a chance--the same adventure might
have happened to hundreds of people without their guessing. But I had
happened to hear that you went there sometimes, and I had seen many of
your pictures--so, when I met a man, I--oh, I wish you had not asked
me!"
"Why?"
"Because--one might have to be afraid of an Emperor if he were angry."
"Do I look angry?"
Their eyes met, and dwelt, laughing at first, then probing unexpected
depths which drove away all thought of laughter. Something that seemed
alive and independent of control leaped in Maximilian's breast. He
shut his lips tightly. Both forgot that a question had been asked,
though it was Sylvia who spoke first since it is easier for a woman
than for a man to hide feeling behind conventionality.
"I wonder you kept the ring--after all my rudeness."
"I had a special reason for keeping the ring,"
"Will you tell it me?"
"You are quick at forming conclusions, Miss de Courcy. Can't you
guess?----"
"To remind you never to help strange young women on mountains?"
"No--not for that."
"I am not to ask the reason?"
"On that day you asked what you chose. All the more should you do so
now, since there is nothing I could refuse you."
"Not the half of your kingdom--like the Royal men in fairy stories?"
The light words struck a chord they had not aimed to touch. They went
echoing on and on, till they reached that inner part of himself which
the Emperor knew least--his heart. Half his kingdom? Yes, he would
give it to her, if he could. Heavens! what such a partnership would
be!
"Ask anything you will," he said, as a man speaks in a dream.
"Then tell me--why you kept the ring?"
"Because the only woman I ever cared--to make my friend, took it from
her finger and gave it to me."
"Now the Emperor is pleased to pay compliments."
"You don't think that, really? You know I am sincere."
"But you had only seen me for an hour. Instead of meriting your
friendship, I had, on the contrary----"
"For one hour? How long ago is that hour? A week or so, I suppose--as
time counts. But then came yesterday, and the thing you did for me.
Now I have known you always."
"If you had, perhaps you would not want me for your friend."
"I do want you."
The words would come. It was true--already true. He did want her. But
not only as a friend. His world, a world without women or passion
ardent enough to eclipse principles, was upside down.
It was well that the ten minutes' grace between dances was over, the
music for the next about to begin. A young officer, Count von
Markstein's half-brother, who was to be Sylvia's partner, came toward
her, then stepped back, seeing that she was with the Emperor. But
Maximilian permitted his approach, with a gesture.
"Good-bye," said Sylvia, while her words could still only be heard by
the ears for which they were intended.
"Not good-bye--we are to be friends."
"Yes, in heart. But--we shall not often meet."
"Are you going from Salzbrück soon, then?"
"Perhaps."
"I must see you. I will see you--_once more_, whatever comes!"
"Yes. Once more, but----"
"After that----"
"Who knows--Captain von Markstein--Yes, it is our dance."
* * * * *
"Once more--once more!" The words lingered in Sylvia's ears. She heard
them through everything, as one hears the undertone of a mountain
torrent, though a brass band brays out some martial air to drown its
music.
Once more he would see her. She could guess why it might be only once,
even if he would fain have had it more. This game of hers, begun with
such a light heart, was more difficult to play than she had dreamed.
If she could but be sure he _cared_; if he would tell her this, in
words, the rest might be easy; though, even so, she did not quite see
how the end should come. Yet how, in honour, _could_ he tell her that
he cared? While, if he told her in any other way, how could she bear
her life? "Once more!" What would happen in that once more? Surely
nothing but a repetition of grateful thanks and courteous words,
equivalent to farewell.
To be sure, Miss de Courcy and her mother might go away, and the
negotiations between the Emperor's advisers and the Grand Duchess of
Eltzburg-Neuwald for her daughter's hand could be allowed to continue,
as if no outside influence had ruffled the peaceful current of events.
Then, in the end, a surprise would come for Maximilian; wilful
Princess Sylvia would have had her little romance, and all might be
said to end well. But something within Sylvia's fast-beating heart
refused to be satisfied with so comparatively tame a last chapter, a
finis so obvious. She had tasted a sweet, stimulating draught--she who
had been brought carefully up on milk and water--and she was loth to
put the cup down, still half-full and sparkling.
"Once more!" If only that once could be magnified into many times; if
she could have her chance--her "fling," like other girls!
So she was thinking in the carriage, by her mother's side, driving
back to the Hohenburgerhof from the palace; and the Grand Duchess was
forced to speak twice before her daughter became aware that silence
had been broken.
"I forgot to tell you something, Sylvia."
"Ye-es, mother?"
"Your great success has made me absentminded, child. You looked like a
shining white lily among all those handsome, overblown Rhaetian
women."
"Thank you, dear. Was that what you forgot to say?"
"Oh, no! It was this. The Baroness von Lynar has been most kind. She
urges us to give up our rooms at the hotel, on the first of the week,
and join her house party at Schloss Lynarberg. It is only a few miles
out of town. What do you think of the plan?"
"Leave--Salzbrück?"
"She has asked a number of friends--to meet the Emperor."
"Oh! He did not speak of it--when we danced."
"But she has mentioned it to him since, no doubt--before giving me the
invitation. Intimate friend of his as she is, she would not dare ask
people to meet him, if he had not first sanctioned the suggestion.
Still, she can afford to be more or less informal. The Baroness was
dancing with the Emperor, I remember now, just before she came to me.
They were talking together quite earnestly. I can recall the
expression of his face."
"Was it pleased, or----"
"I was wondering what she had said to make him look so happy.
Perhaps----"
"W-What answer did you give Baroness von Lynar?"
"I told her--I thought you wouldn't mind--I told her that we would
go."