THE ROYAL MINX
Prince Louis entered, flushed and excited. His eyes had lost their
furtive meanness and blazed with a kind of reckless fury quite foreign
to his nature, for anger affected him as wine might another man.
He spoke first to the Princess Margaret.
"And so, my fair sister," he said, "you would foment rebellion even in
my palace and concoct conspiracy with my own married wife. Make ready,
madam, for to-morrow you shall find your master. I will marry you to the
Prince Ivan of Muscovy. He will carry you to Moscow, where ladies of
your breed are taught to obey. And if they will not--why, their delicate
skins may chance to be caressed with instruments less tender than
lovers' fingers. Go--make you ready. You shall be wed and that
immediately. And leave me alone with my wife."
"I will not marry the Prince of Muscovy," his sister answered calmly. "I
would rather die by the axe of your public executioner. I would wed with
the vilest scullion that squabbles with the swine for gobbets in the
gutters of Courtland, rather than sit on a throne with such a man!"
The Prince nodded sagely.
"A pretty spirit--a true Courtland spirit," he said mockingly. "I had
the same within my heart when I was young. Conrad hath it now--priest
though he be. Nevertheless, he is off to Rome to kiss the Pope's toe. By
my faith, Gretchen lass, you show a very pretty spirit!"
He wheeled about and looked towards the false Joan, who was standing
gripping nails into palms by the chimney-mantel.
"And you, my lady," he said, "you have had your turn of rebellion. But
once is enough. You are conquered now. You are a wedded wife. Your place
is with your husband. You sleep in my palace to-night!"
"If I do," muttered the Sparhawk, "I know who will wake in hell
to-morrow!"
"My brother Louis," cried the Princess Margaret, running up to him and
taking his arm coaxingly, "do not be so hasty with two poor women.
Neither of us desire aught but to do your will. But give us time. Spare
us, for you are strong. 'A woman's way is the wind's way'--you know our
Courtland proverb. You cannot harness the Northern Lights to your
chariot-wheels. Woo us--coax us--aye, even deceive us; but do not force
us. Louis, Louis, I thought you were wise, and yet I see that you know
not the alphabet of love. Here is your lady. Have you ever said a loving
word to her, bent the knee, kissed her hand--which, being persisted in,
is the true way to kiss the mouth?"
("If he does either," growled the Sparhawk, "my sword will kiss his
midriff!")
Prince Louis smiled. He was not used to women's flatteries, and in his
present state of exaltation the cajoleries of the Princess suited his
mood. He swelled with self-importance, puffing his cheeks and twirling
his grey moustache upwards with the finger and thumb of his left hand.
"I know more of women than you think, sister," he made answer. "I have
had experiences--in my youth, that is; I am no puppet princeling. By
Saint Mark! once on a day I strutted it with the boldest; and
to-day--well, now that I have humbled this proud madam and brought her
to my own city, why, I will show you that I am no Wendish boor. I can
sue a lady's favour as courteously as any man--and, Margaret, if you
will promise me to be a good girl and get you ready to be married
to-morrow, I promise you that Louis of Courtland will solicit his lady's
favour with all grace and observance."
"Gladly will I be married to-morrow," said the Princess, caressing her
brother's sleeve--"that is, if I cannot be married to-day!" she added
under her breath.
But she paused a few moments as if embarrassed.
Then she went on.
"Brother Louis, I have spoken with my sister here--your wife, the Lady
Joan. She hath a scruple concerning matrimony. She would have it
resolved before she hath speech with you again. Permit our good Father
Clement to advise with her."
"Father Clement--our Conrad's tutor, why he more than another?"
"Well, do you not understand? He is old," pleaded Margaret, "and there
are things one can say easiest to an old man. You understand, brother
Louis."
The Prince nodded, well pleased. This was pleasant. His mentor, Prince
Wasp, did not usually flatter him. Rather he made him chafe on a tight
rein.
"And if I send Father Clement to you, chit," he said patting his
sister's softly rounded cheek, "will he both persuade you and ease the
scruples of my Lady Joan? I am as delicate and understanding as any man.
I will not drive a woman when she desires to be led. But led or driven
she must be. For to my will she must come at last."
"I knew it, I knew it!" she cried joyously. "Again you are mine own
Louis, my dear sweet brother! When will Father Clement come?"
"As soon as he can be sent for," the Prince answered. "He will come
directly here to the Summer Palace. And till then you two fair maids can
abide together. Princess, my wife, I kiss your noble hand. Margaret,
your cheek. Till to-morrow--till to-morrow!"
He went out with an awkward attempt at airy grace curiously grafted on
his usually saturnine manners. The door closed behind him. Margaret of
Courtland listened a moment with bated breath and finger on lip. A
shouted order reached her ear from beneath. Then came the tramp of
disciplined feet, and again they heard only the swirl of the Alla
fretting about the piles of the Summer Palace.
Then, quickly dropping her lover's fingers, Margaret took hold of her
own dress at either side daintily and circled about the Sparhawk in a
light-tripping dance.
"Ah, Louis--we will be so good and bidable--to-morrow. To-morrow you
will see me a loving and obedient wife. To-morrow I will wed Prince
Wasp. Meantime--to-day you and I, Maurice, will consult Father Clement,
mine ancient confessor, who will do anything I ask him. To-day we will
dance--put your arm about my waist--firmly--so! There, we will dance at
a wedding to-day, you and I. For in that brave velvet robe you shall be
married!"
"What?" cried the Sparhawk, stopping suddenly. His impulsive sweetheart
caught him again into the dance as she swept by in her impetuous career.
"Yes," she nodded, minueting before him. "It is as I say--you are to be
married all over again. And when you ride off I will ride with you--no
slipping your marriage engagements this time, good sir. I know your
Kernsberg manners now. You will not find me so slack as my brother!"
"Margaret!" cried the Sparhawk. And with one bound he had her against
his breast.
"Oh!" she cried, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders, as she submitted
to his embrace, "I don't love you half as much in that dress. Why, it is
like kissing another girl at the convent. Ugh, the cats!"
She was not permitted to say any more. The Alla was heard very clearly
in the Summer Palace as it swept the too swift moments with it away
towards the sea which is oblivion. Then after a time, and a time and
half a time, the Princess Margaret slowly emerged.
"No," she said retrospectively, "it is not like the convent, after
all--not a bit."
* * * * *
"Affection is ever seemly, especially between great ladies--also
unusual!" said a bass voice, speaking grave and kindly behind them.
The Sparhawk turned quickly round, the crimson rushing instant to his
cheek.
"Father--dear Father Clement!" cried Margaret, running to the noble old
man who stood by the door and kneeling down for his blessing. He gave it
simply and benignantly, and laid his hand a moment on the rippling
masses of her fair hair. Then he turned his eyes upon the Sparhawk.
The confusion of his beautiful penitent, the flush which mounted to her
neck even as she kneeled, added to a certain level defiance in the
glance of her taller companion, told him almost at a glance that which
had been so carefully concealed. For the Father was a man of much
experience. A man who hears a dozen confessions every day of his life
through a wicket in a box grows accustomed to distinguishing the finer
differences of sex. His glance travelled back and forth, from the
Sparhawk to Margaret, and from Margaret to the Sparhawk.
"Ah!" he said at last, for all comment.
The Princess rose to her feet and approached the priest.
"My Father," she said swiftly, "this is not the Lady Joan, my brother's
wife, but a youth marvellously like her, who hath offered himself in her
place that she might escape----"
"Nay," said the Sparhawk, "it was to see you once again, Lady Margaret,
that I came to Courtland!"
"Hush! you must not interrupt," she went on, putting him aside with her
hand. "He is the Count von Löen, a lord of Kernsberg. And I love him. We
want you to marry us now, dear Father--now, without a moment's delay;
for if you do not, they will kill him, and I shall have to marry Prince
Wasp!"
She clasped her hands about his arm.
"Will you?" she said, looking up beseechingly at him.
The Princess Margaret was a lady who knew her mind and so bent other
minds to her own.
The Father stood smiling a little down upon her, more with his eyes than
with his lips.
"They will kill him and marry you, if I do. And, moreover, pray tell me,
little one, what will they do to me?" he said.
"Father, they would not dare to meddle with you. Your office--your
sanctity--Holy Mother Church herself would protect you. If Conrad were
here, he would do it for me. I am sure he would marry us. I could tell
him everything. But he is far, far away, on his knees at the shrine of
Holy Saint Peter, most like."
"And you, young masquerader," said Father Clement, turning to the
Sparhawk, "what say you to all this? Is this your wish, as well as that
of the Princess Margaret? I must know all before I consent to put my old
neck into the halter!"
"I will do whatever the Princess wishes. Her will is mine."
"Do not make a virtue of that, young man," said the priest smiling; "the
will of the Princess is also that of most people with whom she comes in
contact. Submission is no distinction where our Lady Margaret is
concerned. Why, ever since she was so high" (he indicated with his
hand), "I declare the minx hath set her own penances and dictated her
own absolutions."
"You have indeed been a sweet confessor," murmured Margaret of
Courtland, still clasping the Father's arm and looking up fondly into
his face. "And you will do as I ask you this once. I will not ask for
such a long time again."
The priest laughed a short laugh.
"Nay, if I do marry you to this gentleman, I hope it will serve for a
while. I cannot marry Princesses of the Empire to carnival mummers more
than once a week!"
A quick frown formed on the brow of Maurice von Lynar. He took a step
nearer. The priest put up his hand, with the palm outspread in a sort of
counterfeit alarm.
"Nay, I know not if it will last even a week if bride and groom are both
so much of the same temper. Gently, good sir, gently and softly. I must
go carefully myself. I am bringing my grey hairs unpleasantly near the
gallows. I must consider my duty, and you must respect my office."
The Sparhawk dropped on one knee and bent his head.
"Ah, that is better," said the priest, making the sign of benediction
above the clustered raven locks. "Rise, sir, I would speak with you a
moment apart. My Lady Margaret, will you please to walk on the terrace
there while I confer with--the Lady Joan upon obedience, according to
the commandment of the Prince."
As he spoke the last words he made a little movement towards the
corridor with his hand, at the same moment elevating his voice. The
Princess caught his meaning and, before either of her companions could
stop her, she tiptoed to the door, set her hand softly to the latch, and
suddenly flung it open. Prince Louis stood without, with head bowed to
listen.
The Princess shrilled into a little peal of laughter.
"Brother Louis!" she cried, clapping her hands, "we have caught you. You
must restrain your youthful, your too ardent affections. Your bride is
about to confess. This is no time for mandolins and serenades. You
should have tried those beneath her windows in Kernsberg. They might
have wooed her better than arbalist and mangonel."
The Prince glared at his _débonnaire_ sister as if he could have slain
her on the spot.
"I returned," he said formally, speaking to the disguised Maurice, "to
inform the Princess that her rooms in the main palace were ready for her
whenever she deigns to occupy them."
"I thank you, Prince Louis," returned the false Princess, bowing. In his
character of a woman betrayed and led prisoner the Sparhawk was sparing
of his words--and for other reasons as well.
"Come, brother, your arm," said the Princess. "You and I must not
intrude. We will leave the good Father and his fair penitent. Will you
walk with me on the terrace? I, on my part, will listen to your lover's
confessions and give you plenary absolution--even for listening at
keyholes. Come, dear brother, come!"
And with one gay glance shot backward at the Sparhawk, half over her
shoulder, the Lady Margaret took the unwilling arm of her brother and
swept out. Verily, as Father Clement had said, she was a royal minx.