Title: The Princess Virginia
Author: Williamson, C. N. (Charles Norris), 1859-1920, Williamson, A. M. (Alice Muriel), 1869-1933
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Princess Virginia" ***


 THE

 PRINCESS VIRGINIA

 BY

 C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON

 Illustrations by Leon Guipon

 NEW YORK
 McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
 MCMVII



 _Copyright, 1907, by McClure, Phillips & Co._

 _Published April, 1907_

 _Copyright, 1906, 1907, by The Curtis Publishing Company_



 _By the same Authors_

 _My Friend the Chauffeur_
 _Lady Betty Across the Water_
 _Rosemary in Search of a Father_



[Illustration: "_Who is that girl?" asked Count von Breitstein_]



CONTENTS


 CHAPTER                                               PAGE

     I WHEN THE NEWS CAME                                3

    II FOUR GENTLEMEN OF IMPORTANCE                     28

   III A CHAMOIS HUNTER                                 42

    IV THE EAGLE'S EYRIE                                52

     V LEO VERSUS LEOPOLD                               82

    VI NOT IN THE PROGRAM                               98

   VII THE HONORS OF THE DAY                           117

  VIII THE EMPEROR'S BALL                              126

    IX IRON HEART AT HOME                              152

     X VIRGINIA'S GREAT MOMENT                         174

    XI THE MAN WHO WAITED                              197

   XII "THE EMPEROR WILL UNDERSTAND"                   206

  XIII THE MAGIC CITRON                                214

   XIV THE EMPEROR AT BAY                              227

    XV THROUGH THE TELEPHONE                           246

   XVI TRUTH ACCORDING TO THE CHANCELLOR               254

  XVII THE OLDNESS OF THE CHANCELLOR                   279

 XVIII NOT AT HOME                                     291

   XIX THE THIRD COURSE                                295

    XX AFTER THE CURTAIN WENT DOWN                     298



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


 "WHO IS THAT GIRL?" ASKED COUNT VON
 BREITSTEIN                                  _Frontispiece_

                                                     FACING
                                                      PAGE

 SHE LOST HER SCANT FOOTHOLD, SLIPPED,
 TRIED TO HOLD ON, FAILED, AND SLID
 DOWN THE ROCK                                          50

 "LET THE LAW DEAL WITH THE MADMAN; IT
 IS MY WILL"                                           128

 "NEVER!" SHE EXCLAIMED. "IT'S AN INSULT"              194

 AT SIGHT OF HER THE EMPEROR STOPPED ON
 THE THRESHOLD                                         292

 "WE SHALL NEVER BE OLD, FOR WE LOVE
 EACH OTHER," SAID THE EMPEROR                         300



THE PRINCESS VIRGINIA



CHAPTER I

WHEN THE NEWS CAME


"No," said the Princess. "No. I'm--_dashed_ if I do."

"My darling child!" exclaimed the Grand Duchess. "You're impossible.
If any one should hear you!"

"It's he who's impossible," the Princess amended. "I'm just trying to
show you--"

"Or to shock me. You are _so_ like your grandmother."

"That's the best compliment any one can give me, which is lucky, as
it's given so often," laughed the Princess. "Dear, adorable Virginia!"
She cuddled into the pink hollow of her hand the pearl-framed ivory
miniature of a beautiful, smiling girl, which always hung from a thin
gold chain around her neck. "They shouldn't have named me after you,
should they, if they hadn't wanted me to be like you?"

"It was partly a question of money, dear," sighed the Grand Duchess.
"If my mother hadn't left a legacy to my first daughter only on
consideration that her own extremely American name of Virginia should
be perpetuated--"

"It was a delicious way of being patriotic. I'm glad she did it. I
love being the only Royal Princess with American blood in my veins and
an American name on my handkerchiefs. Do you believe for an instant
that if Grandmother Virginia were alive, she would let Granddaughter
Virginia marry Prince Henri de Touraine?"

"I don't see why not," said the Grand Duchess. "She wasn't too
patriotic to marry an English Duke, and startle London as the first
American Duchess. Heavens, the things she used to do, if one could
believe half the wild stories my father's sister told me in warning!
And as for my father, though a _most_ charming man, of course, he
could not--er--have been called precisely _estimable_, while Prince
Henri certainly is, and an exceedingly good match even for you--in
present circumstances."

"Call him a match, if you like, Mother. He's undoubtedly a stick. But
no, he's _not_ a match for me. There's only one on earth." And
Virginia's eyes were lifted to the sky as if, instead of existing on
earth, the person in her thoughts were placed as high as the sun that
shone above her.

"I should have preferred an Englishman--for you," said the Grand
Duchess, "if only there were one of suitable rank, free to--"

"I'm not thinking of an Englishman," murmured her daughter.

"If only you _would_ think of poor Henri!"

"Never of him. You know I said I would be d--"

"Don't repeat it! Oh, when you look at me in that way, how like you
are to your grandmother's portrait at home--the one in white, painted
just before her marriage. One might have known you would be
extraordinary. That sort of thing invariably skips over a generation."

The Grand Duchess laid down the theory as a law; and whether or no she
were right, it was at least sure that she had inherited nothing of the
first Virginia's daring originality. Some of her radiant mother's
beauty, perhaps, watered down to gentle prettiness, for the Hereditary
Grand Duchess of Baumenburg-Drippe at fifty-one was still a
daintily-attractive woman, a middle-aged Dresden china lady, with a
perfect complexion, preserved by an almost perfect temper; surprised
eyebrows, kindly dimples, and a conventional upper lip.

She was not by birth "Hereditary." Her lord and (very much) her master
had been that, and had selected her to help him reign over the
Hereditary Grand Duchy of Baumenburg-Drippe, not only because her
father was an English Duke with Royal Stuart blood in his veins,
but because her Virginian mother had brought much gold to the
Northmoreland exchequer. Afterwards, he had freely spent such portion
of that gold as had come to his coffers, in trying to keep his little
estates intact; but now it was all gone, and long ago he had died of
grief and bitter disappointment; the Hereditary Grand Duchy of
Baumenburg-Drippe was ruled by a cousinly understudy of the German
Emperor William the Second; the one son of the marriage had been
adopted, as heir to his crown, by the childless King of Hungaria; the
handsome and lamentably extravagant old Duke of Northmoreland was
dead; his title and vast estates had passed to a distant and
disagreeable relative; and the widowed Grand Duchess, with her one
fair daughter, had lived for years in a pretty old house with a
high-walled garden, at Hampton Court, lent by the generosity of the
King and Queen of England.

For a long moment the Dresden china lady thought in silence and
something of sadness. Then she roused herself again and asked the one
and only Royal Princess with an American name what, in the way of a
match, she really expected.

"What do I expect?" echoed Virginia. "Why, I _wish_ for the Moon--no,
I mean the Sun. But I don't expect to get it."

"Is that a way of saying you never intend to marry?"

"I'm afraid it amounts to that," admitted Virginia, "since there is
only one man in the world I would have for my husband."

"My dearest! A man you have let yourself learn to care for? A man
beneath you? How terrible! But you see no one. I--"

"I've never seen this man. And--I'm not 'in love' with him; that would
be too foolish. Because, instead of being beneath, he's far, far above
me."

"Virginia! Of whom can you be talking? Or is this another joke?"

Virginia blushed a little, and instead of answering her mother's look
of helpless appeal, stared at the row of tall hollyhocks that blazed
along the ivy-hidden garden wall. She did not speak for an instant,
and then she said with the dainty shyness of a child pinned to a
statement by uncomprehending elders, "It isn't a joke. Nonsense,
maybe--yet not a joke. I've always thought of him--for so many years
I've forgotten when it first began. He's so great, so--everything that
appeals to me; how could I help thinking about him, and putting him on
a pedestal? I--there's no idea of marriage in my mind, of course.
Only--there's no other man possible, after all the thoughts I've given
him. No other man in the world."

"My dear, you _must_ tell me his name."

"What, when I've described him--almost--do you still need to hear his
name? Well then, I--I'm not ashamed to tell. It's 'Leopold.'"

"Leopold! You're talking of the Emperor of Rhaetia."

"As if it could have been any one else."

"And you have thought of him--you've cherished him--for years--as an
ideal! Why, you never spoke of him particularly before."

"That's because you never seriously wanted me to take a husband until
this prim, dull French Henri proposed himself. My thoughts were my
own. I wouldn't have told, only--you see why."

"Of course. My precious child, how extremely interesting, and--and
romantic." Again the Grand Duchess lapsed into silence. Yet her
expression did not suggest a stricken mind. She merely appeared
astonished, with an astonishment that might turn into an emotion more
agreeable.

Meanwhile it was left for Virginia to look vexed, vexed with herself.
She wished that she had not betrayed her poor little foolish
secret--so shadowy a secret that it was hardly worthy of the name. Yet
it had been precious--precious since childhood, precious as the
immediate jewel of her soul, because it had been the jewel of her
soul, and no one else had dreamed of its existence. Now she had shown
it to other eyes--almost flaunted it. Never again could it be a joy to
her.

In the little room, half study, half boudoir, which was her own, there
was a desk, locked in her absence, where souvenirs of the young
Emperor of Rhaetia had been accumulating for years. There were
photographs which Virginia had contrived to buy secretly; portraits of
Leopold from an early age, up to the present, when he was shown as a
tall, dark, cold-eyed, warm-lipped, firm-chinned young man of thirty.
There were paragraphs cut from newspapers, telling of his genius as a
soldier, his prowess as a mountaineer and hunter of big game, with
dramatic anecdotes of his haughty courage in time of danger, his
impulsive charities, his well thought out schemes for the welfare of
his subjects in every walk of life.

There were black and white copies of bold, clever pictures he had
painted; there was martial music composed by him, and plaintive
folk-songs adapted by him, which Virginia had tried softly to herself
on her little piano, when nobody was near. There were reports of
speeches made by him since his accession to the Throne; accounts of
improvements in guns, and an invention of a new explosive; there was a
somewhat crude, yet witty play which he had written; and numerous
other records of the accomplishments and achievements, and even
eccentricities which had built up the Princess Virginia's ideal of
this celebrated young man, proclaimed Emperor after the great
revolution eight years ago.

"You are worthy to be an Empress."

Her mother's voice broke into Virginia's thoughts. She started, and
found herself under inspection by the Grand Duchess. At first she
frowned, then she laughed, springing up on a quick impulse to turn
earnest into jest, and so perhaps escape further catechising.

"Yes, would I not make an Empress?" she echoed, stepping out from the
shadow of her favorite elm, into the noontide radiance of summer.

The sun poured over her hair, as she stood with uplifted head, and
threaded it with a network of living gold, gleaming into the dark gray
eyes rimmed with black lashes and turning them to jewels. Her fair
skin was as flawless in the unsparing light as the petals of lilies,
and her features, though a repetition of those which had made a
Virginia girl famous long ago, were carved with Royal perfection.

"There is no real reason why you should not make an Empress, dearest,"
said her mother, in pride of the girl's beauty, and desiring,
womanlike, to promote her child's happiness. "Stranger things have
happened. Only last week, at Windsor, the dear Queen was saying what
a pity poor Henri was not more--but no matter, he is well enough.
However, if--And when one comes to think of it, it's perhaps not
unnatural that Leopold of Rhaetia has never been mentioned for you,
although there could be nothing against the marriage. What a match for
any woman! A supreme one. Not a Royal girl but would go on her knees
to him, if--"

"I wouldn't," said Virginia. "I might worship him, yet he should go on
his knees to _me_."

"I doubt if those proud knees of his will ever bend in homage to man
or woman," replied the Grand Duchess. "But that's a mere fantasy. I'm
serious now, darling, and I very much wish you would be."

"Please, I'd rather not," smiled Virginia, uneasily. "Let us not talk
of the Emperor any more--and never again after this, Mother. You know
now. That's all that's necessary, and--"

"But it's not all that's necessary. You have put the idea into my
head, and it's not an unpleasing idea. Besides, it has evidently been
in _your_ head for a long time--and--I should like to see you
happy--see you in a position such as you're entitled to grace. You
are a very beautiful girl (there's no disguising that from you, as
you know you are the image of your grandmother, who was a celebrated
beauty) and the best blood in Europe runs in your veins. You are
royal, and yet--and yet our circumstances are such that--in fact, for
the present, we're somewhat handicapped."

"We're beggars," said Virginia, laughing; but it was not a happy
laugh.

"Cophetua married the beggar maid," the Grand Duchess reminded her,
with elaborate playfulness. "And, you know, all sorts of things have
happened in history--much stranger than any one would dare put in
fiction, if writing of Royalties. My dear husband was second cousin
once removed to the German Emperor, though he was treated--but we
mustn't speak of that. The subject always upsets me. What I was
leading up to, is this; though there may be other girls who, from a
worldly point of view, are more desirable; still, you're _strictly_
within the pale from which Leopold is entitled to choose his wife, and
if--"

"Dear little Mother, there's no such 'if.' And as for me, _I_ wasn't
thinking of a 'worldly point of view.' The Emperor of Rhaetia barely
knows that I exist. And even if by some miracle he should suddenly
discover that little Princess Virginia Mary Victoria Alexandra
Hildegarde of Baumenburg-Drippe was the one suitable wife for him on
earth, I wouldn't have him want me because I was 'suitable,'
but--because I was irresistible. I'd want his love--all his love--or I
would say 'no, you must look somewhere else for your Empress.'"

"But that's nonsense, darling. Royal people seldom or never have the
chance to fall in love," said the Grand Duchess.

"I'm tired of being Royal," snapped the Princess. "Being Royal does
nothing but spoil all one's fun, and oblige one to do stupid, boring
things, which one hates."

"Nevertheless, noblesse _does_ oblige," went on the Dresden china
prophetess of conventionality. "When alliances are arranged for women
of our position, we must content ourselves with the hope that love may
come after marriage. Or if not, we must go on doing our duty in that
state of life to which Heaven has graciously called us."

"Bother duty!" broke out Virginia. "Thank goodness, in these days not
all the king's horses and all the king's men can make even a Princess
marry against her will. I _hate_ that everlasting cant about 'duty in
marriage.' When people love each other, they're kind and good, and
sweet and true, because it's a joy, not because it's a duty. And
that's the only sort of loyalty worth having between men and women,
according to me. I wouldn't accept anything else from a man; and I
should despise him if he were less--or more--exacting."

"Virginia, the way you express yourself is almost improper. I'm
thankful that no one hears you except myself," said the Grand Duchess.
But at this moment, when clash of tongues and opinions seemed
imminent, there occurred a happy diversion in the arrival of letters.

Virginia, who was a neglectful correspondent, had nothing; but two or
three important looking envelopes claimed attention from the Grand
Duchess, and as soon as the ladies were once more alone together in
the sweet-scented garden, she broke the crown-stamped seal of her son
Adalbert, now by adoption Crown Prince of Hungaria.

"Open the others for me, dear," she demanded, excitedly, "while I see
what Dal has to say." And Virginia leisurely obeyed, wondering whether
Dal's news would by-and-by be passed on to her. It was always an event
when a long letter came from him; and the Grand Duchess invariably
laughed and exclaimed, and sometimes blushed as she read; but when she
blushed, the letter was not given to the Crown Prince's sister.

There was a note to-day from an old friend of her mother's of whom
Virginia was fond, and she had just begun to be interested in the
third paragraph, all about an adorable Dandy Dinmont puppy, when an
odd, half-stifled ejaculation from the Grand Duchess made the girl
lift her eyes.

"Has Dal been having something beyond the common in the way of
adventures?" she inquired dryly.

Her mother did not answer; but she had grown pink and then pale.

Virginia began to be uneasy. "What is the matter? Is anything wrong?"
she asked.

"No--nothing in the least wrong. Far from it, indeed. But--oh, my
child!"

"Mother dear, what is it?"

"Something so extraordinary--so wonderful--I mean, as a
coincidence--that I can hardly speak. I suppose I can't be dreaming?
You are really talking to me in the garden, aren't you?"

"I am, and I wish you were telling me the mystery. Do, dear. You look
awake, only rather odd."

"It would be strange if I didn't look odd. Dal says--Dal says--"

"What has he been doing? Getting engaged?"

"No. It is--your Emperor, not Dal, who talks of being engaged."

"Oh," said Virginia, trying not to speak blankly, trying not to flush,
trying not to show in any way the sudden sick pain in her heart.

Of course she was not in love with him. Of course, though she had been
childish enough long ago to make him her ideal, and foolishly faithful
enough to keep him so, she had always known that he would never be
more to her than a Shadow Emperor. Some day he would marry one of
those other Royal girls who were so much more suitable than she; that
would be natural and right, as she had more than once told herself
with no conscious pang. But now that the news had come--now that the
Royal girl was actually chosen, and she must hear the letter and read
about the happy event in the newspapers, it was different. She felt
suddenly cold and sick under the blow; hurt and defrauded, and even
jealous. She knew that she would hate the girl--some wretched,
commonplace girl, with stick-out teeth, perhaps, or no figure, and no
idea of the way to wear her clothes or do her hair.

But she swallowed hard, and clenched her fingers under the voluminous
letter about Dandy Dinmont. "Oh, so our friend is going to be
married?" she remarked lightly.

"That depends," replied the Grand Duchess, laughing mysteriously, with
a catch in her voice, as if she had been a nervous girl. "That
depends. You must guess--but no, I won't tease you. My dear, my dear,
after Dal's letter, coming as it has in the midst of such a
conversation, I shall be a firm believer in telepathy. This letter, on
its way to us, must have put the thoughts into our minds, and the
words on our tongues. It may be that the Emperor of Rhaetia will
marry; it may not. For, my sweet, beautiful girl, it depends
upon--you."

"Me?" The voice did not sound to Virginia like her own. Was she too,
dreaming? Were they both in a dream?

"He wishes to marry you."

All the letters dropped from Virginia's lap, dropped, and fluttered to
the grass slowly, like falling rose leaves. Scarcely knowing what she
did, she clasped her hands over the young bosom shaken with the sudden
throbbing of her heart. Perhaps such a betrayal of feeling by a Royal
maiden decorously sued (by proxy) for her hand, was scarcely correct;
but Virginia had no thought for rules of conduct, as laid down for her
too often by her mother.

"He wishes to marry--me?" she echoed, dazedly. "Why?"

"Providence must have drawn your inclination toward him, dearest. It
is indeed a romance. Some day, no doubt, it will be told to the world
in history."

"But how did he--" Virginia broke off, and began again: "Did he tell
this to Dal, and ask him to write you?"

"Not--not precisely that," admitted the Grand Duchess, her face
changing from satisfaction to uneasiness. For Virginia was difficult
in some ways, though adorable in others, and held such peculiar ideas
about life--inherited from her American grandmother--that it was
impossible to be sure how she would receive the most ordinary
announcements.

The Princess's rapt expression faded, like the passing of dawn.

"Not precisely that?" she repeated. "Then what--how--"

"Well, perhaps--though it's not strictly the correct thing--you had
better read your brother's letter for yourself."

Virginia put her hands behind her back with a childish gesture, and a
frightened look came into the eyes which at most times gazed bravely
upon the world. "I--somehow I can't," she said. "Please tell me."

"To begin with, then, you know what an admiration Dal has felt for
Count von Breitstein, ever since that diplomatic visit the Rhaetian
Chancellor paid to Hungaria. The fancy seemed to be mutual; but then,
who could ever resist Dal, if he wanted to be liked? The Chancellor
has written to him from time to time, and Dal has quite enjoyed the
correspondence; the old man can be witty as well as cynical if he
chooses, and Dal says he tells good stories. Now it seems (in the
informal way in which such affairs are usually put forward) that Count
von Breitstein has written confidentially to Dal, as our only near
male relative, asking how your family would regard an alliance between
Leopold and you, or if we have already disposed of your hand. At last
the Emperor is inclined to listen to his Chancellor's advice and
marry, and you, as a Protestant Princess--"

"A Protestant Princess, indeed!" cried Virginia. "I protest against
being approached by him on such terms."

The face of the Grand Duchess was darkened by the gloom of her
thoughts. "My daughter," she exclaimed mildly, yet despairingly, "it's
not possible that when this wonderful chance--this unheard of
chance--this chance that you were praying for--actually falls into
your hands, you will throw it away for--for a sentimental, school-girl
scruple?"

"I was not praying for it," said Virginia. "I'm sure, Mother, _you_
would have considered it most bold in me to pray for it. And I didn't.
I was only refusing other chances."

"Well, at all events, you have this one now. It is yours."

"Not in the one way I should have loved to see it come. Oh, Mother,
why does the Emperor want to marry me? Isn't there some other reason
than just because I'm a proper, Protestant Princess?"

"Of course," insisted the Grand Duchess, faintly encouraged. "Dal
mentions several most excellent reasons in his letter--if you would
only take them sensibly."

"I should like to hear them, at all events," answered Virginia.

"Well, you see the Empress of Rhaetia must be a Protestant, and there
aren't many eligible Protestant girls who would be acceptable to the
Rhaetians--girls who would be popular with the people. Oh, I have
finished about that! You need not look so desperate. Besides, Dal
explains that Leopold is a young man who dominates all around him. He
wishes to take for his bride a girl who could not by any possibility
herself be heiress to a throne. Dal fancies that his desire is to mold
his wife, and therefore to take a girl without too many important and
importunate relatives; for he is not one who would dream of adding to
his greatness by using the wealth or position of a woman. He has all
he needs, or wants, of that sort. And then, Dal reminds me, Leopold
is very partial to England, who helped Rhaetia passively, in the time
of her trouble eight years ago. The fact that you have lived in
England and had an English education, would be favorably regarded both
by Leopold and his Chancellor. And though I've never allowed you to
have a photograph taken, since you were a child (I hate seeing young
girls' faces in the newspapers and magazines; even though they are
Royal, their features need not be public property!) and you have lived
here in such seclusion that you've been little seen, still, the rumor
has reached Rhaetia that you are--good to look at. Leopold has been
heard to say that, whatever else the future Empress of Rhaetia may be,
he won't give his people an ugly woman to reign over them. And so,
altogether--"

"And so, altogether, my references being satisfactory, at a pinch I
might do for the place," cut in Virginia, with the hot, impatient
rebellion of her youth. "Oh, Mother, you think me mad or a fool, I
know; and perhaps I am mad; yet not mad enough not to see that it
would be a great thing, a wonderful thing to be asked in marriage by
the One Man in my world, if--ah, that great 'if'--he had only seen and
fallen in love with me. It might have happened, you know. As you say,
I'm not ugly. And I can be rather pleasant if I choose--so I believe.
If he had only come to this land, to see what I was like, as Royal men
did in the dear old fairy stories, and then had asked me to be his
wife, why, I should have been conceited enough to think it was because
he loved me, even more than because of other things. Then I should
have been happy--yes, dear, I'll confess it to you now--almost happy
enough to die of the great joy and triumph of it. But now I'm not
happy. I will marry Leopold, or I'll marry no man. But I swear to you,
I won't be married to Leopold in Count von Breitstein's hateful old,
cold, cut-and-dried way."

"It's the Emperor's way as well as von Breitstein's."

"Then for once in his big, grand, obstinate life he'll have to learn
that there's one insignificant girl who won't play Griselda, even for
the sake of being his Empress."

The girl proclaimed this resolve, rising to her feet, with her head
high, and a look in her gray eyes which told the Grand Duchess that it
would be hopeless for her to argue down the resolution. At first it
was a proud look, and a sad look; but suddenly a beam of light
flashed into it, and began to sparkle and twinkle. Virginia smiled,
and showed her dimples. Her color came and went. In a moment she was a
different girl, and her mother, bewildered, fearful still, dared to
hope something from the change.

"How odd you look!" she exclaimed. "You've thought of something. You
are happy. You have the air of--of having found some plan."

"It found me, I think," the girl answered, laughing. "All
suddenly--just in a flash. That's the way it must be with
inspirations. This is one--I know it. It's all in the air--floating
round me. But I shall grasp it soon."

She came close to her mother, still smiling, and knelt down in the
grass at her feet, looking up with radiance in her eyes.

Luckily there was no one save the Dresden china lady and the birds and
flowers to see how a young Princess threw her mantle of dignity away;
for the two did not keep Royal state and a Royal retinue in the quaint
old house at Hampton Court; and the big elm which Virginia loved,
kindly hid the mother and daughter from intrusive eyes.

"You do love me, don't you, dearest?" cooed the Princess, softly as a
dove.

"You know I do, my child, though I don't pretend to understand you,"
sighed the Grand Duchess, well aware that she was about to be coaxed
into some scheme, feeling that she would yield, and praying Providence
that the yielding might not lead her into tribulation.

"People grow dull if we understand them too well," said Virginia.
"It's like solving a puzzle. There's no more fun in it, when it's
finished. But you wish me to be happy, darling?"

"More than I wish for anything else, excepting of course dear Dal's--"

"Dal is a man and can take care of himself. _I_ must do the best I
can--poor me! And there's something I want so much, so much, it would
be heaven on earth, all my own, if I could win it. Leopold's love,
quite for myself, as a girl, not as a 'suitable Protestant Princess.'
For a few horrid minutes, I thought it was too late to hope for that,
and I must give him up, because I never could be sure if I accepted
him without his love, and he _said_ it had come afterwards, that it
was really, really true. Anyway, it could never be the same; and I
was miserable over what might have been. Then, suddenly, I saw how it
still might be. I almost think I may be able to win his love, if
you'll promise to help me, dear."

"Of course I will," said the Grand Duchess, carried out of her pretty
little, conventional self into unwonted impulsiveness, by the warmth
of kisses soft and sweet as the roses on Virginia's bosom.

"That is, I will if I can. But I don't at all see what I can do."

"I see. And what I want you to do, is to please, _please_ see with my
eyes."

"They're very bright ones," smiled her mother.

Princess Virginia clasped the Grand Duchess round the waist so tightly
that it hurt. Then she laughed, an odd, half-frightened, excited
laugh. "Dearest, something perfectly wonderful is going to happen to
you and me," she said. "The most wonderful thing that ever has
happened. We are going to have a--great--adventure. And what the end
of it will be--I don't know."



CHAPTER II

FOUR GENTLEMEN OF IMPORTANCE


Twilight fell late in the tiny Rhaetian village of Alleheiligen. So
high on the mountain side were perched the simple inn and the group of
brown chalets clustering round the big church with its bulbous,
Oriental spire, that they caught the last red rays of sunset and held
them flashing on burnished copper roof plates, and jeweling small,
bright window-panes long after the green valley below was curtained
with shadow.

One September evening, two dusty traveling carriages toiled up the
steep, winding road that led to the highest hamlet of the Rhaetian
Alps, and a girl walking beside the foremost driver (minded, as he
was, to save the jaded horses) looked up to see Alleheiligen
glittering like a necklet of gems on the brown throat of the mountain.
Each window was a great, separate ruby set in gold; the copper bulb
that crowned the church steeple was a burning carbuncle; while above
the flashing band of gorgeous color, the mountain reared its head,
facing westward, its steadfast features carved in stone, the brow
snow-capped and rosy where the sun touched it, blue where the shadows
lay.

The driver assured the young English lady, whom he much admired for
her pluck as well as beauty, that she had far better return to the
carriage; that indeed, she need not have left it. Her extra weight
would be but as that of a feather to the horses, which were used to
carrying far heavier loads than that of to-day, up the steep mountain
road to Alleheiligen in the "high" season of July and August, when
many tourists from all countries came to rest for a night and see the
wonderful view. He even grew voluble in his persuasions, but the girl
still smilingly insisted that she liked walking, and the brown-faced
fellow with the soft green hat and curly cock feather admired her the
more for her firmness and endurance.

She was plainly dressed in gray, which did not show the dust, and
though her skirt and short jacket were well made, and her neat little
hat jaunty and becoming--almost dangerously becoming--she was not
half as grand in appearance as some of the ladies who drove up with
him in July and August. Still, the man said to himself, there was an
air about her--no, he could not describe it even to himself--but it
meant distinction. And then, as she was English, it was as pleasing as
it was remarkable that she could speak Rhaetian so prettily. She had
learned it, she said when he respectfully ventured a question,
because, since she was a child, she had taken an interest in Rhaetian
history and literature. And this seemed strange to him, that so dainty
a lady should have learned such a language for pleasure, because the
people of most countries found it excessively difficult--as difficult
as Hungarian and just enough like German to make it even more
difficult, perhaps. But this English girl said she had picked it up
easily; and the young man's heart warmed to her when she praised
Rhaetian music and Rhaetian poetry.

This was the last touch; this won him wholly; and without stopping
further to analyze or account for his admiration, the driver of the
first carriage found himself bestowing confidences upon his gracious
companion as they slowly tramped up the winding road, the reins looped
over his arm.

He told her of his life; how he had not always lived down there in the
valley and driven tourists for a living. Before he fell in love and
married a valley girl, and had a young family to rear, his house had
been aloft, in Alleheiligen. He was born on the mountain side; his
mother still lived in the village. It was she who kept the inn. Ach,
but a good woman, and a cook to the king's taste--or rather, the
Emperor's taste--if it was her own son who said it.

He was glad that the English ladies would be stopping with her for a
few days at this season. She would make them comfortable, more
comfortable than would be possible at a crowded time, and then,
besides, after the season was over, and the strangers had been
frightened away by the first flurry of snow, the poor mother grew
lonely and tired of idleness. Oh yes, she stayed the winter through.
It was home to her. There were not many neighbors, then, it was true,
yet she would not be happy to go away. Mountain folk never really
learned to love the valleys.

What, the ladies had not written to the inn in advance? Ah, well, that
would not matter at this season. There would be rooms, and to spare;
the ladies could take their choice; and the mother would have a
pleasant surprise. Glad he was that he chanced to be the one to bring
it.

Those who knew Frau Yorvan, know that her larder was never empty of
good things, and that her linen was aired and scented with the dried
lavender blossoms gathered down below. Indeed, she had need to be ever
in readiness for distinguished guests, because sometimes--but the
eloquent tongue of Alois Yorvan was suddenly silent, like the clapper
of a church bell which the ringers have ceased to pull, and his
sunburnt face grew sheepish.

"Because sometimes?" echoed the girl, in her pretty Rhaetian. "What
happens sometimes, that your mother must ever be expecting?"

"Oh," the man stammered a little foolishly, "I was but going to say
that she has sometimes to entertain people of the high nobility, of
different nations. Alleheiligen, though small, is rather celebrated,
you know."

"Has your Emperor been here?" asked the young lady.

"It may be," answered Alois, jauntily. "It may be. Our Emperor has
been to most places."

His companion smiled and put no more questions.

Slowly they climbed on; the two carriages, containing the English
girl's mother, a middle-aged companion, a French maid, and a
reasonable supply of luggage, toiling up behind, the harness jingling
with a faint sound as of fairy bells.

Then at last they came to the inn, a quaint house, half of stone, half
of rich brown shingles; a huge picture, crowded with saints of special
importance to Alleheiligen, painted in once crude, now faded colors,
on a swinging sign. A characteristic, yodeling cry from Alois, sent
forth before the highest turn of the road was reached, brought an
apple-cheeked and white-capped old woman to the door; then it was the
youngest of the travelers who asked, with a pleasant greeting in
Rhaetian, for the best suite of rooms which Frau Yorvan could give.

But to the girl's astonishment the landlady showed none of the delight
her son had predicted. Surprised she certainly was, even startled, and
certainly embarrassed. For an instant she seemed to hesitate before
replying, then her emotion was partly explained by her words.
Unfortunately her best rooms were engaged; four of the bedrooms with
the choicest view, and the one private sitting-room the inn possessed.
But if the ladies would put up with the second best, she would gladly
accommodate them. Was it but for the night? Oh, for several days!
(Again the apple face looked dubious.) Well, if the ladies would
graciously enter, and choose from what she had to offer, she would be
honored.

They did enter and presently wrote their names as Lady Mowbray, Miss
Mowbray, Miss Manchester, and maid. An hour later when the new-comers,
mother, daughter and _dame de compagnie_, sat down to a hot supper in
a bed-chamber hastily but skilfully transformed into a private
dining-room, the youngest of the three remarked to Frau Yorvan upon
the peaceful stillness of her house.

"One would think there wasn't a soul about the place except
ourselves," said she, "yet you've told us you have other guests."

"The gentlemen who are stopping here are away all day long in the
mountains," explained Frau Yorvan. "It is now the time for chamois
hunting and it is for that, and also the climbing of a strange group
of rocks called the Bunch of Needles, only to be done by great
experts, that they come to me."

"They are out late this evening. Aren't you beginning to be a little
anxious about them, if they go to such dangerous places?"

"Oh, to-night, gracious Fräulein, they will not return at all," said
the landlady, warming impulsively to the subject. "They often stop at
a kind of hut they have near the top of the mountain, to begin some
climb they may wish to undertake very early. They are much closer to
it there, you see, and it saves their wasting several hours on the
way. They are constantly in the habit of stopping at the hut, in fine
weather; but they are very considerate; they always let me know their
plans beforehand."

"If they're away so much, I think it a little selfish in them to keep
your one private sitting-room, when you might need it for others,"
remarked the girl.

"Oh, but gracious Fräulein, you must not say that!" cried the old
woman, looking as much shocked as if her young guest had broken one of
the commandments.

The girl laughed. "Why not?" she inquired. "Are the gentlemen of such
importance that they mustn't be criticized by strangers?"

Frau Yorvan was embarrassed. "They are excellent patrons of mine,
gracious Fräulein, that is all I meant," said she. "I cannot bear
that unjust things should be thought of such--good gentlemen."

"I was only joking," the girl reassured her. "We are perfectly
satisfied with this room, which you have made most comfortable.
All I care for is that the famous walks in the neighborhood shall
not be private. I may, at least, walk as much as I like and even
climb a little, I and my friend, Miss Manchester, who is a daring
mountaineer," (with this she threw a glance at the middle-aged lady in
black, who visibly started and grew wild-eyed in response) "for I
suppose that your guests have not engaged the whole Schneehorn for
their own."

The landlady's hospitable smile returned. "No, gracious Fräulein. You
are free to wander as you will, but do not, I beg you, go too far, or
attempt any climbs of real difficulty, for they are not to be done
without guides; and take care you do not stray into wild places where,
by making some movement or sound before you were seen by the hunters,
you might be mistaken for a chamois."

"Even our prowess is hardly likely to lead us into such peril as
that," laughed the girl, who seemed much more friendly and inclined
toward conversation than the two elders of the party. "But please
wake us early to-morrow morning. My friend Miss Manchester and I would
like to have breakfasted and be ready for a start by eight o'clock at
latest."

Again the placid features of the lady in black quivered; and though
she said nothing, Frau Yorvan pitied her. "Would you not wish, in any
case, to have a guide?" she asked. "I could engage you an intelligent
young man who--"

"Thank you, no," broke in the girl, decidedly. "A guide-book is
preferable to a guide, for what we mean to do. We sha'n't attempt any
places which the book says are unsafe for amateurs. But what an
excellent engraving that is over the fireplace, with the chamois horns
above it. Isn't that a portrait of your Emperor when he was a boy?"

The landlady's eyes darted to the picture. "Ach, I had meant to carry
it away," she muttered.

The girl's quick ears caught the words. "Why should you carry it away?
Don't you love the Emperor, that you would put his face out of sight?"

"Not love _Unser Leo_?" cried the old woman, horrified. "Why, we
worship him, gracious Fräulein; we would die for him, any day, all of
us mountain people--and yes, all Rhaetians, I believe. I could not
let you go back to your own land with the idea that we do not love the
noblest Emperor country ever had. As for what I said about the
portrait, I didn't know that I spoke aloud, I am so used to mumbling
to myself, since I began to grow deaf and old. But of course, I wished
it put away only because it is such a poor thing, it does _Unser Leo_
no sort of justice. You--you would not recognize him from that
picture, if you were to see him now."

With this excuse, Frau Yorvan hurried out to fetch another dish, which
she said must be ready; to cool her hot face, and to scold herself for
her stupidity, all the way down-stairs.

She was gone some time; and the girl who had, no doubt unwittingly,
occasioned the old woman's uneasiness, took advantage of her absence
to laugh, excited, happy laughter.

"Poor, transparent old dear, so pleased and proud of her great secret,
which she thinks she's keeping so well!" she exclaimed. "I'm sure she
doesn't dream that she's as easy to read as a book with big, big
print. She's in a sad fright now, lest we inconvenient foreigners
should chance upon her grand gentlemen to-morrow, recognize one of
them from the portrait, and spoil his precious incognito."

"Then--you think that _he_ is really here--in this out of the way
eyrie?" half whispered the Grand Duchess.

"I feel sure he is," answered Princess Virginia.

For a moment there was silence. Then said the Grand Duchess, with an
air of resignation, "Well, I suppose we should be glad--since we have
come to Rhaetia for the purpose of--dear me, I can scarcely bring
myself to say it."

"You may say it, since our dear old lamb of a Letitia knows all about
it, and is in with us," returned Virginia. "But--but I truly didn't
expect to find him _here_. One knows he comes sometimes; it's been in
the papers; but this time they had it that he'd gone to make a week's
visit to poor old General von Borslok at the Baths of Melina; and I
thought, before we went to Kronburg with all our pretty letters of
introduction, as he was away from the palace there, it would be
idyllic to use up the time with a visit to Alleheiligen. I don't want
you and Letitia to think that I was just making catspaws of you both,
and forcing you without knowing, to help me unearth him in his lair.
Still, as he _is_ here--"

"Perhaps he isn't," suggested the Grand Duchess. "I don't see that you
have much ground for fancying so."

"Oh, _ground_!" echoed Virginia, scornfully. "It's instinct that I go
upon, not ground. That woman's face when she saw foreign tourists at
her door, out of season, when she had a right to think she was safe
from invasion. Her stammering about the best rooms being taken; her
wish to get rid of us; her distress that she couldn't possibly do so,
without making matters worse. The way she talks of her 'four
gentlemen.' Her horror at my _lèse majesté_. Her confusion about the
portraits; her wish to impress it upon us that _Unser Leo_ is quite
changed. Instinct ought to be ashamed if it couldn't play detective as
far as that. But--of course we may not see him. If she can help it, we
won't. He won't like being run to earth by tourists, when he is
amusing himself; and perhaps the trusty landlady will send the
intelligent young guide whom I refused, to warn him, so that if he
chooses he can keep out of the way."

"I almost hope she may send," said the Grand Duchess. "I don't think
Providence wills a meeting here. You have brought no pretty dresses. I
_should_ like him to see you first when you look your best, since, to
your mind, so much depends upon his feelings in this matter."

"Our first meeting is--on the knees of the gods," murmured Virginia.

And then Frau Yorvan came into the room with a soufflé.



CHAPTER III

A CHAMOIS HUNTER


"This is perfectly appalling!" groaned the unfortunate lady who
passed, for this adventure, under the name of Miss Manchester.

"Perfectly glorious!" amended her companion.

The elder lady pressed Baedeker to her bosom, and sat down, with some
abruptness. "I shall have to stop here," she panted, "all the rest of
my life, and have my meals and my night things sent up. I'm very
sorry. But I'm certain I shall never be able to go back."

"Don't be absurd, my poor dear; we're absolutely safe," said Virginia.
"I may be a selfish wretch, but I wouldn't for the world have brought
you into danger. You needn't go down yet. Let's explore a little
further. It's easier than turning back. Surely you can go on. Baedeker
says you can. In ten minutes you'll be at the top of the _col_."

"You may as well tell me that I'll be in my grave. It amounts to the
same thing," wailed Miss Manchester, who was, in the sphere of happier
duties, Miss Letitia Portman, and had been the Princess's governess.
"I can't look down; I can't look up, because I keep thinking of the
unspeakable things behind. After I get my breath and have become
resigned to my fate, I _may_ be comparatively comfortable here, for
some years; but as to stirring either way, there's no use dreaming of
it."

"Well, you'll make an ideal hermitess," said Virginia. "You've exactly
the right features for that profession; austere, yet benevolent. But
you're not really afraid now?"

"Not so much, sitting down," admitted Miss Portman, slowly regaining
her natural color.

"Do you think then, dear, that you'd relapse and lose your head or
anything, if I just strolled on alone to the top of the _col_ for the
view which the guide-book says is so fine, and then came back to
organize a relief expedition, say in about half an hour or so?"

"No-o," said Miss Portman, "I suppose I can bear it. I may as well
accustom myself to loneliness, as I am obliged to spend my remaining
years on this spot. But I'm not at all sure the Duchess would
approve--"

"You mean Lady Mowbray. She wouldn't mind. She knows I've a good head
and--physically--a good heart. Besides, I shall have only myself to
look after. And one really doesn't need a chaperon in going to make an
early call on a mountain view."

"Dearest Princess, I'm not so sure of that, in regard to this mountain
view."

"Miss Mowbray, please. You're very subtle. But I really _haven't_ come
out to look for the Mountain View you refer to. You needn't think it.
I don't know where his lair is, but it's probably miles from here, and
if I knew I wouldn't hunt him there. That would be _un peu trop fort_;
and anyway, I'm inclined to believe that Mother is right about those
dresses. I shall have such nice ones at Kronburg! So you see you can
conscientiously give me your blessing and let me go."

"My dear! As if I could have suspected you would search for him! You
are in Rhaetia not to pursue, but to give an Emperor, who wishes to
have a certain Princess for his consort, a chance to fall in love with
herself."

"If he will--if it can be so. But what do Helen Mowbray and Letitia
Manchester know about the love affairs of emperors and princesses? _Au
revoir_, dear friend; I'm going. By and by, if you have courage to
lift your eyes, you'll see me waving a handkerchief flag at the
rock-corner up there."

Virginia took the alpenstock which she had laid down, and began
picking her way daintily yet pluckily toward the _col_ which she had
named as her goal. There was another route to it, leading on to the
highest peak of the Schneehorn, only to be dared by experienced
climbers, but the way by which the girl and her companion had set out
from Alleheiligen nearly four hours ago, was merely fatiguing, never
dangerous, and Virginia knew that Miss Portman was safe, and not half
as much frightened as she pretended.

They had started at eight, just as the September sun had begun to draw
the night chill out of the keen mountain air; and now it was close
upon twelve. The Princess was hungry.

In Nordeck, the frontier town of Rhaetia as you come in from Germany,
she had bought rücksacks for herself and Miss Portman, to be used upon
just such mountain excursions as this; and to-day the brown canvas
bags were being tested for the first time. Each rücksack stored an
adequate luncheon for its bearer, while on top, secured by straps
passed across the shoulders, lay a folded wrap to be used in case of
rain.

Virginia's burden grew heavy as she mounted, though at first its
weight had seemed trifling. When she had waved her handkerchief at the
turning, and passed out of Miss Portman's sight, it occurred to her
that it would be clever to lighten the rücksack and satisfy her
appetite at the same time.

The one difficulty was that, in her present position, she could not
safely unstrap the bag from her shoulders, open it, take out the
parcel of luncheon, and strap it on again. The way was too narrow, and
the rocks too slippery, to attempt such liberties; at a short
distance, however, and only a little out of the path to the _col_, she
could see a small green plateau, the very place for a rest. But could
she reach it? The girl stood still, and looked wistfully across.

The place could be gained only by a scramble over a ledge of
formidable rocks, and climbing in good earnest here and there, yet--if
the thing could be done at all, it could be done in ten minutes, and
to come back would be comparatively easy. Virginia was tempted.

"The dear Letitia will be eating her own lunch by this time, and won't
miss me if my half hour is a long one," she thought. "And anyway, I
said half an hour or _so_. That means almost anything, when it comes
to an argument."

Another moment, and the girl had started. She was brave at first;
but when she had gone half way--a way which was longer and far more
difficult than she had fancied--she was conscious of a certain
sinking of the heart. She even felt some qualms of sympathy with
the sentiments and intentions Miss Portman had expressed, and
heartily wished herself back by that good lady's side. But it was
against her principles to be conquered, especially when being
conquered meant turning coward, or something like it, and she
scrambled on obstinately, her cheeks burning, her heart thumping,
and her lips pressed together.

What a grim, remorseless giant the mountain was, and what a mere,
creeping fly upon its vast shoulder, she! Little cared the old
mountain that she was a Royal Princess, and that the Emperor who ruled
the land of which it was part, had the intention of marrying her. It
would thwart that imperial intention without a qualm, nor turn a
pebble if the poor little Princess toppled over its cruel shoulder and
fell in a small, crushed heap, without ever having looked upon the
face of the Rhaetian Emperor.

Then there came a later moment when, like Miss Portman, whom she had
so recently laughed to scorn, the Princess felt that she could neither
go on, nor go back. She was horribly homesick. She wanted her mother
and the garden at Hampton Court, and would hardly have thrown a glance
of interest at Leopold if he had appeared before her eyes. There were
tears in those eyes and she was hating the mountain, and all Rhaetia,
with her whole strength, when from the mysterious distance round the
corner of the plateau there came the sound of a man's voice,
cheerfully yodeling.

Never had a sound been so welcome, or seemed so sweet. It was to
Virginia as the voice of an angel. "Help!" she called. "Help!" first
in English, and then, on second thoughts, in Rhaetian.

The yodeling abruptly stopped, and a man appeared round a corner of
rock beyond the green plateau. The sun shone in his eyes, and he
shaded them with his hand to look up at her. Virginia stared,
hopefully, expectantly. A glance photographed a tall figure in a gray
coat passemoiled with green; a soft green cap of felt; short trousers;
bare knees; knitted stockings; nailed boots. Thank heaven, no tourist,
but evidently a mountain man, a guide or a chamois hunter, perhaps; at
all events, one capable of coming to her rescue. These things she saw
and thought, in a flash; and then, the brown hand that had shaded his
eyes, dropped. She caught sight of his face.

It was the Emperor.

A moment ago she had felt that she could look at him with
indifference, and would a thousand times over prefer a glimpse of the
dear old house at Hampton Court, with an easy way to reach it. But
now, everything was changed. There was no longer any danger. He was
there. He was coming to help her. A Power higher than his had arranged
this as their first encounter, and would not have taken the trouble to
bring him to her here, if the meeting were to end in ignominy or
disaster.

He had run across the plateau; now the nailed boots were ringing on
rock. She could gaze down upon his head, he was so close to her. He
was looking up. What a noble face it was! Better than all the
pictures. And the eyes--

Virginia was suddenly and wildly happy. She could have sung for joy, a
song of triumph, and losing her head a little she lost her scant
foothold as well, slipped, tried to hold on, failed, and slid down the
steeply sloping rock.

If the man had not sprung forward and caught her, she would probably
have rolled over the narrow ledge on which he stood, and gone bounding
down, down the mountain side, to her death. But he did catch her, and
broke the fall, so that she landed lightly beside him, and within an
ace of being on her knees.

After all, it had been a narrow escape; but the man's arms were so
strong, and his eyes so brave, that Virginia scarcely realized the
danger she had passed. It seemed so inevitable now, that he must have
saved her, that there was room in her thoughts for no dreadful
might-have-been. Was it not the One Man sent to her by Destiny, when
if this thing had not been meant, since the hour of her birth, it
might easily have been some mere tourist, sent by Cook?

[Illustration: _She lost her scant foothold, slipped, tried to hold
on, failed, and slid down the rock_]

All her life had but led up to this moment. Under the soft hat of
green felt adorned with the beard of a chamois, was the face she
had seen in dreams. A dark, austere young face it was, with more of
Mars than Apollo in its lines, yet to her more desirable than all the
ideals of all the sculptors since the world began. He was dressed as a
chamois hunter, and there was nothing in the well-worn, almost shabby
clothes to distinguish the wearer from the type he chose to represent.
But as easily might the eagle to whom in her heart she likened him,
try to pass for a barnyard fowl, as this man for a peasant, so thought
the Princess.



CHAPTER IV

THE EAGLE'S EYRIE


So she had gone on her knees to him after all--or almost! She was glad
her mother did not know. And she hoped that he did not feel the
pulsing of the blood in her fingers, as he took her hand and lifted
her to her feet. There was shame in this tempest that swept through
her veins, because he did not share it; for to her, though this
meeting was an epoch, to him it was no more than a trivial incident.
She would have keyed his emotions to hers, if she could, but since she
had had years of preparation, he a single moment, perhaps she might
have been consoled for the disparity, could she have read his eyes.
They said, if she had known: "Is the sky raining goddesses to-day?"

Now, what were to be her first words to him? Dimly she felt, that if
she were to profit by this wonderful chance to know the man and not
the Emperor--this chance which might be lost in a few moments, unless
her wit befriended her--those words should be beyond the common. She
should be able to marshal her sentences, as a general marshals his
battalions, with a plan of campaign for each.

A spirit monitor--a match-making monitor--whispered these wise advices
in her ear; yet she was powerless to profit by them. Like a
school-girl about to be examined for a scholarship, knowing that all
the future might depend upon an hour of the present, the dire need to
be resourceful, to be brilliant, left her dumb.

How many times had she not thought of her first conversation with
Leopold of Rhaetia, planning the first words, the first looks, which
must make him know that she was different from any other girl he had
ever met! Yet here she stood, speechless, epigrams turning tail and
racing away from her like a troop of playful colts refusing to be
caught.

And so it was the Emperor who spoke before Virginia's _savoir faire_
came back.

"I hope you're not hurt?" asked the chamois hunter, in the _patois_
dear to the heart of Rhaetian mountain folk.

She had been glad before, now she was thankful that she had spent many
weeks and months in loving study of the tongue which was Leopold's. It
was not the _métier_ of a chamois hunter to speak English, though the
Emperor was said to know the language well, and she rejoiced in her
ability to answer the chamois hunter as he would be answered, keeping
up the play.

"I am hurt only in the pride that comes before a fall," she replied,
forcing a laugh. "Thank you many times for saving me."

"I feared that I frightened you, and made you lose your footing," the
chamois hunter answered.

"I think on the contrary, if it hadn't been for you I should have lost
my life," said Virginia. "There should be a sign put up on that
tempting plateau, 'All except suicides beware.'"

"The necessity never occurred to us, my mates and me," returned the
man in the gray coat, passemoiled with green. "Until you came, gna'
Fräulein, no tourist that I know of, has found it tempting."

Virginia's eyes lit with a sudden spark. The spirit monitor--that
match-making monitor--came back and dared her to a frolic, such a
frolic, she thought, as no girl on earth had ever had, or would have,
after her. And she could show this grave, soldier-hero of hers,
something new in life--something quite new, which it would not harm
him to know. Then, let come what would out of this adventure, at worst
she should always have an Olympian episode to remember.

"Until _I_ came?" she caught up his words, standing carefully on the
spot where he had placed her. "But I am no tourist; I am an explorer."

He lifted level, dark eyebrows, smiling faintly. And when he smiled,
half his austerity was gone.

So beautiful a girl as this need not rise beyond agreeable
commonplaceness of mind and speech to please a man; indeed, this
particular chamois hunter expected no more than good looks, a good
heart and a nice manner, from women. Yet this beauty bade fair, it
seemed, to hold surprises in reserve.

"I have brought down noble game to-day," he said to himself; and
aloud; "I know the Schneehorn well, and love it well. Still I can't
see what rewards it has for the explorer. Unless, gna' Fräulein, you
are a climber or a geologist."

"I'm neither; yet I think I have seen something, a most rare thing,
I've wanted all my life to see."

The young man's face confessed curiosity. "Indeed? A rare thing that
lives here on the mountain?"

"I am not sure if it lives here. I should like to find out," replied
the girl.

"Might one inquire the name of this rare thing?" asked the chamois
hunter. "Perhaps, if I knew, it might turn out that I could help you
in the search. But first, if you'd let me lead you to the plateau,
where I think you were going? Here, your head might still grow a
little giddy, and it's not well to keep you standing, gna' Fräulein,
on such a spot. You've passed all the worst now. The rest is easy."

She gave him her hand, pleasing herself by fancying the act a kind of
allegory, as she let him lead her to safe and pleasant places, on a
higher, sunnier level.

"Perhaps the rare thing grows here," the chamois hunter went on,
looking about the green plateau with a new interest.

"I think not," Virginia answered, shaking her head. "It would thrive
better nearer the mountain top, in a more hidden place than this. It
does not love tourists."

"Nor do I, in truth," smiled the chamois hunter.

"You took me for one."

"Pardon, gna' Fräulein. Not the kind of tourist we both mean."

"Thank you."

"But you have not said if I might help you in your search. This is a
wild region for a young lady to be exploring in, alone."

"I feel sure," responded the Princess, graciously, "that if you really
would, you could help me as well as any one in Rhaetia."

"You are kind indeed to say so, though I don't know how I have
deserved the compliment."

"Did it sound like a compliment? Well, leave it so. I meant, because
you are at home in these high altitudes; and the rare thing I speak of
is a plant that grows in high places. It is said to be found only in
Rhaetian mountains, though I have never heard of any one who has been
able to track it down."

"Is it our pink Rhaetian edelweiss of which we are so proud? Because
if it is, and you will trust me, I know exactly where to take you, to
find it. With my help, you could climb there from here in a few
moments."

She shook her head again, smiling inscrutably. "Thank you, it's not
the pink edelweiss. The scientific, the esoteric name, I've promised
that I'll tell to no one; but the common people in my native country,
who have heard of it, would call the plant _Edelmann_."

"You have already seen it on the mountain, but not growing?"

"Some chamois hunter, like yourself, had dropped it, perhaps, not
knowing what its value was. It's a great deal to have had one
glimpse--worth running into danger for."

"Perhaps, gna' Fräulein, you don't realize to the full the danger you
did run. No chance was worth it, believe me."

"You--a chamois hunter--say that."

"But I'm a man. You are a woman; and women should keep to beaten paths
and safety."

The Princess laughed. "I shouldn't wonder," said she, "if that's a
Rhaetian theory--a Rhaetian _man's_ theory. I've heard, your Emperor
holds it."

"Who told you that, gna' Fräulein?" He gave her a sharp glance, but
her gray eyes looked innocent of guile, and were therefore at their
most dangerous.

"Oh, many people have told me. Cats may look at kings, and the most
insignificant persons may talk of Emperors. I've heard many things of
yours."

"Good things or bad?"

"No doubt such things as he truly deserves. Now can you guess which?
But perhaps I would tell you without your guessing, if I were not so
very, very hungry." She glanced at the pocket of his coat, from which
protruded a generous hunch of black bread and ham--thrust in probably,
at the instant when she had called for help. "I can't help seeing that
you have your luncheon with you. Do you want it all," (she carefully
ignored the contents of her rücksack, which she could not well have
forgotten) "or--would you share it?"

The chamois hunter looked surprised, though not displeased. But then,
this was his first experience of a feminine explorer, and he quickly
rose to the occasion.

"There is more, much more bread and bacon where this came from," he
replied. "Will you be graciously pleased to accept something of our
best?"

"If _you_ please, then I too shall be pleased," she said. Guiltily,
she remembered Miss Portman. But the dear Letitia could not be
considered now. If she were alarmed, she should be well consoled
later.

"I and some friends of mine have a--a sort of hut round the corner
from this plateau, and a short distance on," announced the chamois
hunter, with a gesture that gave the direction. "No woman has ever
been our guest, but I invite you to visit it and lunch there. Or, if
you prefer, remain here and in a few minutes I will bring such food as
we can offer. At best it's not much to boast of. We chamois hunters
are poor men, living roughly."

The Princess smiled, imprisoning each new thought of mischief which
flew into her mind, like a trapped bird. "I've heard you're rich in
hospitality," she said. "I'll go with you to your hut, for it will be
a chance to prove the saying."

The eyes of the hunter--dark, brilliant and keen as the eagle's to
which she compared him--pierced hers. "You have no fear?" he asked.
"You are a young girl, alone, save for me, in a desolate place. For
all you know, my mates and I may be a band of brigands."

"Baedeker doesn't mention the existence of brigands in these days,
among the Rhaetian Alps," replied Virginia, with quaint dryness. "I've
always found him trustworthy. Besides, I've great faith in the
chivalry of Rhaetian men; and if you knew how hungry I am, you
wouldn't keep me waiting for talk of brigands. Bread and butter are
far more to the point."

"Even search for the rare Edelmann may wait?"

"Yes. The Edelmann may wait--on me." The last two words she dared but
to whisper.

"You must pardon my going first," said the man with the bare brown
knees. "The way is too narrow for politeness."

"Yet I wish that the peasants at home had such courteous manners as
yours," Virginia patronized him, prettily. "You Rhaetians need not go
to court, I see, for lessons in behavior."

"The mountains teach us something, maybe."

"Something of their greatness, which we should all do well to learn.
But have you never lived in a town?"

"A man of my sort _exists_ in a town. He lives in the mountains." With
this diplomatic response, the tall figure swung round a corner formed
by a boulder of rock, and Virginia gave a little cry of surprise. The
"hut" of which the chamois hunter had spoken was revealed by the turn,
and it was of an unexpected and striking description. Instead of the
humble erection of stones and wood which she had counted on, the rocky
side of the mountain itself had been coaxed to give her sons a
shelter.

A doorway, and large square openings for windows, had been cut in the
red-veined, purplish-brown porphyry; while a heavy slab of oak, and
wooden frames filled full of glittering bottle-glass, protected such
rooms as might have been hollowed out within, from storm or cold.

Even had Virginia been ignorant of her host's identity, she would have
been wise enough to guess that here was no Sennhütte, or ordinary
abode of common peasants, who hunt the chamois for a precarious
livelihood. The work of hewing out in the solid rock a habitation such
as this must have cost more than most Rhaetian chamois hunters would
save in many a year. But her wisdom also counseled her to express no
further surprise after her first exclamation.

"My mates are away for the time, though they may come back by and by,"
the man explained, holding the heavy oaken door that she might pass
into the room within; and though she was not invited to further
exploration, she was able to see by the several doorways cut in the
rock walls, that this was not the sole accommodation the strange house
could boast.

On the rock floor, rugs of deer and chamois skin were spread; in a
rack of oak, ornamented with splendid antlers and studded with the
sharp, pointed horns of the chamois, were suspended guns of modern
make, and brightly polished, formidable hunting knives. The table in
the center of the room had been carved with admirable skill; and the
half-dozen chairs were oddly fashioned of stags' antlers, shaped to
hold fur-cushioned, wooden seats. A carved dresser of black oak held a
store of the coarse blue, red and green china made by peasants in the
valley below, through which Virginia had driven yesterday; and these
bright colored dishes were eked out with platters and great tankards
of old pewter, while in the deep fireplace a gipsy kettle swung over a
bed of fragrant pinewood embers.

"This is a delightful place--fit for a king, or even for an Emperor,"
said Virginia, when the bare-kneed chamois hunter had offered her a
chair near the fire, and crossed the room to open the closed cupboard
under the dresser shelves.

He was stooping as she spoke, but at her last words looked round over
his shoulder.

"We mountain men aren't afraid of a little work--when it's for our own
comfort," he replied. "And most of the things you see here are
home-made, during the long winters."

"Then you are all very clever indeed. But this place is interesting;
tell me, has the Emperor ever been your guest here? I've read--let me
see, could it have been in a guide-book or in some paper?--that he
comes occasionally to this northern range of mountains."

"Oh yes, the Emperor has been at our hut several times. He's good
enough to approve it." Her host answered calmly, laying a loaf of
black bread, a fine seeded cheese, and a knuckle of ham on the table.
He then glanced at his guest, expecting her to come forward; but she
sat still on her throne of antlers, her small feet in their sensible
mountain boots, daintily crossed under the short tweed skirt.

"I hear he also is a good chamois hunter," she carelessly went on.
"But that, perhaps, is only the flattery which makes the atmosphere of
Royalty. No doubt you, for instance, could really give him many
points in chamois hunting?"

The young man smiled. "The Emperor's not a bad shot."

"For an amateur. But you're a professional. I wager now, that you
wouldn't for the world change places with the Emperor?"

How the chamois hunter laughed at this, and showed his white teeth!
There were those, in the towns he scorned, who would have been
astonished at his light-hearted mirth.

"Change places with the Emperor! Not--unless I were obliged, gna'
Fräulein. Not now, at all events," with a complimentary bow and
glance.

"Thank you. You're quite a courtier. And that reminds me of another
thing they say of him in my country. The story is, that he dislikes
the society of women. But perhaps it is that he doesn't understand
them."

"It is possible, lady. But I never heard that they were so difficult
of comprehension."

"Ah, that shows how little you chamois hunters have had time to learn.
Why, we can't even understand ourselves, or know what we're most
likely to do next. And yet--a very odd thing--we have no difficulty
in reading one another, and knowing all each other's weaknesses."

"That would seem to say that a man should get a woman to choose his
wife for him."

"I'm not so sure it would be wise. Yet your Emperor, we hear, will let
the Chancellor choose his."

"Ah! were you told this also in your country?"

"Yes. For the gossip is that she's an English Princess. Now, what's
the good of being a powerful Emperor, if he can't even pick out a wife
to please his own taste?"

"I know nothing about such high matters, gna' Fräulein. But I fancied
that Royal folk took wives to please their people rather than
themselves. It's their duty to marry, you know. And if the lady be of
Royal blood, virtuous, of the right religion, not too sharp-tempered,
and pleasant to look at, why--those are the principal things to
consider, I should suppose."

"So should I _not_ suppose, if I were a man, and--Emperor. I should
want the pleasure of falling in love."

"Safer not, gna' Fräulein. He might fall in love with the wrong
woman." And the chamois hunter looked with half shamed intentness
into his guest's sweet eyes.

She blushed under his gaze, and was so conscious of the hot color,
that she retorted at random. "I doubt if he _could_ fall in love. A
man who would let his Chancellor choose for him! He can have no warm
blood in his veins."

"There I think you wrong him, lady," the answer came quickly. "The
Emperor is--a man. But it may be he has found other interests in his
life more important than woman."

"Bringing down chamois, for instance. You would sympathize there."

"Chamois give good sport. They're hard to find. Harder still to hit
when you have found them."

"So are the best types of women. Those who, like the chamois (and the
plant I spoke of) live only in high places. Oh, for the sake of my
sex, I do hope that some day your Emperor will change his mind--that a
woman will _make_ him change it."

"Perhaps a woman has--already."

Virginia grew pale. Was she too late? Or was this a concealed
compliment which the chamois hunter did not guess she had the clue to
find? She could not answer. The silence between the two became
electrical, and the young man broke it, at last, with some slight
signs of confusion.

"It's a pity," said he, "that our Emperor can't hear you. He might be
converted to your views."

"Or he might clap me into prison for _lèse majesté_."

"He wouldn't do that, gna' Fräulein--if he's anything like me."

"Anything like you? Why, now you put me in mind of it, he's not unlike
you--in appearance, I mean, judging by his portraits."

"You have seen his portraits?"

"Yes, I've seen some. I really think you must be a little like him,
only browner and taller, perhaps. Yet I'm glad that you're a chamois
hunter and not an Emperor--almost as glad as _you_ can be."

"Will you tell me why, lady?"

"Oh, for one reason, because I couldn't possibly ask him, if he were
here in your place, what I'm going to ask of you. You've very kindly
laid the bread and ham ready, but you forgot to cut them."

"A thousand pardons. Our talk has set my wits wool-gathering. My mind
should have been on my manners, instead of on such far off things as
Emperors and their love affairs."

He began hewing at the big loaf as if it were an enemy to be
conquered. And there were few in Rhaetia who had ever seen those dark
eyes so bright.

"I like ham and bread cut thin, please," said the Princess.
"There--that's better. I'll sit here if you'll bring the things to me,
for I find that I'm tired; and you are very kind."

"A draught of our Rhaetian beer will do you more good than anything,"
suggested the hunter, taking up the plate of bread and ham he had
tried hard to cut according to her taste, placing it in her lap and
going back to draw a tankard of foaming amber liquid from a quaint
hogshead in a corner.

But Virginia waved the froth-crowned pewter away with a smile and a
pretty gesture. "My head has already proved not strong enough for your
mountains. I'm sure it isn't strong enough for your beer. Have you
some nice cold water?"

The young man laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Our water here is
fit only for the outside of the body," he explained. "To us, that's no
great deprivation, as we're all true Rhaetians for our beer. But now,
on your account, I'm sorry."

"Perhaps you have some milk?" suggested Virginia. "I love milk. And I
could scarcely count the cows, they were so many, as I came up the
mountain from Alleheiligen."

"It's true there are plenty of cows about," replied her host, "and I
could easily catch one. But if I fetch the beast here, can you milk
it?"

"Dear me, no; surely you, a great strong man, would never stand by and
let a weak girl do that? Oh, I almost wish I hadn't thought of the
milk, if I'm not to have it. I long for it so much."

"You shall have the milk, lady," returned the chamois hunter. "I--"

"How good you are!" exclaimed the Princess. "It will be more than nice
of you. But--I don't want you to think that I'm giving you all this
trouble for nothing. Here's something just to show that I appreciate
it; and--to remember me by."

She would not look up, though she longed to see what expression the
dark face wore, but kept her eyes upon her hand, from which she slowly
withdrew a ring. It fitted tightly, for she had had it made years
ago, before her slender fingers had finished growing. When at last
she had pulled off the jeweled circlet of gold, she held it up,
temptingly.

"What I have done, and anything I may yet do, is a pleasure," said the
hunter. "But after all you have learned little of Rhaetia, if you
think that we mountain men ever take payment from those to whom we've
been able to show hospitality."

"Ah, but I'm not talking of payment," pleaded the Princess. "I wish
only to be sure that you mayn't forget the first woman who, you tell
me, has ever entered this door."

The young man looked at the door, not at the girl. "It is impossible
that I should forget," said he, almost stiffly.

"Still, it will hurt me if you refuse my ring," went on Virginia.
"Please at least come and see what it's like."

He obeyed, and as she still held up the ring, he took it from her that
he might examine it more closely.

"The crest of Rhaetia!" he exclaimed, as his eyes fell upon a shield
of black and green enamel, set with small, but exceedingly brilliant
white diamonds. "How curious. I've been wondering that you should
speak our language so well--"

"It's not curious at all, really, but very simple," said Virginia.
"Now"--with a faint tremor in her voice--"press the spring on the left
side of the shield, and when you've seen what's underneath, I think
you'll feel that you can't loyally refuse to accept my little
offering."

The bronze forefinger found a pin's point protuberance of gold, and
pressing sharply, the shield flew up to reveal a tiny but exquisitely
painted miniature of Leopold the First of Rhaetia.

The chamois hunter stared at it, and did not speak, but the blood came
up to his brown forehead.

"You're surprised?" asked Virginia.

"I am surprised because I'd been led to suppose that you thought
poorly of our Emperor."

"_Poorly!_ Now what could have given you that impression?"

"Why, you--made fun of his opinion of women."

"Who am I, pray, to 'make fun' of an Emperor's opinion, even in a
matter he would consider so unimportant? On the contrary, I confess
that I, like most other girls I know, am deeply interested in your
great Leopold, if only because I--we--would be charitably minded and
teach him better. As for the ring, they sell things more or less of
this sort, in several of the Rhaetian cities I've passed through on my
way here. Didn't you know that?"

"No, lady, I have never seen one like it."

"And as for my knowledge of Rhaetian, I've always been interested in
the study of languages. Languages are fascinating to conquer; and
then, the literature of your country is so splendid, one must be able
to read it at first hand. Now, you'll have to say 'yes' to the ring,
won't you, and keep it for your Emperor's sake, if not for mine?"

"May I not keep it for yours as well?"

"Yes, if you please. And--about the milk?"

The chamois hunter caught up a gaudy jug, and without further words,
went out. When he had gone, the Princess rose and, taking the knife he
had used to cut the bread and ham, she kissed the handle on the place
where his fingers had grasped it. "You're a very silly girl, Virginia,
my dear," she said. "But oh, how you do love him. How he is _worth_
loving, and--what a glorious hour you're having!"

For ten minutes she sat alone, perhaps more; then the door was flung
open and her host flung himself in, no longer with the gay air which
had sat like a cloak upon him, but hot and sulky, the jug in his hand
as empty as when he had gone out.

"I have failed," he said gloomily. "I have failed, though I promised
you the milk."

"Couldn't you find a cow?" asked Virginia.

"Oh yes, I found one, more than one, and caught them too. I even
forced them to stand still, and grasped them by their udders, but not
a drop of milk would come down. Abominable brutes! I would gladly have
killed them, but that would have given you no milk."

For her life, the Princess could not help laughing, his air was so
desperate. If only those cows could have known who he was, and
appreciated the honor!

"Pray, pray don't mind," she begged. "You have done more than most men
could have done. After all, I'll have a glass of Rhaetian beer with
you, to drink your health and that of your Emperor. I wonder by the by
if he, who prides himself on doing all things well, can milk a cow?"

"If not, he should learn," said the chamois hunter, viciously.
"There's no knowing, it seems, when one may need the strangest
accomplishments, and be humiliated for lack of them."

"No, not humiliated," Virginia assured him. "It's always instructive
to find out one's limitations. And you have been most good to me. See,
while you were gone, I ate the slice of bread and ham you cut, and
never did a meal taste better. Now, you must have many things to do,
which I've made you leave undone. I've trespassed on you too long."

"Indeed, lady, it seems scarcely a moment since you came, and I have
no work to do," the chamois hunter insisted.

"But I've a friend waiting for me, on the mountain," the Princess
confessed. "Luckily, she had her lunch and will have eaten it, and her
guide-book must have kept her happy for a while; but by this time I'm
afraid she's anxious, and would be coming in search of me, if she
dared to stir. I must go. Will you tell me by what name I shall
remember my--rescuer, when I recall this day?"

"They named me--for the Emperor."

"They were wise. It suits you. Then I shall think of you as Leopold.
Leopold--what? But no, don't tell me the other name. It _can't_ be
good enough to match the first; for do you know, I admire the name of
Leopold more than any other I've ever heard? So, Leopold, will you
shake hands for good-by?"

The strong hand came out eagerly, and pressed hers. "Thank you, gna'
Fräulein; but it's not good-by yet. You must let me help you back by
the way you came, and down the mountain."

"Will you really? I dared not ask as much, for fear, in spite of your
kind hospitality, you were--like your noble namesake--a hater of
women."

"That's too hard a word, even for an Emperor, lady. While as for me,
if I ever said to myself, 'no woman can be of much good to a man as a
real companion,' I'm ready to unsay it."

"I'm glad! Then you shall come with me, and help me; and you shall
help my friend, who is so good and so strong-minded that perhaps she
may make you think even better of our sex. If you will, you shall be
our guide down to Alleheiligen, where we've been staying at the inn
since last night. Besides all that, if you wish to be _very_ good, you
may carry our cloaks and rücksacks, which seem so heavy to us, but
will be nothing for your strong shoulders."

The face of the chamois hunter changed and changed again with such
amused appreciation of her demands, that Virginia turned her head
away, lest she should laugh, and thus let him guess that she held the
key to the inner situation.

His willingness to become a cowherd, and now a beast of burden for the
foreign lady he had seen, and her friend whom he had not seen, was
indubitably genuine. He was pleased with the adventure--if not as
pleased as his initiated companion. For the next few hours the hunter
was free, it seemed. He said that he had been out since early dawn,
and had had good luck. Later, he had returned to the hut for a meal
and a rest, while his friends went down to the village on business
which concerned them all. As they had not come back, they were
probably amusing themselves, and when he had given the ladies all the
assistance in his power, he would join them.

The way down was easy to Virginia, with his hand to help her when it
was needed, and she had never been so happy in her twenty years. But,
after all, she asked herself, as they neared the place where she had
left Miss Portman, what had she accomplished? What impression was she
leaving? Would this radiant morning of adventure do her good or harm
with Leopold when Miss Mowbray should meet him later, in some
conventional way, through letters of introduction to Court dignitaries
at Kronburg?

While she wondered, his voice broke into her questionings.

"I hope, gna' Fräulein," the chamois hunter was saying, almost shyly
and as if by an effort, "that you won't go away from our country
thinking that we Rhaetians are so cold of heart and blood as you've
seemed to fancy. We men of the mountains may be different from others
you have seen, but we're not more cold. The torrent of our blood may
sleep for a season under ice, but when the spring comes--as it
must--and the ice melts, then the torrent gushes forth the more hotly
because it has not spent its strength before."

"I shall remember your words," said the Princess, "for--my journal of
Rhaetia. And now, here's my poor friend. I shall have to make her a
thousand excuses."

For her journal of Rhaetia! For a moment the man looked wistful, as if
it were a pain to him that he would have no other place in her
thoughts, nor time to win it, since there sat a lady in a tourist's
hat, and eye-glasses, and the episode was practically closed. He
looked too, as if there was something he would add to his last words
if he could; but Miss Portman saw the two advancing figures, and
shrieked a shrill cry of thanksgiving.

"Oh, I have been so _dreadfully_ anxious!" she groaned, "What _has_
kept you? Have you had an accident? Thank heaven you're here. I began
to give up hope of ever seeing you again alive."

"Perhaps you never would, if it hadn't been for the help of this good
and brave new friend of mine," said Virginia, hurrying into
explanations. "I got into dreadful difficulties up there; it was much
worse than I thought, but Leopold--" (Miss Portman started, stared
with her near-sighted eyes at the tall, brown man with bare knees;
colored, gasped, and swallowed hard after a quick glance at her
Princess.) "Leopold happened to be near, came to my help and saved me.
Wasn't it providential? Oh, I assure you, Leopold is a monarch--of
chamois hunters. Give him your cloak and rücksack to carry with mine,
dear Miss Manchester. He's kind enough to say that he'll guide us all
the way down to Alleheiligen, and I'm glad to accept his service."

Miss Portman--a devout Royalist, and firm believer in the right of
kings--grew crimson, her nose especially, as it invariably did at
moments of strong emotion.

The Emperor of Rhaetia, here, caught and trapped, like Pegasus bound
to the plow, and forced to carry luggage as if he were a common
porter--worst of all, _her_ insignificant, twice wretched luggage!

She would have protested if she had dared; but she did not dare, and
was obliged to see that imperial form--unmistakably imperial, it
seemed to her, though masquerading in humble guise--loaded down with
her rücksack and her large golf cape, with goloshes in the pocket.

Crushed under the magnitude of her discovery, dazzled by the
surprising brilliance of the Princess's capture, stupefied by the fear
of saying or doing the wrong thing and ruining her idol's bizarre
triumph, poor Miss Portman staggered as Virginia helped her to her
feet.

"Why, you're cramped with sitting so long!" cried the Princess. "Be
careful! But Leopold will give you his arm. Leopold will take you
down, won't you, Leopold?"

And the Imperial Eagle, who had hoped for better things, meekly
allowed another link to be added to his chain.



CHAPTER V

LEO VERSUS LEOPOLD


"Ach, Himmel!" exclaimed Frau Yorvan; and "Ach Himmel!" she exclaimed
again, her voice rising to a wail, with a frantic uplifting of the
hands.

The Grand Duchess grew pale, for the apple-cheeked lady suddenly
exhibited these alarming signs of emotion while passing a window of
the private dining-room. Evidently some scene of horror was being
enacted outside; and--Virginia and Miss Portman had been away for many
hours.

It was the time for tea in England, for coffee in Rhaetia; Frau Yorvan
had just brought in coffee for one, with heart-shaped, sugared cakes,
which would have appealed more poignantly to the Grand Duchess's
appetite, if the absent ones had been with her to share them.
Naturally, at the good woman's outburst, her imagination instantly
pictured disaster to the one she loved.

"What--oh, what is it you see?" she implored, her heart leaping, then
falling. But for once, the courtesy due to an honored guest was
forgotten, and the distracted Frau Yorvan fled from the room without
giving an answer.

Half paralyzed with dread of what she might have to see, the Grand
Duchess tottered to the window. Was there--yes, there was a
procession, coming down the hilly street that led to town from the
mountain. Oh, horror upon horror! They were perhaps bringing Virginia
down, injured or dead, her beautiful face crushed out of recognition.
Yet no--there was Virginia herself, the central figure in the
procession. Thank Heaven, it could be nothing worse than an accident
to poor, dear Miss Portman--But there was Miss Portman too; and a very
tall, bronzed peasant man, loaded with cloaks and rücksacks, headed
the band, while the girl and her ex-governess followed after.

Unspeakably relieved, yet still puzzled and vaguely alarmed, the Grand
Duchess threw up the window overlooking the little village square. But
as she strove to attract the truants' attention by waving her hand
and crying out a welcome or a question, whichever should come first,
the words were arrested on her lips. What could be the matter with
Frau Yorvan?

The stout old landlady popped out through the door like a Jack out of
his box, on a very stiff spring, flew to the overloaded peasant, and
almost rudely elbowing Miss Portman aside, began distractedly bobbing
up and down, tearing at the bundle of rücksacks and cloaks. Her
inarticulate cries ascended like incense to the Grand Duchess at the
open window, adding much to the lady's intense bewilderment.

"What has that man been doing?" demanded the Grand Duchess in a loud,
firm voice; but nobody answered, for the very good reason that nobody
heard. The attention of all those below was entirely taken up with
their own concerns.

"Pray, mein frau, let him carry our things indoors," Virginia was
insisting, while the tall man stood among the three women, motionless,
but apparently a prey to conflicting emotions. If the Grand Duchess
had not been obsessed with a certain idea, which was growing in her
mind, she must have seen that his dark face betrayed a mingling of
amusement, impatience, annoyance, and boyish mischief. He looked like
a man who had somehow stumbled into a false position from which it
would be difficult to escape with dignity, yet which he half enjoyed.
Torn between a desire to laugh, and fly into a rage with the officious
landlady, he frowned warningly at Frau Yorvan, smiled at the Princess,
and divided his energies between quick, secret gestures intended for
the eyes of the Rhaetian woman, and endeavors to unburden himself in
his own time and way, of the load he carried.

With each instant the perturbation of the Grand Duchess grew. Why did
the man not speak out what he had to say? Why did the landlady first
strive to seize the things from his back, then suddenly shrink as if
in fear, leaving the tall fellow to his own devices? Ah, but that was
a terrible look he gave her at last--the poor, good woman! Perhaps he
was a brigand! And the Grand Duchess remembered tales she had
read--tales of fearful deeds, even in these modern days, done in wild,
mountain fastnesses, and remote villages such as Alleheiligen. Not in
Rhaetia, perhaps; but then, there was no reason why they should not
happen in Rhaetia, at a place like this. And if there were not
something evil, something to be dreaded about this big, dark-browed
fellow, why had Frau Yorvan uttered that exclamation of frantic dismay
at sight of him, and rushed like a madwoman out of the house?

It occurred to the Grand Duchess that the man must be some notorious
desperado of the mountains, who had obtained her daughter's
confidence, or got her and Miss Portman into his power. But, she
remembered, fortunately some or all of the mysterious gentlemen
stopping at the inn, had returned and were at this moment assembled in
the room adjoining hers. The Grand Duchess resolved that, at the first
sign of insolent behavior or threatening on the part of the luggage
carrier, these noblemen should be promptly summoned by her to the
rescue of her daughter.

Her anxiety was even slightly allayed at this point in her
reflections, by the thought (for she had not quite outgrown an innate
love of romance) that the Emperor himself might go to Virginia's
assistance. His friends were in the next room, having come down from
the mountain about noon, and there seemed little doubt that he was
among them. If he had not already looked out of his window, drawn by
the landlady's excited voice, the Grand Duchess resolved that, in the
circumstances, it was her part as a mother to make him look out. She
had promised to help Virginia, and she would help her by promoting a
romantic first encounter.

In a penetrating voice, which could not fail to reach the ears of the
men next door, or the actors in the scene below, she adjured her
daughter in English.

This language was the safest to employ, she decided hastily, because
the brigand with the rücksacks would not understand, while the flower
of Rhaetian chivalry in the adjoining room were doubtless acquainted
with all modern languages.

"Helen!" she screamed, loyally remembering in her excitement,
the part she was playing, "Helen, where did you come across that
ferocious-looking ruffian? Can't you see he intends to steal your
rücksacks, or--or blackmail you, or something? Is there no man-servant
about the place whom the landlady can call to help her?"

All four of the actors on the little stage glanced up, aware for the
first time of an audience; and had the Grand Duchess's eyes been
younger, she might have been still further puzzled by the varying and
vivid expressions of their faces. But she saw only that the
dark-browed peasant man, who had glared so haughtily at poor Frau
Yorvan, was throwing off his burden with haste and roughness.

"I do hope he hasn't already stolen anything of value," cried the
Grand Duchess. "Better not let him go until you've looked into your
rücksacks. Remember that silver drinking cup you _would_ take with
you--"

She paused, not so much in deference to Virginia's quick reply, as in
amazement at Frau Yorvan's renewed gesticulations. Was it possible
that the woman understood more English than her guests supposed, and
feared lest the brigand--perhaps equally well instructed--might seek
immediate revenge? His bare knees alone were evidence against his
character in the eyes of the Grand Duchess. They gave him a brazen,
abandoned air; and a young man who cultivated so long a space between
stockings and trousers might be capable of any crime.

"Oh, Mother, you're very much mistaken," Virginia was protesting.
"This man is a great friend of mine, and has saved my life. You must
thank him. If it were not for him, I might never have come back to
you."

At last the meaning of her words penetrated to the intelligence of the
Grand Duchess, through an armor of misapprehension.

"He saved your life?" she echoed. "Oh, then you have been in danger!
Heaven be thanked for your safety--and also that the man's not likely
to know English, or I should never forgive myself for what I've said.
Here is my purse, dearest. Catch it as I throw, and give it to him
just as it is. There are at least twenty pounds in it, and I only wish
I could afford more. But what is the matter, my child? You look ready
to faint."

As she began to speak, she snatched from a desk at which she had been
writing, a netted silver purse. But while she paused, waiting for
Virginia to hold out her hands, the girl forbade the contemplated act
of generosity with an imploring gesture.

"He will accept no reward for what he has done, except our thanks; and
those I give him once again," the girl answered. She then turned to
the chamois hunter, and made him a present of her hand, over which he
bowed with the air of a courtier rather than the rough manner of a
peasant. And the Grand Duchess still hoped that the Emperor might be
at the window, as really it was a pretty picture, and, it seemed to
her, presented a pleasing phase of Virginia's character.

She eagerly awaited her daughter's coming, and having lingered at the
window to watch with impatience the rather ceremonious leave-taking,
she hastened to the door of the improvised sitting-room to welcome the
mountaineers, as they returned to tell their adventures.

"My darling, who do you think was listening and looking from the
window next ours?" she breathlessly inquired, when she had embraced
her newly-restored treasure--for the secret of the adjoining room was
too good to keep until questions had been put. "Can't you guess? I'm
surprised at that, since you were so sure last night of a certain
person's presence not far away. Why, who but your Emperor himself!"

The Princess laughed happily, and kissed her mother's pink cheek.
"Then he must have an astral body," said she, "since one or the other
has been with me all day; and it was to him--or his Doppelgänger--that
you offered your purse to make up for accusing him of stealing!"

The Grand Duchess sat down; not so much because she wished to assume a
sitting position, as because she experienced a sudden, uncontrollable
weakness of the knees. For a moment she was unable to speak, or even
to speculate; but one vague thought did trail dimly across her brain.
"Heavens! what have I done to him? And maybe some day he will be my
son-in-law."

Meanwhile, Frau Yorvan--a strangely subdued Frau Yorvan--had
droopingly followed the chamois hunter into the inn.

"My dear old friend, you must learn not to lose that well-meaning head
of yours," said he in the hall.

"Oh, but, your Majesty--"

"Now, now, must I remind you again that his Majesty is at Kronburg,
or Petersbrück, or some other of his residences, when I am at
Alleheiligen? This time I believe he's at the Baths of Melina. If you
can't remember these things, I fear I shall be driven away from here,
to look for chamois elsewhere than on the Schneehorn."

"Indeed, I will not be so stupid again, your--I mean, I will do my
very best not to forget. But never before have I been so tried. To see
your high-born, imperial shoulders loaded down as if--as if you had
been a common Gepäckträger for tourists, instead of--"

"A chamois hunter. Don't distress yourself, good friend. I've had a
day of excellent sport."

"For that I am thankful. But to see your--to see you coming back in
such an unsuitable way, has given me a weakness of the heart. How can
I order myself civilly to those ladies, who have--"

"Who have given peasant Leopold some hours of amusement. Be more civil
than ever, for my sake. And by the way, can you tell me the names of
the ladies? That one of them--a companion, I judge--is a Miss
Manchester, I have heard in conversation; but the others--"

"They are mother and daughter--sir. The elder, who in her ignorance,
cried out such treasonable abominations from the window (as I could
tell even with the little English I have picked up) is Lady Mowbray. I
have seen the name written down; and I know how to speak it because I
have heard it pronounced by the companion, the Mees Manchester. The
younger--the beautiful one--is also a Mees--and the mother calls her
Hélène. They talk together in English, also in French, and though I
have so few words of either language, I could tell that London was
mentioned between them more than once, while I waited on the table.
Besides, it is painted in black letters on their traveling boxes."

"You did not expect their arrival?"

"Oh, no, sir. Had they written beforehand, at this season, when I
generally expect to be honored by your presence, I should have
answered that the house was full--or closed--or any excuse which
occurred to me, to keep strangers away. But none have ever before
arrived so late in the year, and I was taken all unawares when my son
Alois drove them up last night. He did not know you had arrived, as
the papers spoke so positively of your visit to the Baths; and I could
not send travelers away; you have bidden me not to do so, once they
are in the house. But these ladies are here but for a day or two more,
on their way to Kronburg for a visit; and I thought--"

"You did quite right, Frau Yorvan. Has my messenger come up with
letters?"

"Yes, your--yes, sir. Just now also a telegram was brought by another
messenger, who came and left in a great hurry."

The chamois hunter shrugged his shoulders, and sighed an impatient
sigh. "It's too much to expect that I should be left in peace for a
single day, even here," he muttered, as he went toward the stairs.

To reach Frau Yorvan's best sitting-room (selfishly occupied,
according to one opinion, by four men absent all day on a mountain),
he was obliged to pass by a door through which issued unusual sounds.
So unusual were they, that the Emperor paused.

Some one was striking the preliminary chords of a volkslied on his
favorite instrument, a Rhaetian variation of the zither. As he
lingered, listening, a voice began to sing--ah, but a voice!

Softly seductive it was as the cooing of a dove in the spring, to its
mate; pure as the purling of a brook among meadow flowers; rich as the
deep notes of a nightingale in his passion for the moon. And for the
song, it was the heart-breaking cry of a young Rhaetian peasant who,
lying near death in a strange land, longs for one ray of sunrise light
on the bare mountain tops of the homeland, more earnestly than for his
first sight of an unknown Heaven.

The man outside the door did not move until the voice was still. He
knew well, though he could not see, who the singer had been. It was
impossible for the plump lady at the window, or the thin lady with the
glasses, to own a voice like that. It was the girl's. She only, of the
trio, could so exhale her soul in the very perfume of sound. For to
his fancy, it was like hearing the fragrance of a rose breathed aloud.
"I have heard an angel," he said to himself. But in reality he had
heard Princess Virginia of Baumenburg-Drippe, showing off her very
prettiest accomplishment, in the childish hope that the man she loved
might hear.

Leopold of Rhaetia had heard many golden voices--golden in more senses
of the word than one--but never before, it seemed to him, a voice
which so stirred his spirit with pain that was bitter-sweet, pleasure
as blinding as pain, and a vague yearning for something beautiful
which he had never known.

If he had been asked what that something was, he could not, if he
would, have told; for a man cannot explain that part of himself which
he has never even tried to understand.

Before he had moved many paces from the door, the lovely voice, no
longer plaintive, but swelling to brilliant triumph, broke into the
national anthem of Rhaetia--warlike, inspiring as the Marseillaise,
but wilder, calling her sons to face death singing, in the defense.

"She's an English girl, yet she sings our Rhaetian music as no
Rhaetian woman I have ever heard, can sing it," he told himself,
slowly passing on to his own door. "She is a new type to me. I don't
think there can be many like her. A pity that she is not a Princess,
or else--that Leopold the Emperor and Leo the chamois hunter are not
two men. Still, the chamois hunter of Rhaetia would be no match for
Miss Mowbray of London, so the weights would balance in the scales as
unevenly as now."

He gave a sigh, and a smile that lifted his eyebrows. Then he opened
the door of his sitting-room, to forget among certain documents which
urged the importance of an immediate return to duty, the difference
between Leopold and Leo, the difference between women and a Woman.

"Good-by to our mountains, to-morrow morning," he said to his three
chosen companions. "Hey for work and Kronburg."

_She_ was going to Kronburg in a few days, according to Frau Yorvan.
But Kronburg was not Alleheiligen; and Leopold, the Emperor, was not,
at his palace, in the way of meeting tourists--or even "explorers."

"She'll never know to whom she gave her ring," he thought with the
dense innocence of a man who has studied all books save women's looks.
"And I'll never know who gives her a plain gold one for the finger on
which she once wore this."

But in the next room, divided from him by a single wall, sat Princess
Virginia of Baumenburg-Drippe.

"When we meet again at Kronburg, he mustn't dream that I knew all the
time," she was saying to herself. "That would spoil everything--just
at first. Yet oh, some day how I should love to confess all--all! Only
I couldn't possibly confess except to a man who would excuse, or
perhaps even approve, because he had learned to love me--well. And
what shall I do, how shall I bear my life now I've seen him, if that
day should never come?"



CHAPTER VI

NOT IN THE PROGRAM


Letters of introduction for Lady Mowbray and her daughter to
influential and interesting persons attached to the Rhaetian Court,
were necessarily a part of the wonderful plan connected in the English
garden, though they were among the details thought out afterwards.

The widow of the Hereditary Grand Duke of Baumenburg-Drippe was
reported in the journals of various countries, to be traveling with
the Princess Virginia and a small suite, through Canada and the United
States; and fortunately for the success of the innocent plot, the
Grand Duchess had spent so many years of seclusion in England, and
had, even in her youth, met so few Rhaetians, that there was little
fear of detection. Her objections to Virginia's scheme for winning a
lover instead of thanking Heaven quietly for a mere husband, were
based on other grounds, but Virginia had overcome them, and
eventually the Grand Duchess had proved not only docile, but
positively fertile in expedient.

The choosing of the borrowed flag under which to sail had at first
been a difficulty. It was pointed out by a friend taken into their
confidence (a lady whose husband had been ambassador to Rhaetia), that
a real name, and a name of some dignity, must be adopted, if proper
introductions were to be given. And it was the Grand Duchess who
suggested the name of Mowbray, on the plea that she had, in a way, the
right to annex it.

The mother of the late Duke of Northmoreland had been a Miss Mowbray,
and there were still several eminently respectable, inconspicuous
Mowbray cousins. Among these cousins was a certain Lady Mowbray, widow
of a baron of that ilk, and possessing a daughter some years older and
innumerable degrees plainer than the Princess Virginia.

To this Lady Mowbray the Grand Duchess had gone out of her way to be
kind in Germany, long years ago, when she was a very grand personage
indeed, and Lady Mowbray comparatively a nobody. The humble connection
had expressed herself as unspeakably grateful, and the two had kept
up a friendship ever since. Therefore, when the difficulty of realism
in a name presented itself, the Grand Duchess thought of Lady Mowbray
and Miss Helen Mowbray. They were about to leave England for India,
but had not yet left; and the widow of the Baron was flattered as well
as amused by the romantic confidence reposed in her by the widow of
the Grand Duke. She was delighted to lend her name, and her daughter's
name; and who could blame the lady if her mind rushed forward to the
time when she should have earned gratitude from the young Empress of
Rhaetia? for of course she had no doubt of the way in which the
adventure would end.

As for the wife of the late British Ambassador to the Rhaetian Court,
she was not sentimental and therefore was not quite as comfortably
sure of the sequel. As far as concerned her own part in the plot,
however, she felt safe enough; for though she was, after a fashion,
deceiving her old acquaintances at Kronburg, she was not foisting
adventuresses upon them; on the contrary, she was giving them a chance
of entertaining angels unawares, by sending them letters to ladies who
were in reality the Grand Duchess of Baumenburg-Drippe and the
Princess Virginia.

The four mysterious gentlemen left Alleheiligen the day after
Virginia's encounter with the chamois hunter; but the Mowbrays
lingered on. The adventure had begun so gloriously that the girl
feared an anti-climax for the next step. Though she longed for the
second meeting, she dreaded it as well, and put off the chance of it
from day to day. The stay of the Mowbrays at Alleheiligen lengthened
into a week, and when they left at last, it was only just in time for
the great festivities at Kronburg, which were to celebrate the
Emperor's thirty-first birthday, an event enhanced in national
importance by the fact that the eighth anniversary of his coronation
would fall on the same date.

On the morning of the journey, the Grand Duchess had neuralgia and was
frankly cross.

"I don't see after all, what you've accomplished so far by this mad
freak which has dragged us across Europe," she said, fretfully, in the
train which they had taken at a town twenty miles from Alleheiligen.
"We've perched on a mountain top, like the Ark on Ararat, for a week,
freezing; the adventure you had there is only a complication. What
have we to show for our trouble--unless incipient rheumatism?"

Virginia had nothing to show for it; at least, nothing that she meant
to show, even to her mother; but in a little scented bag of silk which
lay next her heart, was folded a bit of blotting-paper. If you looked
at its reflection in a mirror, you saw, written twice over in a firm,
individual hand, the name "Helen Mowbray."

The Princess had found it on a table in the best sitting-room, after
Frau Yorvan had made that room ready for its new occupants. Therefore
she loved Alleheiligen: therefore she thought with redoubled
satisfaction of her visit there.

To learn her full name, he must have thought it worth while to make
inquiries. It had lingered in his thoughts, or he would not have
scrawled it twice on some bit of paper--since destroyed no doubt--in a
moment of idle dreaming.

Through most of her life, Virginia had known the lack of money; but
she would not have exchanged a thousand pounds for the contents of
that little bag.

Hohenlangenwald is the name of the House from which the rulers of
Rhaetia sprang; therefore everything in the beautiful city of Kronburg
which can take the name of Hohenlangenwald, has taken it; and it was
at the Hohenlangenwald Hotel that a suite of rooms had been engaged
for Lady Mowbray.

The travelers broke the long journey at Melinabad; and Virginia's
study of trains had timed their arrival in Kronburg for the morning of
the birthday eve, early enough for the first ceremony of the
festivities; the unveiling by the Emperor of a statue of Rhaetia in
the Leopoldplatz, directly in front of the Hohenlangenwald Hotel.

Virginia looked forward to seeing the Emperor from her own windows; as
according to her calculation, there was an hour to spare; but at the
station they were told by the driver of the carriage sent to meet
them, that the crowd in the streets being already very great, he
feared it would be a tedious undertaking to get through. Some of the
thoroughfares were closed for traffic; he would have to go by a
roundabout way; and in any case could not reach the main entrance of
the hotel. At best, he would have to deposit his passengers and their
luggage at a side entrance, in a narrow street.

As the carriage started, from far away came a burst of martial music;
a military band playing the national air which the chamois hunter had
heard a girl sing, behind a closed door at Alleheiligen.

The shops were all shut--would be shut until the day after to-morrow,
but their windows were unshuttered and gaily decorated, to add to the
brightness of the scene. Strange old shops displayed the marvelous,
chased silver, the jeweled weapons and gorgeous embroideries from the
far eastern provinces of Rhaetia; splendid new shops rivaled the best
of the Rue de la Paix in Paris. Gray medieval buildings made wonderful
backgrounds for drapery of crimson and blue, and garlands of blazing
flowers. Modern buildings of purple-red porphyry and the famous
honey-yellow marble of Rhaetia, fluttered with flags; and above all,
in the heart of the town, between old and new, rose the Castle Rock.
Virginia's pulses beat, as she saw the home of Leopold for the first
time, and she was proud of its picturesqueness, its riches and
grandeur, as if she had some right in it, too.

Ancient, narrow streets, and wide new streets, were alike arbors of
evergreen and brilliant blossoms. Prosperous citizens in their best,
inhabitants of the poorer quarters, and stalwart peasants from the
country, elbowed and pushed each other good-naturedly, as they
streamed toward the Leopoldplatz. Handsome people they were, the girl
thought, her heart warming to them; and to her it seemed that the very
air tingled with expectation. She believed that she could feel the
magnetic thrill in it, even if she were blind and deaf, and could hear
or see nothing of the excitement.

"We must be in time--we shall be in time!" she said to herself. "I
shall lean out from my window and see him."

But at the hotel, which they did finally reach, the girl had to bear a
keen disappointment. With many apologies the landlord explained that
he had done his very best for Lady Mowbray's party when he received
their letter a fortnight before, and that he had allotted them a good
suite, with balconies overlooking the river at the back of the
house--quite a venetian effect, as her ladyship would find. But, as to
rooms at the front, impossible! All had been engaged fully six weeks
in advance. One American millionaire was paying a thousand gulden
solely for an hour's use of a small balcony, to-day for the unveiling
and again to-morrow for the street procession. Virginia was pale with
disappointment. "Then I'll go down into the crowd and take my chance
of seeing something," she said to her mother, when they had been shown
into handsome rooms, satisfactory in everything but situation. "I must
hurry, or there'll be no hope."

"My dear child, impossible for you to do such a thing!" exclaimed the
Grand Duchess. "I can't think of allowing it. Fancy what a crush there
will be. All sorts of creatures trampling on each other for places.
Besides, you could see nothing."

"Oh, Mother," pleaded the Princess, in her softest, sweetest
voice--the voice she kept for extreme emergencies of cajoling. "I
couldn't _bear_ to stay shut up here while that music plays and the
crowds shout themselves hoarse for _my_ Emperor. Besides, it's the
most curious thing--I feel as if a voice kept calling to me that I
must be there. Miss Portman and I'll take care of each other. You
_will_ let me go, won't you?"

Of course the Grand Duchess yielded, her one stipulation being that
the two should keep close to the hotel; and the Princess urged her
reluctant companion away without waiting to hear her mother's last
counsels.

Their rooms were on the first floor, and the girl hurried eagerly
down the broad flight of marble stairs, Miss Portman following
dutifully upon her heels.

They could not get out by way of the front door, for people had paid
for standing room there, and would not yield an inch, even for an
instant; while the two or three steps below, and the broad pavement in
front were as closely blocked.

Matters began to look hopeless, but Virginia would not be daunted.
They tried the side entrance and found it free, the street into which
it led being comparatively empty; but just beyond, where it ran into
the great open square of the Leopoldplatz, there was a solid wall of
sight-seers.

"We might as well go back," said Miss Portman, who had none of the
Princess's keenness for the undertaking. She was tired after the
journey, and for herself, would rather have had a cup of tea than see
fifty emperors unveil as many statues by celebrated sculptors.

"Oh no!" cried Virginia. "We'll get to the front, somehow, sooner or
later, even if we're taken off our feet. Look at that man just ahead
of us. _He_ doesn't mean to turn back. He's not a nice man, but he's
terribly determined. Let's keep close to him, and see what he means
to do; then, maybe, we shall be able to do it as well."

Miss Portman glanced at the person indicated by a nod of the
Princess's head. Undismayed by the mass of human beings that blocked
the Leopoldplatz a few yards ahead, he walked rapidly along without
the least hesitation. He had the air of knowing exactly what he wanted
to do, and how to do it. Even Miss Portman, who had no imagination,
saw this by his back. The set of the head on the shoulders was
singularly determined, and the walk revealed a consciousness of
importance accounted for, perhaps, by the gray and crimson uniform
which might be that of some official order. On the sleek, black head
was a large cocked hat, adorned with an eagle's feather, fastened in
place by a gaudy jewel, and this hat was pulled down very far over the
face.

"Perhaps he knows that they'll let him through," said Miss Portman.
"He seems to be a dignitary of some sort. We can't do better, if
you're determined to go on, than keep near him."

"He has the air of being ready to die," whispered Virginia, for they
were close to the man now.

"How can you tell? We haven't seen his face," replied the other, in
the same cautious tone.

"No. But look at the back of his neck, and his ears."

Miss Portman looked and gave a little shiver. She would never have
thought of observing it, if her attention had not been called by the
Princess. But it was true. The back of the man's neck and his ears
were of a ghastly, yellow white.

"Horrid!" she ejaculated. "He's probably dying of some contagious
disease. Do let's get away from him."

"No, no," said Virginia. "He's our only hope. They're going to let him
pass through. Listen."

Miss Portman listened, but as she understood only such words of
Rhaetian as she had picked up in the last few weeks, she could merely
surmise that he was ordering the crowd out of his way because he had a
special message from the Lord Chancellor to the Burgomaster.

The human wall opened; the man darted through, and Miss Portman was
dragged after him by the Princess. So close to him had they kept, that
they might easily be supposed to be under his escort; and in any
case, they passed before there was time to dispute their right of way.

"It must be the secretary of Herr Koffman, the new Burgomaster,"
Virginia heard one man say to another. "And those ladies are with
him."

On and on, through the crowd, passed the man in gray and crimson,
oblivious of the two women who were using him. There was something
about that disagreeable back of his which proclaimed him a man of but
one idea at a time. Close to the front line of spectators, however,
there came a check. People were vexed at the audacity of the girl and
the elderly woman, and would have pushed them back, but at the
critical second the blue and silver uniformed band of Rhaetia's crack
regiment, the Imperial Life Guards, struck up an air which told that
the Emperor was coming. Promptly the small group concerned forgot its
grievance, in excitement, crowding together so that Virginia was
pressed to the front, and only Miss Portman was pushed ruthlessly into
the background.

The poor lady raised a feeble protest in English, which nobody heeded,
unless it were the man who had inadvertently acted as pioneer. At her
shrill outburst he turned quickly, as if startled by the sudden cry,
and Virginia was so close to him that her chin almost touched his
shoulder. For the first time she had a glimpse of his face, which
matched the yellow wax of his neck in pallor.

The girl shrank away from him involuntarily. "What a death's head!"
she thought. "A sly, wicked face, and awful eyes. He looks frightened.
I wonder why!"

Assured that the sharp cry did not concern him, the man turned to the
front again, and having obtained his object--a place in the foremost
rank of the crowd, with one incidentally for the Princess--he
proceeded to take from his breast a roll of parchment, tied with a
narrow ribbon, and sealed with a large red seal. As he drew it out,
and rearranged his coat, his hand trembled. It, too, was yellow white.
The fellow seemed to have no blood in him.

Virginia, standing now shoulder to shoulder with the man in gray and
crimson, had just time to feel a stirring of dislike and perhaps
curiosity, when a great cheer arose from thousands of throats. The
square rang with a roar of loyal acclamation; men waved tall hats,
soft hats, and green peasant hats with feathers. Beautifully dressed
women grouped on the high, decorated balconies waved handkerchiefs or
scattered roses from gilded baskets; women in gorgeous costumes from
far-off provinces held up half-frightened, half-laughing children; and
then a white figure on a white charger came riding into the square
under the triumphal arch wreathed with flags and flowers.

Other figures followed; men in uniforms of green and gold and red, on
coal black horses, yet Virginia saw only the white figure, shining,
wonderful.

Under the glittering helmet of steel with its gold eagle, the dark
face was clear-cut as a cameo, and the eyes were bright with a proud
light. To the crowd, he was the Emperor; a fine, popular, brilliant
young man, who ruled his country better than it had been ruled yet by
one of his House, and above all, provided many a pleasing spectacle
for the people. But to Virginia he was far more; an ideal Sir Galahad,
or a St. George strong and brave to slay all dragon-wrongs which might
threaten his wide land.

"What if he should never love me?" was the one sharp thought which
pierced her pride of him.

The people were proud, too, as he sat there controlling the white
war-horse with its gold and silver trappings, the crusted jewels of
many Orders sparkling on his breast, while he saluted his subjects, in
his soldier's way.

For a moment there was a pause, save for a shouting, which rose and
rose again; then he alighted, whereupon important looking men with
ribbons and decorations came forward bowing, to receive the Emperor.
The ceremony of unveiling the statue of Rhaetia was about to begin.

To reach the great crimson-draped platform on which he was to stand,
the Emperor must pass within a few yards of Virginia. His gaze flashed
over the gay crowd. What if it should rest upon her? The girl's heart
was in her throat. She could feel it beating there; and for a moment
the tall, white figure was lost in a mist which dimmed her eyes.

She had forgotten how she came to this place of vantage, forgotten the
pale man in gray and red to whom she owed her good fortune; but
suddenly, while her heart was at its loudest, and the mist before her
eyes at its thickest, she grew conscious again of his existence,
poignantly conscious of his close presence. So near her he stood that
a quick start, a gathering of his muscles for a spring, shot like an
electric message through her own body.

The mist was burnt up in the flame of a strange enlightenment, a
clarity of vision which showed, not only the hero of the day, the
throng, and the wax-white man beside her, but something which was in
the soul of that man as well.

"He is going to kill the Emperor."

It was as if a voice spoke the words in her ear. She knew now why she
had struggled to win this place, why she had succeeded, what she had
to do--or die in failing to do.

Leopold was not half a dozen yards away, and was coming nearer. No one
but Virginia suspected evil. She alone had felt the thrill of a
murderer's nerves, the tense spring of his muscles. She alone guessed
what the roll of parchment hid.

"Now--now!" the voice seemed to whisper again, and she had no fear.

While the crowd shouted wildly for "Unser Leo!" a man in gray and red
leaped, catlike, at the white figure that advanced. Something sharp
and bright flashed out from a roll of parchment, catching the sun in a
streak of steely light.

[Illustration: "_Let the law deal with the madman; it is my will_"]

Leopold saw, but not in time to swerve. The crowd shrieked, rushed
forward, too late, and the blade would have drunk his life, had not
the girl who had felt all, seen all, struck up the arm before it fell.

The rest was darkness for her. She knew only that she was sobbing, and
that the great square with its crowded balconies, its ropes of green,
its waving flags, seemed to collapse upon her and blot her out.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was Leopold who caught her as she swayed: and while the people
surged around the thwarted murderer, the Emperor sprang up the steps
of the great crimson platform, with the girl against his heart.

It was her blood that stained the pure white of his uniform, the blood
from her arm wounded in his defense. And holding her up he stood
dominating the crowd.

Down there at the foot of the steps, the man in gray and red was like
a spent fox among the hounds, and Leopold's people in the fury of
their rage would have torn him in pieces as the hounds tear the fox,
despite the cordon of police that gathered round him. But the voice of
the Emperor bade his subjects fall back.

"My people shall not be assassins," he cried to them. "Let the law
deal with the madman; it is my will. Look at me, alive and unhurt.
Now, give your cheers for the lady who has saved my life, and the
ceremonies shall go on."

Three cheers, had he said? They gave three times three, and bade fair
to split the skies with shouts for the Emperor. While women laughed
and wept and all eyes were upon that noble pair on the red platform,
something limp and gray was hurried out of sight and off to prison. On
a signal the national anthem began; the voices of the people joined
the brass instruments. All Kronburg was singing; or asking "Who is
she?" of the girl at the Emperor's side.



CHAPTER VII

THE HONORS OF THE DAY


It is those in the thick of the battle who can afterwards tell least
about it; and to the Princess those five minutes--moments the most
tremendous, the most vital of her life--were afterwards in memory like
a dream.

She had seen that a man was ghastly pale; she had caught a gleam of
fear in his eye; she had felt a tigerish quiver run through his frame
as the crowd pressed him against her. Instinct--and love--had told her
the rest, and taught her how to act.

Vaguely she recalled later, that she had thrown herself forward and
struck up the knife. An impression of that knife as the light gleamed
on it, alone was clear. Sickening, she had thought of the dull sound
it would make in falling, of the blood that would spout from a rent in
the white coat, among the jeweled orders. She had thought, as one
thinks in dying, of existence in a world empty of Leopold, and she
had known that unless he could be saved, her one wish was to go out of
the world with him.

More than this she had not thought or known. What she did was done
scarcely by her own volition, and she seemed to wake with a start at
last, to hear herself sobbing, and to feel the throb, throb, of a hot
pain in her arm.

A hundred hands--not quick enough to save, yet quick enough to follow
the lead given by her--had fought to seize the man in gray, and stop a
second blow. They had borne him away; while as for Virginia, her work
done, she forgot everything and every one but Leopold.

Reviving, she had heard him speak to the crowd, and told herself
dreamily that, were she dying, his voice could bring her back if he
called. She even listened to each word that rang out like a cathedral
bell, above the babel. Still he held her, and when the cheers came,
she scarcely understood that they were for her as well as for Leopold
the Emperor. Afterwards, the necessity for public action over, he bent
his head close enough to whisper, "Thank you"; and then for Virginia
every syllable was clear.

"You are the bravest woman alive," he said. "I had to keep them from
killing that ruffian, but now I can speak to you alone. I thank you
for what you did, with my whole heart, and I pray Heaven you're not
seriously hurt."

"No, not hurt, and very happy," the Princess answered, hardly knowing
what she said. She felt like a soul released from its body, floating
in blue ether. What could it matter if that body ached or bled?
Leopold was safe, and she had saved him.

He pointed to her sleeve. "The knife struck you. Your arm's bleeding,
and the wound must be seen immediately by my own surgeon. Would that I
could go with you myself, but duty keeps me here; you understand that.
Baron von Lyndal and his wife will at once take you home, wherever you
may be staying. They--"

"But I would rather stop and see the rest," said Virginia. "I'm quite
well now, not even weak, and I can go down to my friend--"

"If you're able to stop, it must be here with me," answered Leopold.
"After the service you have done for me and for the country, it is
your place."

The ladies of the court, who, with their husbands, had been waiting
to congratulate Leopold, crowded round the girl as the Emperor turned
to them with a look and gesture of invitation. A seat was given her,
and the arm in its blood-stained sleeve was hastily bound up. She was
the heroine of the day, dividing honors with its hero.

There was scarcely a _grande dame_ among the brilliant assemblage on
the Emperor's platform, to whom Lady Mowbray and her daughter had not
a letter of introduction, from their invaluable friend. But no one
knew at this moment of any title to their recognition possessed by the
girl, other than the right she had earned by her splendid deed. All
smiled on her through grateful tears, though there were some who would
have given their ten fingers to have stepped into her place.

Thus Virginia sat through the ceremonies, careless that thousands of
eyes were on her face, thinking only of one pair of eyes, which spared
a glance for her now and then; hardly seeing the statue of Rhaetia
whose glorious marble womanhood unveiled roused a storm of enthusiasm
from the crowd; hearing only the short, stirring speech made by
Leopold.

When everything was over, and the people had no excuse to linger save
to see the Emperor ride away and the great personages disperse,
Leopold turned again to Virginia.

All the world was listening, of course; all the world was watching,
too; and no matter what his inclination might have been, his words
could be but few.

Once more he thanked and praised her for her courage, her presence of
mind; thanked her for remaining, as if she had been granting a favor
to him; and asked where she was stopping, in Kronburg as he promised
himself the honor of sending to inquire for her health that evening.

His desire would be to call at once in person, he added, but, owing to
the program arranged for this day and several days to follow, not only
each hour but each moment would be officially occupied. These birthday
festivities were troublesome, but duly must be done. And then, Leopold
repeated (when he had Miss Mowbray's name and address), the court
surgeon and physician would be commanded to attend upon her without
delay.

With these words and a chivalrous courtesy at parting, the Emperor was
gone, Baron von Lyndal, Grand Master of Ceremonies, and his Baroness
having been told off to take care of Miss Mowbray.

In another mood it would have pricked Virginia's sense of humor to see
Baroness von Lyndal's almost shocked surprise at discovering her to be
the daughter of that Lady Mowbray whom she was asked to meet. (Luckily
all the letters of introduction had reached their destination, it
merely remaining, according to etiquette in Rhaetia, for Lady Mowbray
to announce her arrival in Kronburg by sending cards to the
recipients.) But Virginia had no heart for laughter now.

She had been on the point of forgetting, until reminded by a dig from
the spur of necessity, that she was only a masquerader, acting her
borrowed part in a pageant. For the first time since she had hopefully
taken it up, that part became detestable. She would have given almost
anything to throw it off, and be herself: for nothing less than clear
sincerity seemed worthy of this day and the event which crowned it.

Nevertheless, in the vulgar language of proverb which no well
brought-up Princess should ever stoop to use, she had made her own
bed, and she must lie in it. It would not do for her suddenly to give
out to the world of Kronburg that she was not, after all, Miss
Mowbray, but Princess Virginia of Baumenburg-Drippe. That would not be
fair to the Grand Duchess, who had yielded to her wishes, nor fair to
her own plans. Above all, it would not be fair to the Emperor,
handicapped as he now was by a debt of gratitude. No; Miss Mowbray she
was, and Miss Mowbray she must for the present remain.

Naturally the Grand Duchess fainted when her daughter was brought back
with ominous red stains upon the gray background of her traveling
dress. But the wound was neither deep nor dangerous. The court surgeon
was as consoling as he was complimentary, and by the time that
messengers from the palace had arrived with inquiries from the Emperor
and invitations to the Emperor's ball, the mother of the heroine could
dispense with her sal volatile.

She had fortunately much to think of. There was the important question
of dress for the ball to-morrow night; there was the still more
pressing question of the newspapers, which must not be allowed to
publish the borrowed name of Mowbray, lest complications should arise;
and there were the questions to be asked of Virginia. How had she
felt? How had she dared? How had the Emperor looked, and what had the
Emperor said?

If it had been natural for the Grand Duchess to faint, it was equally
natural that she should not faint twice. She began to believe, after
all, that Providence smiled upon Virginia and her adventure; and she
wondered whether the Princess's white satin embroidered with seed
pearls, or the silver spangled blue tulle would be more becoming to
wear to the ball.

Next day the Rhaetian newspapers devoted columns to the attack upon
the Emperor by an anarchist from a certain province (once Italian),
who had disguised himself as an official in the employ of the
Burgomaster. There were long paragraphs in praise of the lady who,
with marvelous courage and presence of mind, had sprung between the
Emperor and the assassin, receiving on the arm with which she had
shielded _Unser Leo_ a glancing blow from the weapon aimed at the
Imperial breast. But, thanks to a few earnestly imploring words
written by "Lady Mowbray" to Baron von Lyndal, commands impressed upon
the landlord of the hotel, and the fact that Rhaetian editors are not
as modern as Americans in their methods, the lady was not named. She
was a foreigner and a stranger to the capital of Rhaetia; she was,
according to the papers, "as yet unknown."



CHAPTER VIII

THE EMPEROR'S BALL


Not a window of the fourteenth century, yellow marble palace on the
hill, with its famous Garden of the Nine Fountains, that was not
ablaze with light, glittering against a far-away background of violet
mountains crowned by snow.

Outside the tall, bronze gates where marble lions crouched, the crowd
who might not pass beyond stared, chattered, pointed and exclaimed,
without jealousy of their betters. _Unser Leo_ was giving a ball, and
it was enough for their happiness to watch the slow moving line of
splendid state coaches, gorgeous automobiles, and neat broughams with
well-known crests upon their doors; to strive good-naturedly for a
peep at the faces and dresses, the jewels and picturesque uniforms; to
comment upon all freely but never impudently, asking one another what
would be for supper, and with whom the Emperor would dance.

"There she is--there's the beautiful young foreign lady who saved
him!" cried a girl in the throng. "I was there and saw her, I tell
you. Isn't she an angel?"

Instantly a hearty cheer went up, growing in volume, and the
green-coated policemen had to keep back the crowd that would have
stopped the horses and pressed close for a long look into a plain,
dark-blue brougham.

Virginia shrank out of sight against the cushions, blushing, and
breathing quickly as she caught her mother's hand.

"Dear people,--dear, kind people," she thought. "I love them for
loving him. I wonder, oh I wonder, if they will ever see me and cheer
me, driving by his side?"

She had chosen to wear the white dress with the pearls, though up to
the last moment the Grand Duchess had suffered tortures of indecision
between that and the blue, to say nothing of a pink chiffon trimmed
with crushed roses. Before the carriage brought them to the palace
doors, the girl's blush had faded, and her face was as white as her
gown when at her mother's side she passed between bowing lackeys
through the marble Hall of Lions, on through the frescoed Rittersaal
to the throne room where the Emperor's guests awaited his coming.

It was etiquette not to arrive a moment later than ten o'clock; and a
few minutes after the hour Baron von Lyndal, in his official capacity
as Grand Master of Ceremonies, struck the polished floor twice with
his gold-knobbed wand of ivory. This signaled the approach of the
court from the Imperial dinner party, and Leopold entered, with a
stout, middle-aged Royal Highness from Russia on his arm.

Until his arrival the beautiful Miss Mowbray had held all eyes; and
even when he appeared, she was not forgotten. Every one was on tenter
hooks to see how she would be greeted by the grateful Emperor.

The instant that his dark head towered above other heads in the throne
room, it was observed even by those not usually observant, that never
had Leopold been so handsome.

His was a face remarkable for intellect and firmness rather than for
classical beauty of feature, though his features were strong and
clearly cut; but to-night the sternness that sometimes marred them in
the eyes of women was smoothed away. He looked young and ardent,
almost boyish, like a man who has suddenly found an absorbing new
interest in life.

The first dance he went through with the Russian Royalty, who was the
guest of the evening; and, still rigidly conforming to the line of
duty (which obtains in court ball-rooms as on battlefields), the
second, third and fourth dances were for the Emperor penances instead
of pleasures. But for the fifth--a waltz--he bowed before Virginia.

During this long hour there had been hardly a movement, smile or
glance of hers which he had not contrived to see, since his entrance.
He knew just how well Baron von Lyndal carried out his instructions
concerning Miss Mowbray. He saw each partner presented to her for a
dance the Emperor might not claim; and to save his life, or a national
crisis, he could not have forced the same expression in speaking with
her Royal Highness from Russia, as that which spontaneously brightened
his face when at last he approached Virginia.

"Who is that girl?" asked Count von Breitstein, in his usual abrupt
manner, as the arm of Leopold girdled the slim waist of the Princess,
and the eyes of Leopold drank light from another pair of eyes lifted
to his in laughter.

It was to Baroness von Lyndal that the old Chancellor put his
question, and she fluttered a tiny, diamond-spangled fan of lace to
hide lips that would smile, as she answered, "What, Chancellor, are
you jesting, or don't you really know who that girl is?"

Count von Breitstein turned eyes cold and gray as glass away from the
two figures moving rhythmically with the music, to the face of the
once celebrated beauty. Long ago he had admired Baroness von Lyndal as
passionately as it was in him to admire any woman; but that day was so
far distant as to be remembered with scorn, and now, such power as she
had over him was merely to excite a feeling of irritation.

"I seldom trouble myself to jest," he answered.

"Ah, one knows that truly great men are born without a sense of humor;
those who have it are never as successful in life as those without,"
smiled the Baroness, who was by birth a Hungarian, and loved laughter
better than anything else, except compliments upon her vanishing
beauty. "How stupid of me to have tried your patience. 'That girl,' as
you so uncompromisingly call her, has two claims to attention at
court. She is the English Miss Helen Mowbray whose mother has come to
Kronburg armed with sheaves of introductions to us all. She is also
the young woman of whom the papers are full to-day, for it is she who
saved the Emperor's life."

"Indeed," said the Chancellor, a gray gleam in his eye as he watched
the white figure floating on the tide of music, in the arms of
Leopold. "Indeed."

"I thought you would have known, for you know most things before other
people hear of them," went on the Baroness. "Lady Mowbray and her
daughter are stopping at the Hohenlangenwald Hotel. That's the mother
sitting on the left of Princess Neufried,--the pretty, Dresden china
person. But the girl is a great beauty."

"It's generous of you to say so, Baroness," replied the Chancellor. "I
didn't see the young lady's face at all clearly yesterday; I was
stationed too far away; and dress makes a great difference. As for
what she did," went on the old man, whose coldness to women and
merciless justice to both sexes alike had earned him the nickname of
"Iron Heart," "as for what she did, if it had not been she who
intervened between the Emperor and death, it would have been the fate
of another to do so. It was a fortunate thing for the girl, we may
say, that it happened to be her arm which struck up the weapon."

"Or she wouldn't be here to-night, you mean," laughed the Baroness.
"Don't you think, then, that his Majesty is right to single her out
for so much honor?" Her eyes were on the dancers; yet that mysterious
skill which most women of the world have learned, taught her how not
to miss the slightest change of expression, if there were any, on the
Chancellor's square, lined face.

"His Majesty is always right," he replied diplomatically. "An
invitation to a ball; a dance or two; a few compliments; a call to pay
his respects; a gentleman could not be less gracious. And his Majesty
is one of the first gentlemen in Europe."

"He has had good training, what to do and what not to do." The
Baroness flung her little sop of flattery to Cerberus with a dainty
ghost of a bow for the man who had been as a second father to Leopold
since the late Emperor's death. "But--we're old friends, Chancellor,"
(she was not to blame that they had not been more in the days before
she became Baroness von Lyndal), "so tell me; can you look at the
girl's face and the Emperor's, and still say that everything will end
with an invitation, a dance, some compliments, and a call to pay
respects?"

Iron Heart frowned and sneered, wondering what he could have seen,
twenty-two years ago, to admire in this flighty woman. He would have
escaped from her now, if escape had been feasible; but he could not be
openly rude to the wife of the Grand Master of Ceremonies, at the
Emperor's ball. And besides, he was not unwilling, perhaps, to show
the lady that her sentimental and unsuitable innuendos were as the
buzzing of a fly about his ears.

"I'm close upon seventy, and no longer a fair judge of a woman's
attractions," he returned carelessly. "A look at her face conveys
nothing to me. But, were she Helen of Troy instead of Helen Mowbray,
the invitation, the dance, the compliments, and the call--with the
present of some jeweled souvenir--are all that are permissible in the
circumstances."

"What circumstances?" and the Baroness looked as innocent as an
inquiring child.

"The lady is not of Royal blood. And his Majesty, I thank Heaven, is
not a roué."

"He has a heart, though you trained him, Chancellor; and he has eyes.
He may never have used them to much purpose before, yet there must be
a first time. And the higher and more strongly built the tower, once
it begins to topple, the greater is the fall thereof."

"Is it the sense of humor, which you say I lack, that gives you
pleasure in discussing the wildest improbabilities, as if they were
events to be considered seriously? If it is, I'm not sorry to lack it.
In any case, it's as well that neither you nor I is the Emperor's
keeper."

"We're at least his very good friends, I as well as you, in my humbler
way, Chancellor. And you and I have known each other for twenty-two
years. If it amuses me to discuss improbabilities, why not? Since you
call them improbabilities, it can do no harm to dwell upon them as
ingredients for romance. Not for worlds would I suggest that his
Majesty isn't an example for all men to follow, nor that poor, pretty
Miss Mowbray could be tempted to indiscretion. But yet I'd be ready to
make a wager--the Emperor being human, and the girl a beauty--that an
acquaintance so romantically begun won't end with a ball and a call."

"What could there possibly be more--or what you hint at as more--in
honor?"

The Chancellor's voice was angry at last, as well as stern, for he
could not bear persistence--in other people--unless it were to further
some cause of his own. To the delight of the woman who had once tried
in vain to melt his iron heart, Count von Breitstein began to look
somewhat like a baited bull. Really, said the Baroness to herself,
there was an actual resemblance in feature; and joyously she searched
for a few more little ribbon-tipped banderillos.

What fun it was to ruffle the temper of the surly old brute who had
humiliated her woman's vanity in days long past, but not forgotten!
She knew the Chancellor's desire for the Emperor's marriage as soon as
a suitable match could be found; and though she was not in the secret
of his plans, would have felt little surprise at learning that some
eligible Royal girl had already been selected. Now, how amusing it
would be actually to make the old man tremble for the success of his
hopes, even if it should turn out in the end to be impossible or
undesirable to upset them!

"What could there be more--in honor?" she echoed lightly after an
instant given to reflection.

"Why, the Emperor and the girl will see a great deal of each other,
unless you banish or imprison the Mowbrays. There'll be many dances
together, many calls; in fact, a serial romance instead of a short
story. Why shouldn't his Majesty know the pleasure of a--platonic
friendship with a beautiful and charming young woman?"

"Because Plato's out of fashion, if ever he was in, among human beings
with red blood in their veins; and because, as I said, the Emperor is
above all else a man of honor. Besides, I doubt that any woman, no
matter how pretty or young, could wield a really powerful influence
over his life."

"You doubt that? Then you don't know the Emperor; and you've forgotten
some of the traditions of his house."

"Are you trying to warn me of disaster, Baroness?"

She laughed. "Oh, dear no. Of nothing disagreeable. But I should be
sorry to think, as you seem to do, that our Emperor has no youth in
his veins."

"I think nothing of the sort. What I do think is that my teachings
have not been in vain, and that he has grown up to put his duty to his
country and his own self-respect above everything. He's a strong
man--too strong to be trapped in the meshes of any pink and white
Vivien. And if he admired a young woman not of Royal blood, he would
keep his distance for her sake. You say this English miss is with her
mother at the principal hotel of Kronburg. If Leopold constantly
visited them there we should have a scandal. On the other hand, to
suggest meeting the girl outside, or incognito, would be an insult.
Either way he would be but poorly rewarding a woman who saved his
life."

Baroness von Lyndal's color rallied to the support of her rouge, and
her smile dwindled to inanity, for she had insisted upon the argument,
and it was going against her.

In her haste to vex the Chancellor, she had not stopped to study from
every side the question she had raised. So far, she had merely
succeeded in irritating him, and she owed him much more than a pin
prick. Such infinitesimal wounds she had contrived to give the man in
abundance, during her twenty-two years at the Rhaetian Court; but now,
if she hurt him at all, she would like the stab to be deep and
memorable.

To be sure, in beginning the conversation, she had thought of nothing
more than a momentary gratification, but the very heat of the argument
into which she had thrown herself had warmed her malice, and sharpened
the weapon of her wit. She could justify her expressed opinion only by
events, and it occurred to her that she might be able to shape events
in such a way that she could say with eyes, if not in words, "I told
you so."

Her fading smile brightened. "Dear Chancellor, you do well to have
faith in your Imperial pupil," said she. "You've helped to make him
what he is, and you're ready to keep him what he should be. I suppose,
even, that if, being but a young man and having the hot blood of his
race, he should stray into a primrose path, you would take advantage
of old friendship to--er--put up sign-posts and barriers?"

"Were there the slightest chance of such necessity arising," grumbled
the Chancellor, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's like your integrity and courage. What a comfort, then, that the
necessity is so unlikely to arise."

The old man looked at her with level gaze, the ruthless look that
brushes away a woman's paint and powder, and coldly counts the
wrinkles underneath. "I must have misunderstood you then, a moment
ago," he said. "I thought your argument was all the other way round,
madam?"

"I told you I was amusing myself. What can one do at a ball, when one
has reached the age when it would be foolish to dance? Why, I believe
that Lady Mowbray and her daughter are not remaining long in
Kronburg."

At last she was able to judge that she had given the Chancellor a few
uneasy moments, for his eyes brightened visibly with relief. "Ah," he
returned, "then they are going out of Rhaetia?"

"Not exactly that," said the Baroness, slowly, pleasantly, and
distinctly. "I hear that they've been asked to the country to visit
one of his Majesty's oldest friends."

       *       *       *       *       *

Leopold was not supposed to care for dancing, though he danced--as it
was his pride to do all things--well. Certainly there was often a
perfunctoriness about his manner in a ball-room, a suggestion of the
soldier on duty in his unsmiling face, and his readiness to lead a
partner to her seat when a dance was over.

But to-night a new Leopold moved to the music. A girl's white arm on
his--that slender arm which had been quick and firm as a man's in his
defense; the perfume of a girl's hair, and the gold glints upon it;
the shadow of a girl's dark lashes, and the light in a pair of gray
eyes when they were lifted; the beating of a girl's heart near him;
the springtime grace of a girl's sweet youth in its contrast with the
voluptuous summer of Rhaetian types of beauty; the warm rose that
spread upwards from a girl's childlike dimples to the womanly arch of
her brows; all these charms and more which rendered one girl a hundred
times adorable, took hold of him, and made him not an Emperor, but a
man, unarmored.

When the music ceased, he fancied for an instant that some accident
had befallen the musicians. Then, when he realized that the end of the
dance had come in its due time, he remembered with pleasure a rule of
his court, established in the days of those who had been before him.
After each dance an interval of ten minutes was allowed before the
beginning of another. Ten minutes are not much to a man who has things
to say which could hardly be said in ten hours; still, they are
something; and to waste even one would be like spilling a drop of
precious elixir from a tiny bottle containing but nine other drops.

They had scarcely spoken yet, except for commonplaces which any one
might have overheard, since the day on the mountain; and in this first
moment of the ten, each was wondering whether or no that day should be
ignored between them. Leopold did not feel that it should be spoken
of, for it was possible that the girl did not recognize the chamois
hunter in the Emperor; and Virginia did not feel that she could speak
of it. But then, few things turn out as people feel they should.

Next to the throne room was the ball-room; and beyond was another
known as the "Waldsaal," which Leopold had fitted up for the
gratification of a fancy. It was named the "Waldsaal" because it
represented a wood. Walls and ceiling were masked with thick-growing
creepers trained over invisible wires, through which peeped stars of
electric light, like the chequerings of sunshine between netted
branches. Trees grew up, with their roots in boxes hidden beneath the
moss-covered floor. There were grottoes of ivy-draped rock in the
corners, and here and there out from leafy shadows glittered the glass
eyes of birds and animals--eagles, stags, chamois, wolves and
bears--which the Emperor had shot.

This strange room, so vast as to seem empty when dozens of people
wandered beneath its trees and among its rock grottoes, was thrown
open to guests whenever a ball was given at the palace; but the
conservatories and palm houses were more popular; and when Leopold
brought Miss Mowbray to the Waldsaal after their dance, it was in the
hope that they might not be disturbed.

She was lovelier than ever in her white dress, under the trees,
looking up at him with a wonderful look in her eyes, and the young
man's calmness was mastered by the beating of his blood.

"This is a kind of madness," he said to himself. "It will pass. It
must pass." And aloud,--meaning all the while to say something
different and commonplace,--the real words in his mind broke through
the crust of conventionality. "Why did you do it?"

Virginia's eyes widened. "I don't understand." Then, in an instant,
she found that she did understand. She knew, too, that the question
had asked itself in spite of him, but that once it had been uttered he
would stand to his guns.

"I mean the thing I shall have to thank you for always."

If Virginia had had time to think, she might have prepared some pretty
answer; but, there being no time, her response came as his question
had, from the heart. "I couldn't help doing it."

"You couldn't help risking your life to--" He dared not finish.

"It was to save--" Nor was there any end for her sentence.

Then perhaps it was not strange that he forgot certain restrictions
which a Royal man, in conversing with a commoner, is not supposed to
forget. In fact, he forgot that he was Royal, or that she was not, and
his voice grew unsteady, his tone eager, as if he had been some poor
subaltern with the girl of his first love.

"There's something I must 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 a small, bright thing that flashed
under a star of electric light.

"My ring!" breathed Virginia.

Thus died the Emperor's intention to ignore the day that had been
theirs together.

"Your ring! You gave it to Leo. He kept it. He will always keep it.
Have I surprised you?"

Virginia felt it would be best to say "yes," but instead she answered
"no"; for pretty, white fibs cannot be told under such a look in a
man's eyes, by a girl who loves him.

"I have not? When did you guess the truth? Yesterday, or--"

"At Alleheiligen."

Silence fell for a minute, while Leopold digested the answer, and its
full meaning. He remembered the bread and ham; the cow he could not
milk; the rücksacks he had carried. He remembered everything--and
laughed.

"You knew, at Alleheiligen? Not on the mountain, when--"

"Yes. I guessed even then, I confess. Oh, I don't mean that I went
there expecting to find you. I didn't. I think I shouldn't have gone,
had I known. Every one believed you were at Melinabad. But when I
tumbled down and you saved me, I looked up, and--of course I'd seen
your picture, and one reads in the papers that you're fond of chamois
hunting. I couldn't help guessing--oh, I'm sorry you asked me this!"

"Why?"

"Because--one might have to be afraid of an Emperor if he were angry."

"Do I look angry?"

Their eyes met again, laughing at first, then each finding unexpected
depths in those of the other which drove away laughter. Something in
Leopold's breast seemed alive and struggling to be free from
restraint, like a fierce, wild bird. He shut his lips tightly,
breathing hard. Both forgot that a question had been asked; but it was
Virginia who spoke first, since it is easier for a woman than a man to
hide feeling.

"I wonder why you kept the ring after my--impertinence."

"I had a good reason for keeping it."

"Won't you tell me?"

"You're quick at forming conclusions, Miss Mowbray. Can't you guess?"

"To remind you to beware of strange young women on mountains."

"No."

"Because your own picture is inside?"

"It was a better reason than that."

"Am I not to ask it?"

"On that day, you asked what you chose. All the more should you do so
now, since there's nothing I could refuse you."

"Not the half of your Kingdom--like the Royal men in fairy stories?"

As soon as the words were out Virginia would have given much to have
them back. She had not thought of a meaning they might convey; but she
tried not to blush, lest he should think of it now. Nevertheless he
did think of it, and the light words, striking a chord they had not
aimed to touch, went echoing on and on, till they reached that part of
himself which the Emperor knew least about--his heart.

"Half his Kingdom?" Yes, he would give it to this girl, if he could.
Heavens, what it would be to share it with her!

"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 know I am sincere."

"But you'd seen me only for an hour. Instead of deserving your
friendship, I'm afraid I--"

"For one hour? That's true. And how long ago is that one hour? A week
or so, I suppose, as Time counts. But then came yesterday, and the
thing you did for me. Now, I've known you always."

"If you had, perhaps you wouldn't want me for your friend."

"I do want you."

The words would come. It was true--already. He did want her. But not
as a friend. His world,--a world without women, without passion fiery
enough to devour principles or traditions, was upside down.

It was well that the ten minutes' grace between dances was over,
and the music for the next about to begin. A young officer, Count
von Breitstein's half-brother--who was to be Miss Mowbray's
partner--appeared in the distance, looking for her; but stopped,
seeing that she was still with the Emperor.

"Good-by," said Virginia, while her words could still be only for the
ears of Leopold.

"Not good-by. We're friends."

"Yes. But we sha'n't meet often."

"Why? Are you leaving Kronburg?"

"Perhaps--soon. I don't know."

"I must see you again. I will see you once more, whatever comes."

"Once more, perhaps. I hope so, but--"

"After that--"

"Who knows?"

       *       *       *       *       *

"Once more--once more!" The words echoed in Virginia's ears. She heard
them through everything, as one hears the undertone of a mountain
torrent, though a brass band may bray to drown its deep music.

Once more he would see her, whatever might come. She could guess why
it might be only once, though he would fain have that once again and
again repeated. For 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 so, in words,
and not with eyes alone, the rest might be easy, although at best she
could not see the end. Yet how, in honor, could he tell Miss Helen
Mowbray that he cared? And if the telling were not to be in honor, how
could she bear to live her life?

"Once more!" What would happen in that "once more?" Perhaps nothing
save a repetition of grateful thanks, and courteous words akin to a
farewell.

To be sure Lady Mowbray and her daughter might run away, and the
negotiations between the Emperor's advisers and the Grand Duchess of
Baumenburg-Drippe for the Princess Virginia's hand might be allowed to
go on, as if no outside influence had ruffled the peaceful current of
events. Then, in the end, a surprise would come for Leopold; wilful
Virginia would have played her little comedy, and all might be said to
end well. But Virginia's heart refused to be satisfied with so tame a
last chapter, a finish to her romance so conventional as to be
distastefully obvious, almost if not quite a failure.

She had begun to drink a sweet and stimulating draught--she who had
been brought up on milk and water--and she was reluctant to put down
the cup, still half full of sparkling nectar.

"Once more!" If only that once could be magnified into many times. If
she could have her chance--her "fling," like the lucky girls who were
not Royal!

So she was thinking in the carriage by her mother's side, and the
Grand Duchess had to speak twice, before her daughter knew their
silence had been broken.

"I forgot to tell you something, Virginia."

"Ye-es, Mother?"

"Your great success has made me absent-minded, 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 Lyndal has been most kind. She
urges us to give up our rooms at the hotel, on the first of next week,
and join her house party at Schloss Lyndalberg. It's only a few miles
out of town. What do you think of the plan?"

"Leave--Kronburg?"

"She's asked a number of friends--to meet the Emperor."

"Oh! He didn't 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 wouldn't dare
ask people to meet him, if he hadn't 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 could have said to make him look so happy.
Perhaps--"

"What answer did you give Baroness von Lyndal?"

"I told her--I thought you wouldn't mind--I told her we would go."



CHAPTER IX

IRON HEART AT HOME


Schloss Lyndalberg towers high on a promontory, overlooking a lake,
seven or eight miles to the south of the Rhaetian capital. The castle
is comparatively modern, with pointed turrets and fretted minarets,
and, being built of white, Carrara marble, throws a reflection snowy
as a submerged swan, into the clear green water of the Mömmelsee. All
the surroundings of the palace, from its broad terraces to its jeweled
fountains and well-nigh tropical gardens, suggest luxury, gaiety,
pleasure.

But, on the opposite bank of the Mömmelsee is huddled the dark shape
of an ancient fortified stronghold, begun no one remembers how many
centuries ago by the first Count von Breitstein. Generation following
generation, the men of that family completed the work, until nowadays
it is difficult to know where the rock ends, and the castle begins.
There, like a dragon squatting on the coils of its own tail, the dark
mass is poised, its deep-set window-eyes glaring across the bright
water at the white splendor of Lyndalberg, like the malevolent stare
of the monster waiting to spring upon and devour a fair young maiden.

The moods of Baroness von Lyndal concerning grim old Schloss
Breitstein had varied many times during her years of residence by the
lake. Sometimes she pleased herself by reflecting that the great man
who had slighted her lived in less luxury than she had attained by her
excellent marriage. Again, the thought of the ancient lineage of the
present Count von Breitstein filled her with envy; and oftener than
all, the feeling that the "old grizzly bear" could crouch in his den
and watch sneeringly everything which happened at Lyndalberg got upon
the lady's nerves. She could have screamed and shaken her fist at the
dark mass of rock and stone across the water. But after the birthday
ball and during the first days of Leopold's visit at her house, she
often threw a whimsical glance at the grim silhouette against the
northern sky, and smiled.

"Can you see, old bear?" she would ask, gayly. "Are you spying over
there? Do you think yourself all-wise and all-powerful? Do you see
what's in my mind now, and do you guess partly why I've taken all this
trouble? Are you racking your brain for some way of spoiling my little
plans? But you can't do it, you know. It's too late. There's nothing
you can do, except sit still and growl, and glare at your own
claws--which a woman has clipped. How do you like the outlook, old
bear? Do you lie awake at night and study how to save your scheme for
the Emperor's marriage? All your grumpy old life you've despised
women; but now you're beginning at last to find out that powerful as
you are, there are some things a woman with tact and money, nice
houses and a good-natured husband can do, which the highest statesman
in the land can't undo. How soon shall I make you admit that,
Chancellor Bear?"

Thus the Baroness, standing at her drawing-room window, would amuse
herself in odd moments, when she was not arranging original and
elaborate entertainments for her guests. And she congratulated herself
particularly on having had the forethought to invite Egon von
Breitstein, the Chancellor's half-brother.

There was a barrier of thirty-six years' difference in age between the
two, and they had never been friends in the true sense of the word,
for the old man was temperamentally unable to sympathize with the
tastes, or understand the temptations of the younger brother, and the
younger man was mentally unable to appreciate the qualities of the
elder.

Nevertheless it was rumored at court that Iron Heart had more than
once used the gay and good-looking Captain of Cavalry for a catspaw in
pulling some very big and hot chestnuts out of the fire. At all events
"Handsome Egon," so known among his followers, "the Chancellor's
Jackal" (thus nicknamed by his enemies) would have found difficulty in
keeping up appearances without the allowance granted by his powerful
half-brother. The ill-assorted pair were often in communication, and
the Baroness liked to think that news fresh from Lyndalberg must
sooner or later be wafted like a wind-blown scent of roses across the
water to Schloss Breitstein.

She was still less displeased than surprised, therefore, when--the
Emperor having been three days at Lyndalberg, with two more days of
his visit to run--an urgent message arrived for Captain von Breitstein
from his brother.

Poor old Lorenz was wrestling with his enemy gout, it appeared, and
wished for Egon's immediate presence.

Such a summons could not be neglected. Egon's whole future depended
upon his half-brother's caprice, he hinted to the Baroness in asking
leave to desert her pleasant party for a few hours. So of course she
sent the Chancellor her regrets, with the Baron's; and Egon went off
charged with a friendly message from the Emperor as well.

When the Captain of Cavalry had set out from Lyndalberg to Schloss
Breitstein by the shortest way--across the lake in a smart little
motor-boat--promising to be back in time for dinner and a concert, the
Baroness spent all her energy in getting up an impromptu riding-party,
which would give Leopold the chance of another tête-a-tête with Miss
Mowbray.

Already many such chances had been arranged, so cleverly as not to
excite gossip; and if the flirtation (destined by the hostess to
disgust Leopold with his Chancellor's matrimonial projects) did not
advance by leaps and bounds, it was certainly not the fault of
Baroness von Lyndal.

"Egon has been told to use his eyes and ears for all they're worth at
Lyndalberg, and now he's called upon to hand in his first report," she
said to herself, when the younger von Breitstein was off on his
mission across the lake.

But for once, at least, the "Chancellor's Jackal" was wronged by
unjust suspicion. He arrived at Schloss Breitstein ignorant of his
brother's motive in sending for him, though he shrewdly suspected it
to be something quite different from the one alleged.

The Chancellor was in his study, a deep windowed, tower room, with
walls book-lined nearly to the cross-beamed ceiling. He sat reading a
budget of letters when Egon was announced, and if he were really ill,
he did not betray his suffering. The square face, with its beetling
brows, eyes of somber fire, and forehead impressive as a cathedral
dome, showed no new lines graven by pain.

"Sit down, Egon," he said, abruptly, tearing in half an envelope
stamped with the head of Hungaria's King. "I'll be ready for you in a
moment."

The young man took the least uncomfortable chair in the room, which
from his point of view was to say little in its favor; because the
newest piece of furniture there, has been made a hundred years before
the world understood that lounging was not a crime. Over the high,
stone mantel hung a shield, so brightly polished as to fulfil the
office of a mirror, and from where Egon sat, perforce upright and
rigid, he could see himself vignetted in reflection.

He admired his fresh color, which was like a girl's, pointed the waxed
ends of his mustache with nervous, cigarette-stained fingers, and
thinking of many agreeable things, from baccarat to roulette, from
roulette to races, and races to pretty women, he wondered which he had
to thank for this summons to the Chancellor. Unfortunately, brother
Lorenz knew everything; one's pleasant peccadilloes buzzed to his ears
like flies; there was little hope of deceiving him.

Egon sighed, and his eyes turned mechanically from his own visage on
shining steel, to the letter held in an old hand so veined that it
reminded the young man of a rock netted with the sprawling roots of
ancient trees. He had just time to recognize the writing as that of
Adalbert, Crown Prince of Hungaria, whom he knew slightly, when keen
eyes curtained with furled and wrinkled lids, glanced up from the
letter.

"It's coming," thought Egon. "What can the old chap have found out?"

But to his surprise the Chancellor's first words had no connection
with him or his misdeeds.

"So our Emperor is amusing himself at Lyndalberg?"

Egon's face brightened. He could be cunning in emergencies, but he was
not clever, and always he felt himself at a disadvantage with the old
statesman. Unless he had a special favor to ask, he generally
preferred discussing the affairs of others with the Chancellor, rather
than allowing attention to be attracted to his own. "Oh yes," he
answered, brightly. "His Majesty is amusing himself uncommonly well. I
never saw him in as brilliant spirits. But you, dear Lorenz. Tell me
about yourself. Is your gout--"

"The devil take my gout!"

Egon started. "A good thing if he did, provided he left you behind,"
he retorted, meaning exactly the opposite, as he often did when trying
to measure wits with the Chancellor. "But you sent for me--"

"Don't tell me you supposed I sent for you because I wanted
consolation or condolence?"

"No-o," laughed Egon, uneasily. "I fancied there was some other more
pressing reason. But I'm bound in common courtesy to take your
sincerity for granted until you undeceive me."

"Hang common courtesy between you and me," returned the Bear. "I've
nothing to conceal. I sent for you to tell me what mischief that
witch-cat Mechtilde von Lyndal is plotting. You're on the spot. Trust
you for seeing everything that goes on--the one thing I would trust
you to do."

"Thanks," said Egon.

"Don't thank me yet, however grateful you may be. But I don't mind
hinting that it won't be the worse for you, if for once you've used
those fine eyes of yours to some useful purpose."

Egon was genuinely astonished at this turn of the conversation, as he
had been carefully arming himself against a personal attack from any
one of several directions. He sat pointing the sharp ends of his
mustache, one after the other, and trying to remember some striking
incident with which to adorn a more or less accurate narrative.

"What would you call useful?" he inquired at last.

The Chancellor answered, but indirectly. "Has the Emperor been playing
the fool at Lyndalberg, these last few days?"

"Do you want to make me guilty of _lèse Majesté_?" Egon raised his
eyebrows; but he was recovering presence of mind. "If by playing the
fool, though, you mean falling in love, why then, brother, I should
say he had done little else during the three days; and perhaps even
the first of those was not the beginning."

The Chancellor growled out a word which he would hardly have uttered
in the Imperial presence, particularly in the connection he suggested.
"Let me hear exactly what has been going on from day's end to day's
end," he commanded.

Egon grew thoughtful once more. Clearly, here was the explanation of
the summons. He was to be let off easily, it appeared; but, suspense
relieved, he was not ready to be satisfied with negative blessings.

"Are you sure it isn't a bit like telling tales out of school?" he
objected.

"School-boys--with empty pockets--have been known to do that," said
the Chancellor. "But perhaps your pockets aren't empty--eh?"

"They're in a chronic state of emptiness," groaned Egon.

"On the fifteenth day of October your quarterly allowance will be
paid," remarked his brother. "I would increase the instalment by the
amount of five thousand gulden, if that would make it worth your while
to talk--and forget nothing but your scruples."

"Oh, you know I'm always delighted to please you!" exclaimed Egon.
"It's only natural, living the monotonous life you do when you're not
busy with the affairs of state, that you should like to hear what goes
on in the world outside. Of course, I'll gladly do my best as a
_raconteur_."

"My dear young man, don't lie," said the Chancellor. "The habit is
growing on you. You lie even to yourself. By and by you'll believe
yourself, and then all hope for your soul will be over. What I want to
know is; how far the Emperor has gone in his infatuation for this
English girl. I'm not afraid to speak plainly to you, so you may
safely--and profitably--do the same with me. In the first place I'll
put you at your ease by making a humiliating confession. The other
night the woman von Lyndal tried to 'draw me,' as she would express
it, on this subject, and I'm bitterly mortified to say she partly
succeeded. She suggested an entanglement between Leopold and the girl.
I replied that Leopold wasn't the man to pull down a hornet's nest of
gossip around the ears of a young woman who had saved his life. No
matter what his inclinations might be, I insisted that he would pay
her no repeated visits. This thrust the fair Mechtilde parried--as if
repeating a mere rumor--by saying that she believed the girl was to
stay at the country house of some old friend of the Emperor. At the
time, I attached little importance to her chatter, believing that she
merely wished to give me a spiteful slap or two, as is her habit when
she has the chance. For once, though, she has succeeded in stealing a
march upon me; and she kept the secret of her plan until too late for
me to have any hope of preventing Leopold from fulfilling his
engagement at her house. After that was safely arranged, I don't doubt
she was overjoyed that I should guess her plot."

"Do you think that, even if you'd known sooner, you could have stopped
the Emperor from visiting at Lyndalberg?" asked Egon. "I know that you
are iron; but he is steel."

"I would have stopped him," returned the Chancellor. "I should have
made no bones about the reason; for I've found that the best way with
Leopold is to blurt out the whole truth, and fight him--my experience
against his will. If advice and warning hadn't sufficed to restrain
him from insulting the girl who is to be his wife, and injuring the
reputation of the girl who never can be, I would have devised some
expedient to thwart him, for his own good. I'm not a man to give up
when I feel that I am right."

"Neither is he," Egon added. "But since you seem so determined to nip
this dainty blossom of love in the bud, we'll hope it's not yet too
late for a sharp frost to blight it."

"I sent for you," said the Chancellor, brushing away metaphor with an
impatient gesture, "to show me the precise spot on which to lay my
finger."

"I'll do my best to deserve your confidence," responded Egon,
gracefully. "Let me see, where shall I begin? Well, as you know, it's
simpler for the Emperor to see a good deal of the woman he admires, at
a friend's house than almost anywhere else, in his own country. This
particular woman risked her life to save his; and it's so natural for
him to be gracious in return, that people would be surprised if he
were not. There's so much in their favor, at the commencement.

"Miss Mowbray and her mother arrived at Lyndalberg before the Emperor,
had made friends there, and were ready for the campaign. The girl is
undoubtedly beautiful--the prettiest creature I think I ever saw--and
she has a winning way which takes with women as well as men. Not one
of her fellow-guests seems to put a wrong construction on her
flirtation with the Emperor, or his with her. The other men would
think him blind if he didn't admire her as much as they do; and none
of the women there are of the sort to be jealous. So, are you sure,
Lorenz, that you're not taking too serious a view of the affair?"

"It can't be taken too seriously, considering the circumstances. I've
told you my plans for the Emperor's future. Princesses are women, and
gossip is hydra-headed. When the lady hears--she who has been allowed
to understand that the Emperor of Rhaetia only waits for a suitable
opportunity of formally asking for her hand--for she will surely hear,
that he has seized this very moment for his first _liason_, I tell you
neither she nor her people are likely to accept the statement meekly.
She's half German; on her father's side a cousin not too distant of
William II. She's half English; on her mother's side related to the
King through the line of the Stuarts. And in her there's a dash of
American blood which comes from a famous grandmother, who was
descended from George Washington, a man as proud, and with the right
to be as proud, as any King. All three countries would have reason to
resent such an ungallant slight from Rhaetia."

"The little affair must be hushed up," said Egon.

"It must be stopped, and at once," said the Chancellor.

"Ach!" sighed the young man, with as much meaning in the long drawn
breath, as the elder might care to read. And if it did not discourage,
it at least irritated him. "Go on!" he exclaimed sharply. "Go on with
your sorry tale."

"After all, when one comes to the telling, there isn't a very great
deal one can put into cut-and-dried words," explained Egon. "At table,
the Emperor has his hostess on one side and his fair preserver on the
other. The two talk as much together during meals as etiquette allows,
and perhaps a little more. Then, as the Emperor has been often at
Lyndalberg, he can act as cicerone for a stranger. He has shown Miss
Mowbray all the beauties of the place. He gathers her roses in the
rose garden; he has guided her through the grottoes. He has piloted
her through the labyrinth; he has told her which are the best dogs in
the kennels; and has given her the history of all the horses in the
Baron's stables. I know this from the table talk. He has explored the
lake with Miss Mowbray and her mother in a motor-boat; perhaps you saw
the party? And whether or no he brought his automobile to Lyndalberg
on purpose, in any case he's had the Mowbrays out in it several times
already. One would hardly think he could have found a chance to do so
much in such a short time; but our Emperor is a man of action.
Yesterday we had a picnic at the Seebachfall, to see Thorwaldsen's
Undine. Leopold and Miss Mowbray being splendid climbers, reached the
statue on the height over the fall long before the rest of us. At
starting, however, I was close behind with the Baroness, and overheard
some joke between the two, about a mountain and a cow. The Emperor
spoke of milking as a fine art, and said he'd lately been taking
lessons. They laughed a great deal at this, and it was plain that
they were on terms of comradeship. When a young man and a girl have a
secret understanding--even the most innocent one--it puts them apart
from others.

"Last night there were fireworks on the lake. The Emperor and Miss
Mowbray watched them together, for everything was conducted most
informally. Afterwards we had an impromptu cotillion, with three or
four pretty new figures invented by the Baroness. The Emperor gave
Miss Mowbray several favors, and one was a buckle of enameled
forget-me-nots. This morning there was tennis. The Emperor and Miss
Mowbray played together. They were both so skilful, it was a pleasure
to watch them. At luncheon they each ate a double almond out of one
shell, had a game over it, and Leopold caught Miss Mowbray napping.
That brings us to the moment of my coming to you. For the afternoon, I
fancy the Baroness was getting up a riding party; and this evening
unless they're too tired, she'll perhaps get up an amateur concert at
which Miss Mowbray will sing. The girl has a delicious voice."

"The creature must be a fool, or an adventuress," pronounced the
Chancellor. "If she has kept her senses she ought to know that
nothing can come of this folly--except sorrow or scandal."

Egon shrugged his stiffly padded, military shoulders. "I have always
found that a woman in love doesn't stop to count the cost."

"So! You fancy her 'in love' with the Emperor."

"With the man, rather than the Emperor, if I'm a judge of character."

"Which you're not!" Iron Heart brusquely disposed of that suggestion.
"The merest school-girl could pull wool over your eyes, if she cared
to take the trouble."

"This one doesn't care a rap. She hardly knows that I exist."

"Humph!" The Chancellor's eyes appraised his young brother's features.
"That's a pity. You might have tried cutting the Emperor out. Her
affair with him can have no happy ending; while you, in spite of all
your faults, with your good looks, our position, and my money,
wouldn't be a bad match for an ambitious girl."

"Your money?"

"I mean, should I choose to make you my heir, and I would choose, if
you married to please me. Who are these Mowbrays?"

"I haven't had the curiosity to inquire into their antecedents," said
Egon. "I only know that they're ladies, that they must be of some
consequence in their own country, or they couldn't have got the
letters of introduction they have; and that the girl is the prettiest
on earth."

"Mechtilde talked to me, I remember, a good deal about those letters
of introduction," the Chancellor reflected aloud. "But Rhaetia is a
long cry from England; and letters might be forged. I've known such
things to be done. Fetch me a big red volume you'll find on the third
shelf from the floor, at the left of the south window. You can't miss
it. It's 'Burke's Peerage.'"

Egon rose with alacrity to obey. He was rather thoughtful, for his
brother had put an entirely new and exciting idea into his head.

Presently the red volume was discovered and laid on the desk before
the Chancellor, who turned the leaves over until he found the page
desired. As his eye fell upon the long line of Mowbrays, his face
changed and the bristling brows came together in a grizzled line.
Apparently the women were not adventuresses, at least in the ordinary
acceptation of the term.

There they were; his square-tipped finger pressed down upon the
printed names with a dig that might have signified his disposition
toward their representatives.

"The girl's mother is the widow of Reginald, sixth Baron Mowbray," the
old man muttered half aloud. "Son, Reginald Edward, fifteen years of
age. Daughter, Helen Augusta, twenty-eight. Aha! She's no chicken,
this young lady. She ought to be a woman of the world."

"Twenty-eight!" replied Egon. "I'll eat my hat if she's twenty-eight."

"Doesn't she look it, by daylight?"

"Not an hour over nineteen. Might be younger. Jove, I was never so
surprised to learn a woman's age! By the by, I heard her telling Baron
von Lyndal last night, apropos of our great Rhaetian victory, that she
was eleven years old on the day it took place. That would make her
about twenty now. When she spoke, I remember she gave a look at her
mother, across the room, as though she were frightened. I suppose she
was hoping there was no copy of this big red book at Lyndalberg."

"That thought might have been in her mind," assented the Chancellor,
"or else she--" He left his sentence unfinished, and sat with unseeing
eyes fixed in an owlish stare on the open page of Burke.

"I should like to know if you really meant what you said about my
marriage a little while ago." Egon ventured to attract his brother's
attention. "Because if you did--"

"If I did--"

"I might try very hard to please you in my choice of a wife."

"Be a little more implicit. You mean, you would try to prove to Miss
Mowbray that a Captain of Cavalry in the hand is worth an Emperor in
the bush--a bramble-brush at that, eh?"

"Yes. I would do my best. And as you say, I'm not without advantages."

"You are not. I was on the point of suggesting that you made the most
of them in Miss Mowbray's eyes--_until you brought me this red book_."

The large forefinger tapped the page of Mowbrays, while two lines
which might have meant amusement, or a sneer, scored themselves on
either side the Chancellor's mouth.

"And now--you've changed your mind?" There was disappointment in
Egon's voice.

"I don't say that. I say only, 'Wait.' Make yourself as agreeable to
the lady as you like. But don't pledge yourself, and don't count upon
my promise or my money, until you hear again. By that time--well, we
shall see what we shall see. Keep your hand in. But wait--wait."

"How long am I to wait? If the thing's to be done at all, it must be
done soon, for meanwhile, the Emperor makes all the running."

The Chancellor looked up again from the red book, his fist still
covering the Mowbrays, as if they were to be extinguished. "You are to
wait," he said, "until I've had answers to a couple of telegrams I
shall send to-night."



CHAPTER X

VIRGINIA'S GREAT MOMENT


The first and second dressing gongs had sounded at Schloss Lyndalberg
on the evening of the day after Egon von Breitstein's visit to his
brother, and the Grand Duchess was beginning to wonder uneasily what
kept her daughter, when ringed fingers tapped on the panel of the
door.

"Come in!" she answered, and Virginia appeared, still in the white
tennis dress she had worn that afternoon. She stood for an instant
without speaking, her face so radiantly beautiful that her mother
thought it seemed illumined from a light within.

It had been on the lips of the Grand Duchess to scold the girl for her
tardiness, since to be late was an unpardonable offense, with an
Imperial Majesty in the house. But in that radiance the words died.

"Virginia, what is it? You look--I scarcely know how you look. But
you make me feel that something has happened."

The Princess came slowly across the room, smiling softly, with an air
of one who walks in sleep. Hardly conscious of what she did, she sank
down in a big chair, and sat resting her elbows on her knees, her chin
nestling between her two palms, like a pink-white rose in its calyx.

"You may go, Ernestine," said the Grand Duchess to her maid. "I'll
ring when I want you again."

The elaborate process of waving and dressing her still abundant hair
had fortunately come to a successful end, and Ernestine had just
caused a diamond star to rise above her forehead. She was in a robe de
chambre, and the rest of her toilet could wait till curiosity was
satisfied.

But Virginia still sat dreaming, her happy eyes far away. The Grand
Duchess had to speak twice before the girl heard, and started a
little. "My daughter--have you anything to tell me?"

The Princess roused herself. "Nothing, Mother, really. Except that I'm
the happiest girl on earth."

"Why--what has he said?"

"Not one word that any one mightn't have listened to. But I know now.
He does care. And I think he will say something before we part."

"There's only one more day of his visit here, after to-night."

"One whole long, beautiful day--together."

"But after all, dearest," argued her mother, "what do you expect? If
in truth you were only Miss Mowbray, marriage between you and the
Emperor would be out of the question. You've never gone into the
subject of your feelings about this, quite thoroughly with me, and I
do wish I knew precisely what you hope for from him; what you will
consider the--the keystone of the situation?"

"Only for him to say that he loves me," Virginia confessed. "If I'm
right--if I've brought something new into his life, something which
has shown him that his heart's as important as his head, then there
will come a moment when he can keep silence no longer--when he'll be
forced to say; 'I love you, dear, and because we can't belong to each
other, day is turned into night for me.' Then, when that moment comes,
the tide of my fortune will be at its flood. I shall tell him that I
love him too. And I shall tell him _all the truth_."

"You'll tell him who we really are?"

"Yes. And why I've been masquerading. That it was because, ever since
I was a little girl, he'd been the one man in the world for me;
because, when our marriage was suggested through official channels, I
made up my mind that I must win him first through love, or live single
all my days."

"What if he should be vexed at the deception, and refuse to forgive
you? You know, darling, we shall be in a rather curious position when
everything comes out, as we have made all our friends here under the
name of Mowbray. Of course, the excuse for what we did is, that our
real position is a hundred times higher than the one we assumed, and
all those to whom we've been introduced would be delighted to know us
in our own characters, at the end. But Leopold is a man, not a
romantic girl, as you are. He has always had a reputation for pride
and austerity, for being just before he would let himself be generous;
and it may be that to one of his nature, a wild whim like yours--"

"You think of him as he was before we met, not as he is now, if you
fancy he could be hard with a woman he really loved," said Virginia,
eagerly. "He'll forgive me, dear. I've no fear of him any more.
To-night, I've no fear of anything. He loves me--and--I'm Empress of
the world."

"Many women would be satisfied with Rhaetia," was the practical
response which jumped into the mind of the Grand Duchess; but she
would throw no more cold water upon the rose-flame of her daughter's
exaltation. She kissed the girl on the forehead, breathing a few words
of motherly sympathy; but when the Princess had flown off to her own
room to dress, she shook her diamond-starred head doubtfully.

Virginia's plan sounded poetical, and as easy to carry out as to turn
a kaleidoscope and form a charming new combination of color; or so it
had seemed while the young voice pleaded. But, when the happy face and
radiant eyes no longer illumined the path, the way ahead seemed dark.

To be sure the Princess had so far walked triumphantly along the
high-road to success, but it was not always a good beginning which led
to a good end; and the Grand Duchess felt, as she rang for Ernestine,
that her nerves would be strained to breaking point until matters were
definitely settled, for better or for worse.

Virginia had never been lovelier than she was that night at dinner,
and Egon von Breitstein's admiration for her beauty had in it a
fascinating new ingredient. Until yesterday, he had said to himself,
"If she be not fair to me, what care I how fair she be?" But now,
there was a vague idea that she might after all be for him, and he
took enormous pleasure in the thought that he was falling in love with
a girl who had captured the Emperor's heart.

Egon glanced very often at Leopold, contrasting his sovereign's
appearance unfavorably with his own. The Emperor was thin and dark,
with a grave cast of feature, while Egon's face kept the color and
youthfulness of the early twenties. He was older than Leopold, but he
looked a boy. Alma Tadema would have wreathed him with vine leaves,
draped him with tiger skins, and set him down on a marble bench
against a burning sapphire sky, where he would have appeared more
suitably clad than in the stiff blue and silver uniform of a crack
Rhaetian regiment.

Leopold, on the contrary, would never be painted except as a soldier;
and it seemed to Egon that no normal girl could help thinking him a
far handsomer fellow than the Emperor. For the moment, of course,
Miss Mowbray did not notice him, because his Imperial Majesty loomed
large in the foreground of her imagination; but the Chancellor had
evidently a plan in his head for removing that stately obstacle into
the dim perspective.

Egon had not heard Miss Mowbray spoken of as an heiress, therefore,
even had there been no Emperor in the way, he would not have worshiped
at the shrine. But now, behold the shrine, attractive before, newly
and alluringly decked! Egon wondered much over his half-brother's
apparently impulsive offer, and the contradictory command, which had,
a little later, enjoined waiting.

He was delighted, however, that he had not been forbidden to make
himself agreeable; and his idea was, as soon as dinner should be over,
to find a place at Miss Mowbray's side before any other man should
have time to take it. But unluckily for this plan, Baron von Lyndal
detained him for a few moments with praise of a new remedy which might
cure the Chancellor's gout; and when he escaped from his host to look
for Miss Mowbray in the white drawing-room she was not there.

From the music room adjoining, however, came sounds which drew him
toward the door. He knew Miss Mowbray's soft, coaxing touch on the
piano: she was there, "playing in a whisper," as he had heard her call
it. Perhaps she was going to sing, as she had once or twice before,
and would need some one to turn the pages of her music. Egon thought
that he would much like to be the some one, and was in the act of
parting the white velvet portières that covered the doorway, when his
hostess smilingly beckoned him away.

"The Emperor has just asked Miss Mowbray to teach him some
old-fashioned Scotch or English air (I'm afraid I don't quite know the
difference!) called 'Annie Laurie,'" the Baroness explained. "He was
charmed with it when she sang the other evening, and I've been
assuring him that the song would exactly suit his voice. We mustn't
disturb them while the lesson is going on. Tell me--I've hardly had a
moment to ask you--how did you find the Chancellor?"

Chained to a forced allegiance, Egon mechanically answered the
questions of the Baroness without making absurd mistakes, the while
his ears burned to hear what was going on behind the white curtain.

Everybody knew of the music lesson, now, and chatted in tones of
tactful monotony, never speaking too loudly to disturb the singers,
never too cautiously, lest they should seem to listen. Once, and then
again, the creamy _mezzo soprano_ and the rich tenor that was almost a
baritone, sang conscientiously through the verses of "Annie Laurie"
from beginning to end; then a few desultory chords were struck on the
piano; and at last there was silence behind the white curtains, in the
music room.

Were the two still there? To interrupt such a tête-a-tête seemed out
of the question, but not to know what was happening Egon found too
hard to bear, and the arrival of a telegram for Lady Mowbray came as
opportunely as if Providence had had his special needs in mind.

Evidently it was not a pleasant telegram, for, as she read it, the
Dresden china lady showed plainly that she was disconcerted. Her
pretty face lost its color; her eyes dilated as if she had tasted a
drop of belladonna on sugar; she patted her lips with her lace
handkerchief, and finally rose from her chair, looking dazed and
distressed.

"I've had rather bad news," she admitted to Baroness von Lyndal, who
was all solicitude. "Oh, nothing really serious, I trust, but still,
disquieting. It is from a dear friend. I think I had better go to my
room, and talk things over with Helen. Would you be kind enough to
tell her when she comes in that she's to follow me there? Don't send
for her till then; it's not necessary. But I shall want her by and
by."

It was clear that Lady Mowbray did not wish her daughter to be
disturbed. Still, Egon von Breitstein thought he might fairly let his
anxiety run away with him. As the Baroness accompanied her guest to
the door, he took it upon himself to search for Miss Mowbray, for now,
if the Emperor should curse him for a spoil-sport, he would have the
best of excuses. Lady Mowbray was in need of her daughter.

He lifted the white curtain and peeped through a small ante-chamber
into the music room beyond. It was empty; but one of the long windows
leading into the rose garden was wide open.

The month of September was dying, and away in the Rhaetian mountains
winter had begun; yet in the lap of the low country summer lingered.
The air was soft, and sweet with the perfume of roses, roses living,
and roses dead in a potpourri of scattered petals on the grass. It
was a garden for lovers, and a night for lovers.

Egon went to the open window and looked out, but dared not let his
feet take the direction of his eyes, though he was sure that somewhere
in the garden Miss Mowbray and the Emperor were to be found.

"They will come in again this way," he said to himself, "for they will
want people to think they have never left the music room; and for that
very reason they won't stop too long. They must have some regard for
the conventions. If I wait--"

He did not finish the sentence in his mind; nevertheless he examined
the resources of the window niche with a critical eye.

There was a deep enclosure between the window frame and the long,
straight curtains of olive green satin which matched the decoration of
the music room. By drawing the curtains a few inches further forward,
one could make a screen which would hide one from observation by any
person in the room, or outside, in the garden. So Egon did draw the
curtain, and framed in his shelter like a saint in a niche, he stood
peering into the silver night.

The moon was rising over the lake, and long, pale rays of level light
were stealing up the paths, like the fingers of a blind child that
caress gropingly the features of a beloved face.

Egon could not see the whole garden, or all the paths among the roses;
but if the Emperor and his companion came back by the way they had
gone, he would know presently whether they walked in the attitude of
friends or lovers. It was so necessary for his plans to know this,
that he thought it worth while to exercise a little patience in
waiting. Of course, if they were lovers, good-by to his hopes; and he
would never have so good a chance as this to make sure.

All things in the garden that were not white were gray as a dove's
wings. Even the shadows were not black. And the sky was gray, with the
soft gray of velvet, under a crust of diamonds which flashed as the
spangles on a woman's fan flash, when it trembles in her hand.

White moths, happily ignorant that summer would come no more for them,
drifted out from the shadows like rose petals blown by the soft wind.
On a trellis, a crowding sisterhood of pale roses drooped their heads
downward _in memento mori_. It was a silver night; a night of
enchantment.

Leopold had meant to take Virginia out only to see the moon rise over
the water, turning the great smooth sheet of jet into a silver shield;
for there had been clouds or spurts of rain on other nights, and he
had said to himself that never again, perhaps, would they two stand
together under the white spell of the moon. He had meant to keep her
for five minutes, or ten at the most, and then to bring her back; but
they had walked down to the path which girdled the cliff above the
lake. The moon touched her golden hair and her pure face like a
benediction. He dared not look at her thus for long, and when there
came a sudden quick rustling in the grass at their feet, he bent down,
glad of any change in the current of his thoughts.

Some tiny, winged thing of the night sought a lodging in a bell-shaped
flower whose blue color the moon had drunk, and as Leopold stooped,
the same impulse made Virginia bend.

He stretched out his hand to gather the low-growing branch of
blossoms, which he would give the girl as a souvenir of this hour, and
their fingers met. Lake and garden swam before the eyes of the
Princess as the Emperor's hand closed over hers.

Her great moment had come; yet now that it was here, womanlike she
wished it away--not gone forever, oh no, but waiting just round the
corner of the future.

"The flowers are yours--I give them to you," she laughed, as if she
fancied it was in eagerness to grasp the disputed spray that he had
pressed her fingers.

"You are the one flower I want--flower of all the world," he answered,
in a choked voice, speaking words he had not meant to speak; but the
ice barriers that held back the torrent of which he had told her, had
melted long ago and now had been swept away. Other barriers which he
had built up in their place--his convictions, his duty as a man at the
head of a nation--were gone too. "I love you," he stammered, "I love
you far better than my life, which you saved. I've loved you ever
since our first hour together on the mountain, but every day my love
has grown a thousand fold, until now it's greater and higher than any
mountain. I can fight against myself no longer. I thought I was
strong, but this love is stronger than I am. Say that you care for
me--only say that."

"I do care," Virginia whispered. She had prayed for this, lived for
this, and she was drowning in happiness. Yet she had pictured a
different scene, a scene of storm and stress. She had heard in fancy
broken words of sorrow and noble renunciation on his lips, and in
anticipating his suffering she had felt the joy her revelation would
give. "I care--so much, so much! How hard it will be to part."

"If you care, then we shall not be parted," said Leopold.

The Princess looked up at him in wonder, holding back as he would have
caught her in his arms. What could he mean? What plan was in his mind
that, believing her to be Helen Mowbray, yet made it possible for him
to reassure her so?

"I don't understand," she faltered. "You are the Emperor, and I am no
more than--"

"You are my wife, if you love me."

In the shock of her ecstatic surprise she was helpless to resist him
longer, and he held her close and passionately, his lips on her hair,
her face crushed against his heart. She could hear it beating, feel it
throb under her cheek. His wife? Then he loved her enough for that.
Yet how was it possible for him to stand ready, for her sake, to
override the laws of his own land?

"My darling--my wife!" he said again. "To think that you love me."

"I have loved you from the first," the Princess confessed, "but I was
afraid you would feel, even if you cared, that we must say good-by.
Now--" And in an instant the whole truth would have been out; but the
word "good-by" stabbed him, and he could not let it pass.

"We shall not say good-by, not for an hour," he cried. "After this I
could not lose you. There's nothing to prevent my being your husband,
you my wife. Would to God you were of Royal blood, and you should be
my Empress--the fairest Empress that poet or historian ever saw--but
we're prisoners of Fate, you and I. We must take the goods the gods
provide. My goddess you will always be, but the Empress of Rhaetia,
even my love isn't powerful enough to make you. If I am to you only
half what you are to me, you'll be satisfied with the empire of my
heart."

Suddenly the warm blood in Virginia's veins grew chill. It was as if a
wind had blown up from the dark depths of the lake, to strike like ice
into her soul. An instant more and he would have known that she was a
Princess of the Blood, and through his whole life she could have gone
on worshiping him because he had been ready to break down all barriers
for her love, before he guessed there need be none to break. Now her
warm impulse of gratitude was frozen by the biting blast of
disillusionment; but still there was hope left. It might be that she
misunderstood him. She would not judge him yet.

"The empire of your heart," she echoed. "If that were mine I should be
richer than with all the treasures of the earth. If you were Leo, the
chamois hunter, I would love you as I love you now, because in
yourself you are the one man for me; and I'd go with you to the end of
the world, as your wife. But you're not the chamois hunter; you are
the man I love, yet you are the Emperor. Being the Emperor, had you
talked of a hopeless love and a promise not to forget, having nothing
else to give me, because of your high destiny and my humbler one, I
could still have been happy. Yet you speak of more than that. You
speak of something I can't understand. It seems to me that what a
Royal man offers the woman he loves should be all or nothing."

"I do offer you all," said Leopold. "All myself, my life, the heart
and soul of me--all that's my own to give. The rest--belongs to
Rhaetia."

"Then what do you mean by--"

"Don't you understand, my sweet, that I've asked you to be my wife?
What can a man ask more of a woman?"

"Your wife--but not the Empress. How can the two be apart?"

He tried to take her once more in his arms, but when he saw that she
would not have it so, he held his love in check, and waited. He was
sure that he would not need to wait long, for not only had he laid his
love at her feet, but had pledged himself to a tremendous sacrifice on
love's altar.

The step which in a moment of passion he had now resolved to take
would create dissension among his people, alienate one who had been
his second father, rouse England, America and Germany to anger,
because of the Princess whose name rumor had already coupled with his,
and raise in every direction a storm of disapproval. When this girl
whom he loved realized the immensity of the concession he was making
because of his reverent love for her, she would give her life to him,
now and forever.

Tenderly he took her hand and lifted it to his lips; then, when
she did not draw it away (because he was to have his chance of
explanation) he held it between both his own, as he talked on.

"Dearest one," he said, "when I first knew I loved you--loved you as I
didn't dream I could love a woman--for your sake and my own, I would
have avoided meeting you too often. This I tell you frankly. I didn't
see how, in honor, such a love could end except in despair for me, and
sorrow even for you, if you should come to care. Had you and Lady
Mowbray stayed on at the hotel in Kronburg, I think I could have held
to my resolve. But when Baroness von Lyndal suggested your coming
here, my heart leaped up. I said in my mind, 'At least I shall have
the joy of seeing her every day, for a time, without doing anything to
darken her future. Afterwards, when she has gone out of my life, I
shall have that radiance to remember. And so no harm will be done in
the end, except that I shall have to pay, by suffering.' Still, I had
no thought of the future without a parting; I felt that inevitable.
And the suffering came hand in hand with the joy, for not a night
here at Lyndalberg have I slept. If I had been weak, I should have
groaned aloud in the agony of renunciation.

"My rooms open on a lawn. More than once I've come out into the
darkness, when all the household was sleeping. Some times I have
walked to this very spot where you and I stand now--heart to heart for
the first time, my darling--asking myself whether there were any way
out of the labyrinth. It was not until I brought you here and saw you
by my side with the moon rays for a crown, that a flash of blinding
light seemed to pierce the clouds. Suddenly I saw all things clearly,
and though there will be difficulties, I count them as overcome."

"Still you haven't answered my question," said Virginia in a low,
strained voice.

"I'm coming to that now. It was best that you should know first
all that's been troubling my heart and brain during these few,
bitter-sweet days which have taught me so much. You know, men who have
their place at the head of great nations can't think first of
themselves, or even of those they love better than themselves. If they
hope to snatch at personal happiness, they must take the one way open
to them, and be thankful.

"Don't do me the horrible injustice to believe that I wouldn't be
proud to show you to my subjects as their Empress; but instead, I can
offer only what men of Royal blood for hundreds of years have offered
to women whom they honored as well as loved. You must have heard even
in England of what is called a morganatic marriage? It is that I offer
you."

With a cry of pain--the cruel pain of wounded, disappointed love--the
Princess tore her hand from his.

"Never!" she exclaimed. "It's an insult."

"An insult? No, a thousand times no. I see that even now you don't
understand."

"I think that I understand very well, too well," said Virginia,
brokenly. The beautiful fairy palace of happiness that she had watched
as it grew, lay shattered, destroyed in the moment which ought to have
seen its triumphant completion.

[Illustration: _"Never!" she exclaimed. "It's an insult"_]

"I tell you that you cannot understand, or you wouldn't say--you
wouldn't dare to say, my love--that I'd insulted you. Don't you see,
don't you know, that you would be my wife in the sight of all men,
as well as in the sight of God."

"Your wife, you call it!" the Princess gave a harsh little laugh which
hurt as tears could not hurt. "You seem to have strange ideas of that
word, which has always been sacred to me. A morganatic marriage! That
is a mere pretense, an hypocrisy. I would be 'your wife,' you say. I
would give you all my love, all my life. You, in return, would give
me--your left hand. And you know well that, in a country which
tolerates such a one-sided travesty of marriage, the laws would hold
you free to marry another woman--a Royal woman, whom you could make an
Empress--as free as if I had no existence."

"Great Heaven, that you should speak so!" he broke out. "What if the
law did hold me free? Can you dream--do you put me so low as to dream
that my heart would hold me free? My soul would be bound to you
forever."

"So you may believe, now. But the knowledge that you could change
would be death to me--a death to die daily. Yes, I tell you again, it
was an insult to offer a lot so miserable, so contemptible, to a woman
you profess to love. How could you do it? If only you had never
spoken the hateful words! If only you had left me the ideal I had of
you--noble, glorious, above the whole world of men. But after all you
are selfish,--cruel. If you had said 'I love you, yet we must part,
for Duty stands between us.' I could--but no, I can never tell you now
what I could have answered if you had said that, instead of breaking
my heart."

Under the fire of her reproach he stood still, his lips tight, his
shoulders braced, as if he held his breast open for the knife.

"By Heaven, it is you who are cruel," he said at last. "How can I make
you see your injustice?"

"In no way. There's nothing more to be said between us two after this,
except--good-by."

"It shall not be good-by."

"It must. I wish it."

He had caught her dress as she turned to go, but now he released her.
"You wish it? It's not true that you love me, then?"

"It was true. Everything--everything in my whole life--is changed from
this hour. It would be better if I'd never seen you. Good-by."



CHAPTER XI

THE MAN WHO WAITED


She ran from him, along the moonlit path. One step he took as if to
follow and keep her, but checked himself and let her go. Only his eyes
went with her, and in them there was more of pain than anger, though
never before in all his life, perhaps, had he been thwarted in any
strong desire. Passion urged him forward, but pride held him back; for
Leopold was a proud man, and to have his love thrown in his face, was
to receive an icy douche with the blood at fever heat.

For this girl's sake he had in a few days changed the habits of a
lifetime. Pride, reserve, self-control, the wish not only to appear,
but to be a man, above the frailties of common men, the ambition to be
placed, and worthily placed, on a pedestal by his subjects; all these
he had thrown away for Helen Mowbray.

He was too just a man not to admit that, if one of his Royal cousins
of younger branches, had contemplated such folly as this, he would
have done his best to nip that folly while it was in bud. "He jests at
scars who never felt a wound"; and until Leopold had learned by his
own unlooked-for experience what love can mean, what men will do for
love while the sweet madness is on them, he would have been utterly
unable to understand the state of mind.

A cousin inclined to act as he was now bent on acting, would but a
month ago have found all the Emperor's influence, even force perhaps,
brought to bear in restraining him. Leopold saw the change in himself,
was startled and shamed by it; nevertheless he would have persevered,
trampling down every obstacle that rose in his way, if only the girl
had seen things with his eyes.

She had accused him of insulting her, not stopping to consider that,
even to make her morganatically his wife, he must give great cause for
complaint not only to his ministers but to his people. For he was
expected to marry a girl of Royal blood, that the country might have
an heir. If Helen Mowbray had accepted the position he offered her,
he could never have broken her heart by making another marriage.

Not only would it be difficult in these days to find a Princess
willing to tolerate such a rival, but it would have been impossible
for him to desecrate the bond between himself and the one adored
woman.

This being the case, with Helen Mowbray as his morganatic wife, there
could be no direct heir to the throne. At his death, the son of his
uncle, the Archduke Joseph, would succeed; and during his life the
popularity which was dear to him would be hopelessly forfeited.
Rhaetia would never forgive him for selfishly preferring his own
private happiness to the good of the nation.

He could fancy how old Iron Heart von Breitstein would present this
point of view to him, with fierce eloquence, temples throbbing like
the ticking of a watch, eyes netted with bloodshot veins. But on the
other hand he could picture himself standing calmly to face the storm,
steadfast in his own indomitable will, happy with love to uphold him.

But now, the will which had borne him through life in a triumphal
march, had been powerless against that of this young girl. She would
have none of him. A woman whose face was her fortune, whose place in
life was hardly as high as the first step of a throne, had refused--an
Emperor.

Hardly could Leopold believe the thing that had happened to him. He
had spoken of doubting that he had won her love; and he had doubted.
But he had allowed himself to hope, because he had confidence in his
Star, and because, perhaps, it had scarcely been known in the annals
of history that an Emperor's suit should be repulsed.

Besides, he had loved the girl so passionately, that it seemed she
could not remain cold. And he hoped still that, when she had passed a
long night in reflection, in thinking over the situation, perhaps
taking counsel with that comparatively commonplace yet practical
little lady, her mother, she might be ready to change her mind.

For the first few moments after the stinging rebuff he had endured,
Leopold felt that, if she did, it would be her turn to suffer, for he
could never humble himself to implore for the second time. But, as he
stood in the soft stillness of the night, gazing towards the lights of
the house, thoughts of Virginia--her youth, her sweetness, her beauty
dimmed with grief,--overwhelmed him. Could he have reached her, he
would have fallen on his knees, and kissed her gown.

By and by a vast tenderness breathed its calm over the thwarted
passion in his breast, and plans to win her back came whispering in
his ear. He would write a letter and send it to her room. But no;
perhaps it would be wise to give her a longer interval for reflection
and--it might be--regret. To-morrow he would see her and show all the
depths of that great love which she had thought to throw away. She
could not go on withstanding him forever; and now that he had burned
his boats behind him, he would never think of turning back. He would
persevere till she should yield.

Meanwhile Virginia had hurried blindly toward the house, and it was
instinct rather than intention that led her to the open window of the
music room, by which she had come out.

Tears burned her eyelids, but they did not fall until she stood once
more in the room where she and Leopold had been happy together. There
she had sat at the piano, and he had bent over her, love in his
eyes--honest love, she had thought, her heart full of thanksgiving.
How little she had guessed then the humiliation in store for her, and
the end of all her hopes! How could she bear her pain, and how could
she go on living out her life?

She paused in the window niche, looking into the room through a mist
of tears, and a sob choked her. "Cruel--cruel," she whispered. "What
agony--what an insult!"

Then, dashing away her tears, she pushed back the dark curtain, and
would have passed on into the room, had not the quick gesture brought
her arm into contact with the buttons and gold braid on a man's
breast.

Instantly she realized that some one was hiding there--some
one dressed in a military coat; and her first impulse was for
flight--anything to escape, unrecognized. But on second thoughts
she changed her mind.

Whoever it was had in all probability hidden himself for the purpose
of spying, and was already aware that Miss Mowbray had rushed into the
house weeping, after a tête-a-tête with the Emperor in the garden.
Perhaps he had even caught a word or two of her sobbing ejaculation.
No, she must not run away, and leave the outcome of this affair to
chance. She must see with whom she had to deal, that she might know
what was best to do.

She had taken a step into the room, but quick as light she turned,
pulled away the screen of curtain and faced Captain von Breitstein.

It was a trying moment for him, and the girl's look stripped him of
all his light audacity. She had come to the window by a different path
from the one he had watched, therefore she had taken him unawares,
before he had time to escape, as he had planned. He was caught fairly,
and must save himself as best he could without preparation.

If her reproach forestalled his excuse, he was lost. He must step into
the breach at whatever risk. No time to weigh words; he must let loose
the first that sprang to his lips.

"I see what you think of me," he said. "I see you think I was watching
you. I swear I wasn't, though I knew you were in the garden with--the
Emperor. Wait--you must listen. You must hear my justification. I was
sent to this room to fetch you. For your sake, how could I go back and
say you had disappeared--together? I looked out into the garden and
saw you--with him. I saw from your manner that--he had made you
suffer. I was half mad with rage, guessing--guessing something which
one word you let drop as you came in, told me had happened. He is my
sovereign, but--he has insulted you. Let me be your knight, as in days
of old. Let me defend you, for I love you. I waited here to tell you
this, as you came, so that, if you would, we might announce an
engagement--"

If Virginia's eyes had been daggers, he would have fallen at her feet,
pierced to the heart. For one long second she looked at him without
speaking, her face eloquent. Then she went by him with the proud
bearing of a queen.

Egon was stricken dumb. Dully he watched her move across the room to a
door which led into a corridor. He heard the whisper of her satin
dress, and saw the changing lights and shadows on its creamy folds,
under the crystal chandeliers; he saw the white reflection, like a
spirit, mirrored deep under the polished surface of the floor.

Never had she been more beautiful; but she was beautiful in his eyes
no longer. He had hurt her pride; but she had stabbed his vanity; and
to wound Egon von Breitstein's vanity was to strike at his life. He
hated the girl, hated her so sharply that his nerves ached with the
intensity of his hatred; and the only relief he could have would be
through reprisal.

He had not been able to deceive her. She knew that he had been spying,
and it was fortunate for his future, he realized already, that she had
broken with the Emperor. He must do all he could, and do it quickly,
to prevent a reconciliation, lest she should work him injury.

As for his hastily stammered proposal, it was a good thing that the
girl had not taken him at his word, for the Chancellor had not given
him permission to speak, and if she had accepted him, he might have
had to wriggle out of his engagement. Still, he could not forgive her
scorn of him.

"Lorenz shall help me to pay her for this!" he said furiously to
himself, too angry to mourn over lost hopes, lost opportunities. "He
will know how to punish her. And between us she shall suffer."



CHAPTER XII

"THE EMPEROR WILL UNDERSTAND"


It was for refuge that the Princess fled to her own room.

A boudoir shared by the Grand Duchess adjoined it, and entering there,
to her dismay the girl saw her mother lying on a sofa, attended by
Ernestine, the French maid.

Virginia's heart sank. She had supposed the Grand Duchess to be in the
white drawing-room with the Baroness, and the other guests of the
house. Now there was no hope that she might be left alone and
unquestioned. And the girl had longed to be alone.

"At last!" exclaimed a faint voice from the sofa. "I thought you would
never come."

The Princess stared, half-dazed, unable yet to tear her mind from her
private griefs. "Are you ill, Mother?" she stammered. "Had you sent
for me?"

"I came very near fainting in the drawing-room," the Grand Duchess
answered. "Ernestine, you may leave us now."

The French woman went out noiselessly.

Still Virginia did not speak. Could it be that there had been another
spy, beside Egon von Breitstein, and that her mother already knew how
the castle of cards had fallen? Was it the news of defeat which had
prostrated her?

"Have you--did any one tell you?" the girl faltered.

"I've had a telegram--a horrible telegram. Oh, Virginia, I am not
young, as you are. I am too old to endure all this. I think you should
not have subjected me to it."

The Grand Duchess's voice was plaintive, and pried among the girl's
sick nerves, like hot wire.

"What do you mean, dear? I don't understand," she said, dully. "I'm so
sorry you are ill. If it's my fault in any way, I--"

Her mother pointed toward a writing table. "The telegram is there,"
she murmured. "It is too distressing--too humiliating."

Virginia picked up a crumpled telegraph form and began to read the
message, which was dated London and written in English. "Some one
making inquiries here about the Mowbrays. Beg to advise you to explain
all at once, or leave Kronburg, to avoid almost certain complications.
Lambert."

Lady Lambert was the wife of the ex-Ambassador to the Court of Rhaetia
from Great Britain.

The Princess finished in silence.

"Isn't it hideous?" asked the Grand Duchess. "To think that you and I
should have deliberately placed ourselves in such a position! We are
to run away, like detected adventuresses, unless--unless you are now
ready to tell the Emperor all."

"No," said Virginia, hopelessly.

"What! Not yet? Oh, my dear, then you must bring matters to
a crisis--instantly--to-night even. It's evident that some
enemy--perhaps some jealous person--has been at work behind our
backs. It is for you to turn the tables upon him, and there isn't
an hour to waste. From the first, you meant to make some dramatic
revelation. Now, the time has come."

"Ah, I meant--I meant!" echoed Virginia, with a sob breaking the ice
in her voice. "Nothing has turned out as I meant. You were right,
dear; I was wrong. We ought never to have come to Rhaetia."

The Grand Duchess grew paler than before. She had been vaguely
distressed. Now, she was sharply alarmed. If Virginia admitted that
this great adventure should never have been undertaken, then indeed
the earth must be quaking under their feet.

"Ought not--to have come?" she repeated, piteously. "What dreadful
thing has happened?"

The Princess stood with bent head. "It's hard to tell," she said,
"harder, almost, than anything I ever had to do. But it must be done.
Everything's at an end, dear."

"What--you've told him, and he has refused to forgive?"

"He knows nothing."

"For Heaven's sake, don't keep me in suspense."

Virginia's lips were dry. "He asked me to be his wife," she said. "Oh,
wait--wait! Don't look happy. You don't understand, and I didn't, at
first. He had to explain and--he put the thing as little offensively
as he could. Oh, Mother, he thinks me only good enough to be his
morganatic wife!"

The storm had burst at last, and the Princess fell on her knees by the
sofa where, burying her face in her mother's lap, she sobbed as if
parting with her youth.

There had always been mental and temperamental barriers between the
Dresden china lady and her daughter; but they loved each other, and
never had the girl been so dear to her mother as now. The Grand
Duchess thought of the summer day when Virginia had knelt beside her,
saying, "We are going to have an adventure, you and I."

Alas, the adventure was over, and summer and hope were dead. Tears
trembled in the mother's eyes. Poor little Virginia, so young, so
inexperienced, and, in spite of her self-will and recklessness, so
sweet and loving withal!

"But, dear, but, you are making the worst of things," the Grand
Duchess said soothingly, her hand on the girl's bright hair. "Why,
instead of crying you ought to be smiling, I think. Leopold must love
you desperately, or he would never have proposed marriage--even
morganatic marriage. Just at first, the idea must have shocked
you--knowing who you are. But remember, if you were Miss Mowbray, it
would have been a triumph. Many women of high position have married
Royalty morganatically, and every one has respected them. You seem to
forget that the Emperor knows you only as Helen Mowbray."

"He ought to have known that Helen Mowbray was not the girl to
consent--no, not more easily than Virginia of Baumenburg-Drippe. He
should have understood without telling, that to a girl with
Anglo-Saxon blood in her veins such an offer would be like a blow over
the heart."

"How should he understand? He is Rhaetian. His point of view--"

"His point of view to me is terrible. Oh, Mother, it's useless to
argue. Everything is spoiled. Of course if he knew I was Princess
Virginia, he would be sorry for what he had proposed, even if he
thought I'd brought it on myself. But then, it would be too late.
Don't you understand, I valued his love because it was given to _me_,
not the Princess? If he said, 'Now I know you, I can offer my right
hand instead of my left, to you as my wife,' that would not be the
same thing at all. No, there's nothing left but to go home; and the
Emperor of Rhaetia must be told that Virginia of Baumenburg-Drippe has
decided not to marry. That will be our one revenge--but a pitiful one,
since he'll never know that the Princess who refuses his right hand
and the Helen Mowbray who wouldn't take his left, are one and the
same. Oh Mother, I did love him so! Let us get out of this hateful
house as soon as we can."

The Grand Duchess knew her daughter, and abandoned hope. "Yes, if you
will not forgive him; we must go at once, and save our dignity if we
can," she said. "The telegram will give us our excuse. I told the
Baroness I had received bad news, and she asked permission to knock at
my door before going to bed, and inquire how I was feeling. She may
come at any moment. We must say that the telegram recalls us
immediately to England."

"Listen!" whispered Virginia. "I think there's some one at the door
now."

Baroness von Lyndal stood aghast on hearing that she was to be
deserted early in the morning by the bright, particular star of her
house party--after the Emperor. She begged that Lady Mowbray would
reconsider; that she would wire to England, instead of going, or at
all events that she would wait for one day more, until Leopold's visit
to Schloss Lyndalberg should be over.

In her anxiety, she even failed in tact, when she found arguments
useless. "But the Emperor?" she objected. "If you go off early in the
morning, before he or any one comes down, what will he think, what
will he say at being cheated out of his _au revoir_?"

The Grand Duchess hesitated; but Virginia answered firmly "I said
good-by to him to-night. The Emperor--will understand."



CHAPTER XIII

THE MAGIC CITRON


Breakfast at Schloss Lyndalberg was an informal meal, under the reign
of Mechtilde. Those who were sociably inclined, appeared. Those who
loved not their species until the day was older, ate in their rooms.

Leopold had shown himself at the table each morning, however, and set
the fashion. And the day after the parting in the garden, he was
earlier even than usual. It was easy to be early, as he had not been
to bed that night; but he had an extra incentive. He could scarcely
wait to see how Helen Mowbray would meet him; whether she would still
be cold, or whether sound advice from her mother would have made her
kind.

This was his last day at Lyndalberg. By his special request no program
of entertainment had been arranged; and before coming down to
breakfast Leopold had been turning over in his mind plan after plan
for another chance of meeting the girl alone. He had even written a
letter, but had torn it up, because he was unable to say on paper what
was really in his heart.

Breakfast passed, however, and when she did not appear, Leopold grew
restless. He did not ask for her before the others; but when he and
the Baroness had strolled out together on the terrace, where white
peacocks spread their jeweled tails, the Emperor sought some
opportunity of bringing in the name that filled his thoughts.

"I see the red October lilies are opening," he said. "Miss Mowbray
will be interested. She tells me there's nothing like them in
England."

"Ah, she has gone just too soon!" sighed the Baroness.

The Emperor glanced quickly from the mass of crimson flowers, to his
hostess's face. "Gone?" he repeated.

"Yes," the Baroness answered. "They must have reached Kronburg before
this. You know, they left their companion there. Perhaps your Majesty
did not realize that they were leaving here quite so early?"

He turned so white under the brown tan the mountains had given, that
the Baroness was alarmed. She had taken Virginia's words as Virginia
had meant her to take them, and therefore supposed that a formal
farewell of some sort had been spoken. This impression did not prevent
her from guessing that there must have been a misunderstanding, and
she was tingling with a lively curiosity which she was obliged
carefully to hide.

The romance which had been enacted under her eyes she believed to be
largely of her own making; and, not being a bad-hearted woman, she had
grown fond of Virginia. She had even had pangs of conscience; and
though she could not see the way for a happy ending to the pretty
drama, it distressed her that the curtain should go down on sadness.

"I did not know they were going at all," Leopold answered frankly,
willing to sacrifice his pride for the sake of coming quickly at the
truth.

"Oh!" exclaimed the Baroness. "I am distressed! Miss Mowbray
distinctly said, when I begged that they would wait, 'the Emperor will
understand.'"

"I do understand--now I know they have gone," he admitted. "But--Miss
Mowbray thinks she has some cause of complaint against me, and she's
mistaken. I can't let such a mistake go uncorrected. You say they must
be at Kronburg before this. Are they staying on there?"

"I'm afraid not, your Majesty. They leave Kronburg for England to-day
by the Orient Express."

"Do you happen to remember at what hour the train starts?"

"I believe at twelve."

Leopold pulled out his watch. It was twenty minutes past eleven. Forty
times sixty seconds, and the girl would be gone.

The blood rushed to his face. Barring accidents, he could catch her if
he ordered his motor-car, and left at once. But to cut short his visit
at Schloss Lyndalberg, would be virtually to take the world into his
secret. Let him allege important state business at the capital, if he
chose, gossip would still say that the girl had fled, that he had
pursued her. The Baroness knew already; others would chatter as if
they knew; that was inevitable--if he went.

A month ago (when yielding to inclination meant humbling his pride as
Emperor and man), such a question would have answered itself. Now, it
answered itself also, the only difference being that the answer was
exactly opposite to what it would have been a month earlier.

"Baroness, forgive me," he said quickly. "I must go. I can't explain."

"You need not try," she answered him, softly.

"Thank you, a hundred times. Make everything as straight for me as you
can. Say what you will. I give you _carte blanche_, for we're old
friends, and I trust you."

"It's for me to thank your Majesty. You want your motor-car?"

"Yes."

"I'll telephone. Your chauffeur will have it here in six minutes. And
your aide-de-camp. Will you--"

"I don't want him, thanks. I'd rather go alone."

Seven minutes later the big white motor-car was at the door which was
the private entrance to the Emperor's suite; and the Emperor was
waiting for it, having forgotten all about the sable-lined coat which
had been a present from the Czar. If it had been mid-winter, he would
have forgotten, just the same; nor would he have known that it was
cold.

There was plenty of time now to carry out his plan, which was to
catch the Orient Express at the Kronburg station, and present himself
to the Mowbrays in the train, later. As to what would happen
afterwards, it was beyond planning; but Leopold knew that the girl had
loved him; and he hoped that he would have Lady Mowbray on his side.

The only way of reaching Kronburg from Schloss Lyndalberg was by road;
there was no railway connection between the two places. But the town
and the castle were separated by a short eight miles, and until
checked by traffic in the suburbs, the sixty horse-power car could
cover a mile in less than two minutes.

Unfortunately, however, police regulations were strict, and of this
Leopold could not complain, as he had approved them himself. Once, he
was stopped, and would certainly not have been allowed to proceed, had
he not revealed himself as the Emperor, the owner of the one
unnumbered car in Rhaetia. As it was, he had suffered a delay of five
minutes; and just as he was congratulating himself on the goodness of
his tires, which had made him no trouble for many weeks, a loud report
as of a pistol shot gave warning of a puncture.

But there was not a moment to waste on repairs, Leopold drove on, on
the rims, only to acknowledge presently the truth of an old proverb,
"the more haste the less speed."

Delayed by a torn and flapping tire, the car arrived at the big
Central Station of Kronburg only five minutes before twelve. Leopold
dashed in, careless whether he were recognized or no, and was
surprised at the absence of the crowd which usually throngs the
platform before the departure of the most important train of the day.

"Is the Orient Express late?" he asked of an inspector to whom he was
but a man among other men.

"No, sir. Just on time. Went out five minutes ago."

"But it isn't due to start till twelve."

"Summer time-table, sir. Autumn time-table takes effect to-day, the
first of October. Orient Express departure changed to eleven-fifty."

An unreasoning rage against fate boiled in the Emperor's breast. He
ruled this country, yet everything in it seemed to conspire in a plot
to wreck his dearest desires.

For a few seconds he stood speechless, feeling as if he had been
dashed against a blank wall, and there were no way of getting round
it. Yet the seconds were but few, for Leopold was not a man of slow
decisions.

His first step was to inquire the name of the town at which the Orient
Express stopped soonest. In three hours, he learnt, it would reach
Felgarde, the last station on the Rhaetian side of the frontier.

His first thought on hearing this was to engage a special, and follow;
but even in these days there is much red tape entangled with railway
regulations in Rhaetia. It soon appeared that it would be quicker to
take the next train to Felgarde, which was due to leave in half an
hour, and would arrive only an hour later than the Orient Express.

Leopold's heart was chilled, but he shook off despondency and would
not be discouraged. Telephoning to the hotel where the Mowbrays had
been stopping, he learned that they had gone. Then he wrote out a
telegram: "Miss Helen Mowbray, Traveling from Kronburg to Paris by
Orient Express, Care of Station-master at Felgarde. I implore you
leave the train at Felgarde and wait for me. Am following in all
haste. Will arrive Felgarde one hour after you, and hope to find you
at Leopoldhof." So far the wording was simple. He had signified his
intention and expressed his wish, which would have been more than
enough to assure the accomplishment of his purpose, had he been
dealing with a subject. Unfortunately, however, Helen Mowbray was not
a subject, and had exhibited no sign of subjection. It was therefore
futile to prophesy whether or no she would choose to grant his
request.

Revolving the pros and cons he was forced to conclude that she
probably would not grant it--unless he had some new argument to bring
forward. Yet what had he to urge that he had not already urged twice
over? What could he say at this eleventh hour which would not only
induce her to await his coming at Felgarde, but justify him in making
a last appeal when he came to explain it in person?

As he stood pen in hand, suddenly he found himself recalling a fairy
story which he had never tired of reading in his childhood. Under the
disguise of fancy, it was a lesson against vacillation, and he had
often said to himself as a boy, that when he grew up, he would not,
like the Prince of the story, miss a gift of the gods through weak
hesitation.

The pretty legend in his mind had for a hero a young prince who went
abroad to seek his fortune, and received from one of the Fates to
whom he paid a visit, three magic citrons which he must cut open by
the side of a certain fountain. He obeyed his instructions; but when
from the first citron sprang an exquisite fairy maiden, demanding a
drink of water, the young man lost his presence of mind. While he sat
staring, the lovely lady vanished; and with a second experiment it was
the same. Only the third citron remained of the Fates' squandered
gifts, and when the Prince cut it in half, the maiden who appeared was
so much more beautiful than her sisters, that in adoring wonder he
almost lost her as he had lost the others.

"My knife is on the rind of the last citron now," Leopold said to
himself. "Let me not lose the one chance I have left."

Last night he had believed that there would not be room in a man's
heart for more love than his held for Helen Mowbray; but realizing to
the full how great was the danger of losing her, he found that his
love had grown beyond reckoning.

He had thought it a sacrifice to suggest a morganatic marriage. Now, a
voice seemed to say in his ear, "The price you offered was not enough.
Is love worth all to you or not?" And he answered, "It is worth all.
I will offer all, yet not count it a sacrifice. That is love, and
nothing less is love."

A white light broke before his eyes, like a meteor bursting, and the
voice in his ear spoke words that sent a flame through his veins.

"I will do it," he said. "Who is there among my people who will dare
say 'no' to their Emperor's 'yes'? I will make a new law. I will be a
law unto myself."

His face, that had been pale, was flushed. He tore up the unfinished
telegram, and wrote another, which he signed "Leo, the Chamois
Hunter." Then, when he had handed in the message, and paid, there was
but just time to buy his ticket, engage a whole first-class
compartment, for himself, and dash into it, before his train was due
to start.

As it moved slowly out of the big station, Leopold's brain rang with
the noble music of his great resolve. He could see nothing, think of
nothing but that. His arms ached to clasp his love; his lips, cheated
last night, already felt her kisses; for she would give them now, and
she would give herself. He was treading the past of an Empire under
foot, in the hope of a future with her; and every throb of the engine
was taking him nearer to the threshold of that future.

But such moments of supreme exaltation come rarely in a lifetime. The
heart of man or woman could not beat on for long with such wild music
for accompaniment; and so it was that, as the moments passed, the song
of the Emperor's blood fell to a minor key. He thought passionately of
Virginia, but he thought of his country as well, and tried to weigh
the effect upon others of the thing that he was prepared to do. There
was no one on earth whom Leopold of Rhaetia need fear, but there was
one to whom he owed much, one whom it would be grievious to offend.

In his father's day, one man--old even then--had built upon the
foundations of a tragic past, a great and prosperous nation. This man
had been to Leopold what his father had never been; and without the
magic power of inspiring warm affection, had instilled respect and
gratitude in the breast of an enthusiastic boy.

"Poor old von Breitstein!" the Emperor sighed; "The country is his
idol--the country with all the old traditions. He'll feel this break
sorely. I'd spare him if I could; but I can't live my life for him--"

He sighed again, and looked up frowning at a sudden sound which meant
intrusion.

Like a spirit called from the deep, there stood the Chancellor at the
door between Leopold's compartment and the one adjoining.



CHAPTER XIV

THE EMPEROR AT BAY


Iron Heart was dressed in the long, double-breasted gray overcoat and
the soft gray hat in which all snapshot photographs (no others had
ever been taken) showed the Chancellor of Rhaetia.

At sight of the Emperor off came the famous hat, baring the bald dome
of the fine old head, fringed with hair of curiously mingled black and
white.

"Good day, your Majesty," he said, with no sign of surprise in his
voice or face.

The train rocked, going round a curve, and it was with difficulty that
the Chancellor kept his footing; but he stood rigidly erect,
supporting himself in the doorway, until the Emperor with more
politeness than enthusiasm, invited him to enter and be seated.

"I'm glad you're well enough to travel, Chancellor," said Leopold.
"We had none too encouraging an account of you from Captain von
Breitstein."

"I travel because you travel, your Majesty," replied the old man. "It
is kind of you to tolerate me here, and I appreciate it."

Now, they sat facing each other; and the young man, fighting down a
sense of guilt--familiar to him in boyish days, when about to be taken
to task by the Chancellor--gazed fixedly at the hard, clever face on
which the afternoon sun scored the detail of each wrinkle.

"Indeed?" was the Emperor's only answer.

"Your Majesty, I have served you and your father before you, well, I
hope, faithfully, I know. I think you trust me."

"No man more. But this sounds a portentous preface. Is it possible you
imagine it necessary to 'lead up' to a subject, if I can please myself
by doing you a favor?"

"If I have seemed to lead up to what I wish to say, your Majesty, it
is only for the sake of explanation. You are wondering, no doubt, how
I knew you would travel to-day, and in this train; also why I have
ventured to follow. Your intention I learned by accident." (The
Chancellor did not explain by what diplomacy that "accident" had been
brought about.) "Wishing much to talk over with you a pressing matter
that should not be delayed, I took this liberty, and seized this
opportunity.

"Some men would, in my place, pretend that business of their own had
brought them, and that the train had been chosen by chance. But your
Majesty knows me as a blunt man, when I serve him not as diplomat, but
as friend. I'm not one to work in the dark with those who trust me,
and I want your Majesty to know the truth." (Which perhaps he did, but
not the whole truth.)

"You raise my curiosity," said Leopold.

"Then have I your indulgence to speak frankly, not entirely as a
humble subject to his Emperor, but as an old man to a young man?"

"I'd have you speak as a friend," said Leopold. But a slight
constraint hardened his voice, as he prepared himself for something
disagreeable.

"I've had a letter from the Crown Prince of Hungaria. It has come to
his ears that there is a certain reason for your Majesty's delay in
following up the first overtures for an alliance with his family.
Malicious tongues have whispered that your Majesty's attentions are
otherwise engaged; and the young Adalbert has addressed me in a
friendly way begging that the rumor may be contradicted or confirmed."

"I'm not sure that negotiations had gone far enough to give him the
right to be inquisitive," returned Leopold, flushing.

The Chancellor spread out his old, veined hands in a gesture of
appeal. "I fear," he said, "that in my anxiety for your Majesty's
welfare and the good of Rhaetia, I may have exceeded my instructions.
My one excuse is, that I believed your mind to be definitely made up.
I still believe it to be so. I would listen to no one who should try
to persuade me of the contrary, and I will write Adalbert--"

"You must get yourself and me out of the scrape as best you can, since
you admit you got us into it," broke in the Emperor, with an uneasy
laugh. "If Princess Virginia of Baumenburg-Drippe is as charming as
she is said to be, her difficulty will be in choosing a husband, not
in getting one. For once, my dear Chancellor, gossip has told the
truth; and I wouldn't pay the Princess so poor a compliment as to ask
for her hand, when I've no heart left to give her in exchange for it.
There's some one else--"

"It is of that some one else I would venture to speak, your Majesty.
Gossip has named her. May I?"

"I'll save you the trouble. For I'm not ashamed that the common fate
has overtaken me--common, because every man loves once before he dies;
and yet uncommon, because no man ever loved a woman so worthy.
Chancellor, there's no woman in the world like Miss Helen Mowbray, the
lady to whom I owe my life."

"It's natural you should be grateful, your Majesty, but--"

"It's natural I should be in love."

"Natural that a young man inexperienced in affairs of the heart,
should mistake warm gratitude for love. Impossible that the mistake
should be allowed to continue."

Leopold's eyes grew dark. "In such a connection," he said, "it would
be better not to mention the word 'mistake.' I'm glad you are here;
for now you can learn from me my intentions toward that lady--"

"Intentions, did you say, your Majesty? I fear I grow hard of
hearing."

"At least you will never grow slow of understanding. I did speak of my
intentions toward Miss Mowbray."

"You would give the lady some magnificent estate, some splendid
acknowledgment--"

"Whether splendid or not would be a matter of opinion," laughed the
Emperor. "I shall offer her a present of myself."

The old man had been sitting with his chin sunk into his short neck,
peering out from under his brows in a way he had; but he lifted his
head suddenly, with a look in his eyes like that of an animal who
scents danger from an unexpected quarter.

"Your Majesty!" he exclaimed. "You are your father's son, you are
Rhaetian, and your standard of honor--"

"I hope to marry Miss Mowbray," Leopold cut him short.

The Chancellor's jaw dropped, and he grew pale. "I had dreamed of
nothing as bad as this," he blurted out, with no thought or wish to
sugar the truth. "I feared a young man's rashness. I dreaded scandal.
But, forgive me, your Majesty, for you a morganatic marriage would be
madness--"

"A morganatic marriage I did think of at first. But on second thoughts
I saw it would be ungrateful."

"Ah yes, to the country which expects so much of you."

"No, to the woman who has the right to all or nothing. I will make her
Empress of Rhaetia."

With a cry the Chancellor sprang up. His eyes glared like the eyes of
a bull who receives the death stroke. His working lips, and the hollow
sound in his throat alarmed the Emperor.

"No, your Majesty. No!" he panted.

"But I say yes," Leopold answered, "and let no man give me nay. I've
thought it all out. I will make her a Countess first. Then, she shall
be made my Empress."

"Your Majesty, it is not possible."

"Take care, Chancellor."

"She has been deceiving you. She has neither the birth, the position,
nor the name she claims to have, and I can prove it."

"You are mad, von Breitstein," the Emperor flung at him. "That can be
your only excuse for such words."

"I am not mad, but I am old and wise, your Majesty. To-day you have
made me feel that I am very old. Punish me as you will for my
frankness. My work for you and yours is nearly done. Cheerfully will I
submit to my dismissal if only this last effort in your service may
save the ship of state from wreck. I would not make an accusation
which I could not prove. And I can prove that the two English ladies
who have been staying at Schloss Lyndalberg are not the persons they
pretend to be."

"Who has been lying to you?" cried Leopold, who held between clenched
hands the temper he vowed not to lose with this old man.

"To me, no one. To your Majesty, to society in Kronburg, two
adventuresses have lied."

The Emperor caught his breath. "If you were a young man I would kill
you for that," he said.

"I know you would. As it is, my life is yours. But before you take it,
for God's sake, for your father's sake, hear me out."

Leopold did not speak for a moment, but stared at the vanishing
landscape, which he saw through a red haze. "Very well," he said at
last, "I will hear you, because I fear nothing you can say."

"When I heard of your Majesty's--admiration for a certain lady," the
Chancellor began quickly, lest the Emperor should change his mind, "I
looked for her name and her mother's in Burke's Peerage. There I found
Lady Mowbray, widow of a dead Baron of that ilk; mother of a son,
still a child, and of one daughter, a young woman with many names and
twenty-eight years.

"This surprised me, as the Miss Mowbray I had seen at the birthday
ball looked no more than eighteen, and--I was told--confessed to
twenty. The Mowbrays, I learned by a little further research in
Burke, were distantly connected by marriage with the family of
Baumenburg-Drippe. This seemed an odd coincidence, in the circumstances.
But acting as duty bade me act, I wired to two persons: Baron von Sark,
your Majesty's ambassador to Great Britain; and the Crown Prince of
Hungaria, the brother of Princess Virginia."

"What did you telegraph?" asked the Emperor, icily.

"Nothing compromising to your Majesty, you may well believe. I
inquired of Adalbert if he had English relations, a Lady Mowbray and
daughter Helen, traveling in Rhaetia; and I begged that, if so, he
would describe their appearance by telegram. To von Sark I said that
particulars by wire concerning the widow of Lord Mowbray and daughter
Helen, would put me under personal obligation. Both these messages I
sent off night before last. Yesterday I received Adalbert's answer;
this morning, von Sark's. They are here," and the Chancellor tapped
the breast of his gray coat. "Will your Majesty read them?"

"If you wish," replied Leopold at his haughtiest and coldest.

The old man unbuttoned his coat and produced a coroneted pocket-book,
a souvenir of friendship on his last birthday from the Emperor.
Leopold saw it, and remembered, as the Chancellor hoped he would.

"Here are the telegrams, your Majesty," he said. "The first one is
from the Crown Prince of Hungaria."

"Have no idea where Lady Mowbray and daughter are traveling; may be
Rhaetia or North Pole," Adalbert had written with characteristic
flippancy. "Have seen neither for eight years, and scarcely know them.
But Lady M. tall brown old party with nose like hobbyhorse. Helen
dark, nose like mother's, wears glasses."

With no betrayal of feeling, Leopold laid the telegram on the red
plush seat, and unfolded the other.

"Pardon delay," the Rhaetian ambassador's message began. "Have been
making inquiries. Lady Mowbray has been widow for ten years. Not rich.
During son's minority has let her town and country houses, lives much
abroad. Very high church, intellectual, at present in Calcutta, where
her daughter Helen, twenty-eight, not pretty, is lately engaged to
marry middle-aged Judge of some distinction."

"So!" And the Emperor threw aside the second bit of paper. "It is on
such slight grounds as these that a man of the world can label two
ladies 'adventuresses'!"

The Chancellor was bitterly disappointed. He had counted on the
impression which these telegrams must make, and unless Leopold were
acting, it was now certain that love had driven him out of his senses.

But if the Emperor were mad, he must be treated accordingly, and the
old statesman condescended to "bluff."

"There is still more to tell," he said, "if your Majesty has not heard
enough. But I think when you have reflected you will not wish for
more. It is clear that the women calling themselves Mowbrays have had
the audacity to present themselves here under false colors. They have
either deceived Lady Lambert, who introduced them to Rhaetian society,
or--still more likely--they have cleverly forged their letters of
introduction."

"Why didn't you telegraph to Lady Lambert, while your hand was in?"
sneered Leopold.

"I did, your Majesty, or rather, not knowing her present address I
wired a friend of mine, an acquaintance of hers, begging him to make
inquiries, without using my name. But I have not yet received an
answer to that telegram."

"Until you do, I should think that even a cynic like yourself might
give two defenseless, inoffensive ladies the benefit of the doubt."

"Inoffensive?" echoed von Breitstein. "Inoffensive, when they came to
this country to ensnare your Majesty through the girl's beauty? But,
great Heaven, it is true that I am growing old! I have forgotten to
ask your Majesty whether you have gone so far as to mention the word
marriage to Miss Mowbray?"

"I'll answer that question by another. Do you really believe that
Miss Mowbray came to Rhaetia to 'entrap' me?"

"I do. Though I scarcely think that even her ambition flew as high as
you are encouraging it to soar."

"In case you're right she would have been overjoyed with an offer of
morganatic marriage."

"Overjoyed is a poor word. Overwhelmed might be nearer."

"Yet I tell you she refused me last night, and is leaving Rhaetia
to-day rather than listen to further entreaties."

Leopold bent forward to launch this thunderbolt, his brown hands on
his knees, his eyes eager. The memories, half bitter, half sweet,
called up by his own words, caused Virginia to appear more beautiful,
more desirable even than before.

He was delighted with the expression of the Chancellor's face. "Now,
what arguments have you left?" he broke out in the brief silence.

"All I had before--and many new ones. For what your Majesty has said
shows the lady more ambitious, more astute, therefore more dangerous
than I had guessed. She staked everything on the power of her charms.
And she might have won, had you not an old servant who wouldn't be
fooled by the witcheries of a fair Helen."

"She has won," said Leopold. Then, quickly, "God forgive me for
chiming in with your bitter humor, as if she'd played a game. By
simply being herself, she has won me--such as I am. She's proved that
if she cares at all, it's for the man, and not the Emperor, since she
called the offer you think so magnificent, an insult. Yes, Chancellor,
that was the word she used; and it was almost the last she said to me:
which is the reason I'm traveling to-day. And none of your boasted
'proofs' can hold me back."

"By Heaven, your Majesty must look upon yourself from the point of
view you credit to the girl. You forget the Emperor in the man."

"The two need not be separated."

"Love indeed makes men blind, and spares not the eyes of Emperors."

"I've pledged myself to bear with you, Chancellor."

"And I know you'll keep your word. I must speak, for Rhaetia, and your
better self. You are following this--lady to give her your Empire for
a toy."

"She must first accept the Emperor as her husband."

"A lady who has so poor a name of her own that she steals one which
doesn't belong to her. The nation won't bear it."

"You speak for yourself, not for Rhaetia," said Leopold. "Though I'm
not so old as you by half your years, I believe I can judge my people
better than you do. The law which bids an Emperor of Rhaetia match
with Royalty is an unwritten law, a law solely of customs, handed down
through the generations. I'll not spoil my life by submitting to its
yoke, since by breaking it the nation gains, as I do. I could go to
the world's end and not find a woman as worthy to be my wife and
Empress of Rhaetia as Helen Mowbray."

"You have never seen Princess Virginia."

"I've no wish to see her. There's but one woman for me, and I swear to
you, if I lose her, I'll go to my grave unmarried. Let the crown fall
to my uncle's son. I'll not perjure myself even for Rhaetia."

The Chancellor bowed his head and held up his hands, for by that
gesture alone could he express his despair.

"If my people love me, they'll love my wife, and rejoice in my
happiness," Leopold went on, sharply. "If they complain, why, we
shall see who's master; whether or not the Emperor of Rhaetia is a
mere figurehead. In some countries Royalty is but an ornamental
survival of a picturesque past, a King or Queen is a mere puppet which
the nation loads with luxury to do itself honor. That's not true of
Rhaetia, though, as I'm ready to prove, if prove it I must. But I
believe I shall be spared the trouble. We Rhaetians love romance; you
are perhaps the one exception. While as for the story you've told me,
I would not give that for it!" And the Emperor snapped his fingers.

"You still believe the ladies have a right to the name of Mowbray?"

"I believe that they are of stainless reputation, and that any seeming
mystery can be explained. Miss Mowbray is herself. That's enough for
me. Perhaps, Chancellor, there are two Lady Mowbrays."

"Only one is mentioned in Burke."

"Burke isn't gospel."

"Pardon me. It's the gospel of the British peerage. It can no more be
guilty of error than Euclid."

"Nor can Miss Mowbray be guilty of wrong. I should still stake my life
on that, even had your conclusions not been lame ones."

The old man accepted this rebuff in silence. But it was not the
silence of absolute hopelessness. It was only such a pause as a
prize-fighter makes between rounds.

"Your Majesty will not be in too great haste, at all events, I trust,"
he said at last. "At least a little reflection, a little patience, to
cool the blood. I have not laid down all my cards yet."

"It's often bad policy not to lead trumps," replied Leopold.

"Often, but not always. Time, and the end of the play will show. Is
your Majesty's indulgence for the old man quite exhausted?"

"Not quite, though rather strained, I confess." Leopold tempered his
words with a faint smile.

"Then I have one more important question to ask, venturing to remind
you first that I have acted solely in your interest. If such a step as
you contemplate should be my death blow, it is because of my love for
you, and Rhaetia. Tell me, your Majesty, this one thing. If it were
proved to you that the lady you know as Miss Mowbray, was, not only
not the person she pretends to be, but in all other respects unworthy
of your love--what would you do?"

"You speak of impossibilities."

"But if they were not impossibilities?"

"In such a case I should do as other men do--spend the rest of life in
trying to forget a lost ideal."

"I thank your Majesty. That is all I ask. I suppose you will continue
your journey?"

"Yes, as far as Felgarde, where I hope to find Lady Mowbray and her
daughter."

"Then, your Majesty, when I've expressed my gratitude for your
forebearance--even though I've failed to be convincing--I'll trouble
you no longer."

The Chancellor rose, painfully, with a reminiscence of gout, and
Leopold stared at him in surprise. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Only that, as I can do no further good here, with your permission, I
will get out at the station we are coming into, and go back home
again."

The Emperor realized, what he had not noticed until this moment, that
the train was slackening speed as it approached the suburbs of a town.
His conversation with the Chancellor had lasted for an hour, and he
was far from regretting the prospect of being left in peace. More than
once he had come perilously near to losing his temper, forgetting his
gratitude and the old man's years. How much longer he could have held
out under a continued strain of provocation, he did not know; so he
spoke no word of dissuasion when Count von Breitstein picked up his
soft hat and buttoned the gray coat for departure.

"I've passed pleasanter hours in your society, I admit," said Leopold,
when the train stopped. "But I can thank you for your motives, if not
your maxims; and here's my hand."

"It would be most kind of your Majesty to telephone me from Felgarde,"
the Chancellor exclaimed, as if on a sudden thought, while they shook
hands, "merely to say whether you remain there; or whether you go
further; or whether you return at once. I am too fatigued to travel
back immediately to Schloss Breitstein, and shall rest for some hours
at least, in my house at Kronburg, so a call will find me there."

"I will do as you ask," said the Emperor. Again he pressed the
Chancellor's hand, and it was very cold.



CHAPTER XV

THROUGH THE TELEPHONE


When Leopold arrived at Felgarde he went immediately to the hotel
which he had designated as a place of meeting. But no ladies answering
to the description he gave had been seen there. Either Miss Mowbray
had failed to receive his message, or, having received, had chosen to
ignore it.

The doubt, harrowing while it lasted, was solved on returning to the
railway station, though certainty proved scarcely less tantalizing
than uncertainty had been.

The telegram was still in the hands of the station-master, to whose
care it had been addressed. This diligent person professed to have
sent a man through the Orient Express, from end to end, calling for
Miss Helen Mowbray, but calling in vain. He had no theory more
plausible to offer than that the lady had not started from Kronburg;
or else that she had left the train at Felgarde before her name had
been cried. But certainly she would not have had time to go far, if
she were a through passenger, for the Orient Express stopped but ten
minutes at Felgarde.

It was evident throughout the short conversation that the excellent
official was on pins and needles. Struck by the Emperor's features,
which he had so often seen in painting and photograph, it still seemed
impossible that the greatest man in Rhaetia could be traveling thus
about the country, in ordinary morning dress, and unattended. Sure at
one instant that he must be talking with the Emperor, sure the next
that he had been deceived by a likeness, the poor fellow struggled
against his confusion in a way that would have amused Leopold, in a
different mood.

With a manner that essayed the difficult mean between reverence due to
Royalty, and common, every-day politeness, good enough for an ordinary
gentleman, the station-master volunteered to ascertain whether the
ladies described had gone out and given up their tickets. A few
minutes of suspense dragged on; then came the news that no such
persons had passed.

Here was a stumbling-block. Since Helen Mowbray and her mother had
apparently not traveled by the Orient Express, where had they gone on
leaving the hotel at Kronburg? Had they after all misled Baroness von
Lyndal as to their intentions, for the purpose of blinding the
Emperor; or had they simply changed their minds at the last minute, as
women may? Could it be possible that they had changed them so
completely as to return to Schloss Lyndalberg? Or had they chosen to
vanish mysteriously through some back door out of Rhaetia, leaving no
trace which even a lover could find?

Leopold could not help recalling the Chancellor's "revelations," but
dismissed them as soon as they had crept into his brain. No matter
where the clue to the tangle might lie, he told himself that it was
not in any act of which Helen Mowbray need be ashamed.

He could think of nothing more to do but to go dismally back to
Kronburg, and await developments--or rather, to stir them up by every
means in his power. This was the course he finally chose; and, just as
he was about to act upon his decision, he remembered his carelessly
given promise to Count von Breitstein.

There was a telephone in the railway station at Felgarde, and Leopold
himself called up the Chancellor at Kronburg.

"My friends are not here. I'm starting for Kronburg as soon as
possible, either by the next train, or by special," he announced,
after a far-away squeak had signified Count von Breitstein's presence
at the other end. "I don't see why you wish to know, but I would not
break my promise. That's all; good-by--Eh?--What was that you said?"

"I have a--curious--piece of--news for you," came over the wire in the
Chancellor's voice. "It's--about the--ladies."

"What is it?" asked Leopold.

"I hinted that I had more information which I could not give you then.
But I am in a different position now. You did not find your friends in
the Orient Express."

"No," said the Emperor.

"They gave out that they were leaving Rhaetia. But they haven't
crossed the frontier."

"Thanks. That's exactly what I wanted to know."

"You remember a certain person whose name can't be mentioned over the
telephone, buying a hunting lodge near the village of Inseleden, in
the Buchenwald, last year?"

"Yes. I remember very well. But what has that to do with my friends?"

"The younger lady has gone there without her mother, who remains in
Kronburg, with the companion. It seems that the present owner of the
hunting lodge has been acquainted with them for some time, though he
was ignorant of their masquerade. You see, he knows them only under
their real name. The young lady is a singer in comic operas, a Miss
Jenny Brett, whose _dossier_ can be given you on demand. The owner of
the hunting lodge arrived at his place this morning, motored into
Kronburg, where the young lady had waited, evidently informed of his
coming. She invited him to pay her a visit at her hotel; he accepted,
and returned the invitation, which she accepted."

"You are misinformed. The lady was never an opera singer. And I'm
certain she would neither receive the person you mention, nor go to
visit him."

"Will you drive out to the lodge to-night, when you reach Kronburg,
and honor the gentleman with an unexpected call?"

"I will, d--n you, but not for the reason you think," cried the
Emperor. It was the first time in his life that he had ever used
strong language to the Chancellor.

He dropped the receiver, flung down a gold coin with his own head upon
it (at the moment he could have wished that he had no other) and
waving away an offer of change, rushed out of the office.

Under his breath he swore again, the strongest oaths which the rich
language of his fatherland provided, anathematizing not the beloved
woman, maligned, but the man who maligned her.

There would be death in the thought that she could be false to
herself, and her confession of love for him; but then, it was
unthinkable. Let the whole world reek with foulness; his love must
still shine above it, white and remote as the young moon.

This old man--whose life would scarce have been safe if, in his
Emperor's present mood, the two had been together--this old man had a
grudge against the one perfect girl on earth. There was no black rag
of scandal he would not stoop to pick out of the mud and fly as a
flag of battle, soothing his conscience--if he had one--by saying it
was for "Rhaetia's good."

Telling himself that these things were truths, Leopold hurried away to
inquire for the next train back to Kronburg. There would not be
another for three hours, he found, and as nothing could have induced
him to wait three hours, or even two, he ordered a special. There was
a raging tiger in his breast, which would not cease to tear him until
he had seen Helen Mowbray, laid his Empire at her feet, received her
answer, and through it, punished the Chancellor.

The special, he was told, could be ready in less than an hour. The
journey to Kronburg would occupy nearly three more, and it would be
close upon nine before he could start with Count von Breitstein, for
the hunting lodge which he had promised to visit. But the Chancellor
would doubtless have his electric carriage ready for the desired
expedition, and they could reach their destination in twenty minutes.
This was not too long a time to give up to proving the old man wrong;
for to do this, not to find Helen Mowbray, was Leopold's motive in
consenting. She would not be there, and the Emperor was going because
she would not. He wanted to witness von Breitstein's confusion, for
humiliation was the bitterest punishment which could possibly be
inflicted on the proud and opinionated old man.



CHAPTER XVI

TRUTH ACCORDING TO THE CHANCELLOR


"Tell the truth--when desirable; spice with prevarication--when
necessary; and never part with the whole truth at one time, since
waste is sinful," was one of the maxims by which the Chancellor guided
his own actions, though he did not give it away for the benefit of
others; and he had made the most of that prudent policy to-day.

He had told his Emperor no lies, even through the telephone, where
forgetfulness may be pardonable; but he had arranged his truths as
skilfully as he arranged his pawns on a chess-board.

It was said by some who pretended to know, that Count von Breitstein
had had a Jesuit for a tutor; but be this as it might, it was certain
that, when he had a goal to reach, he did not pick his footsteps by
the way. A flower here or there was apt to be trodden down, a small
life broken, a reputation stained; but what of that when Rhaetia's
standard was to be planted upon the mountain top?

Supposing he had said to the Emperor, after his promise of plain
speaking: "Your Majesty's journey to-day is a wild goose chase. I
happen to know that those you seek are still at their hotel in
Kronburg. When I heard from my brother Egon that they were leaving
Schloss Lyndalberg suddenly and secretly, I went immediately to
Kronburg, and called upon the ladies. My intention was to frighten
them away, by telling them that the fraud was found out, and they had
better disappear decently of their own accord, unless they wished to
be assisted over the frontier. They actually dared refuse to see me,
alleging as an excuse the sudden illness of their companion, which had
prevented their leaving Kronburg as they intended. While I was
awaiting this answer, I learned that some person was telegraphing from
the railway station to the hotel manager, inquiring if the Mowbrays
had gone. I guessed this person to be your Majesty, and ventured to
use my influence strongly with the manager, so successfully that I was
permitted to dictate the reply, and obtain his promise that the
matter should be strictly confidential. I judged that your Majesty had
meant to take the Orient Express, but had missed it; and as you
telephoned from the station I had no doubt that you intended to
follow, either by the next train or by a special. Soon, I learned that
no special had been ordered by any one. I ascertained the time of the
next train, and sought your Majesty in it. Had my eloquence then
prevailed with you, I should have urged your return with me, and thus
you would have been spared the useless journey to Felgarde. As you
remained obstinately faithful, however, I considered myself fortunate
to have you out of the way, so that I could hurry back, and,
unhampered by your suspicions, set about learning still more facts to
Miss Mowbray's discredit, or inventing a few if those which
undoubtedly existed could not be unearthed in time."

Supposing that Count von Breitstein's boasted frankness had led him to
make these statements, it is probable that Rhaetia would not long have
rejoiced in a Chancellor so wise and so self-sacrificing.

It was well enough for the old man to declare his willingness to
retire, if his master desired it; but he had counted (as people who
risk all for great ends do count) on not being taken at his word. He
loved power, because he had always had it, and without power life
would not be worth the living; but it was honestly for the country's
sake, and for Leopold's sake, rather than his own, that he desired
to hold and keep his high position. Without his strong hand to seize
the helm, should Leopold's fail for some careless instant, he
conscientiously believed that the ship of state would be lost.

He had done his best to disillusion a young man tricked into love for
an adventuress. Now, neither as Chancellor nor friend could he make
further open protest, unless favored by fate with some striking new
development. There were, nevertheless, other ways of working; and he
had but taken the first step toward interference. He meant, since
worst had come to worst, to go on relentlessly; and he would hardly
have considered it criminal to destroy a woman of the type to which he
assigned Helen Mowbray, provided no means less stringent sufficed to
snatch her from the throne of Rhaetia.

There were many plans seething in the Chancellor's head, and Egon's
help might be necessary. He might even have to go so far as to bribe
Egon to kidnap the girl and sacrifice himself by marrying her out of
hand, before she had a chance to learn that the Emperor was ready to
meet her demands. Egon had been attentive to Miss Mowbray; it might
well be believed even by the Emperor, that the young man had been
madly enough in love to act upon his own initiative, uninfluenced by
his brother.

The Chancellor's first act on parting with Leopold was to telegraph
Captain von Breitstein to meet the train by which he would return to
Kronburg; therefore on arriving at the station he was not surprised to
see Egon's handsome face prominent among others less attractive, on
the crowded platform.

"Well?" questioned the young man as the old man descended.

"I'm sorry to say it is very far from well. But between us, we shall,
I hope, improve matters. You have kept yourself _au courant_ with
everything that has happened in the camp of the enemy?"

"Yes."

"Is anything stirring?"

"Say 'any one,' and I can answer you more easily. Who do you think has
arrived at the hotel?"

"The devil, probably, to complicate matters."

"I've heard him called so; but a good-looking devil, and devilishly
pleasant. I met him in his motor, in which he'd driven into town from
his new toy, the hunting lodge in--"

"What! You mean the Prince--"

"Of Darkness, you've just named him." Egon gave a laugh at his own
repartee, but the Chancellor heard neither. His hard face brightened.
"That's well," said he grimly. "Here we have just the young man to see
us through this bad pass, if he's as good looking as ever, and in his
usual mood for mischief. If we can interest him in this affair, he may
save me a great deal of trouble, and you a mésalliance."

"But your wedding present to me--" began Egon, blankly.

"Don't distress yourself. Do what you can to assist me, and whatever
the end, you shall be my heir, I promise you. Is the Prince at the
hotel now?"

"Yes. He had been to call on you at your town house, he stopped his
automobile to tell me; and hearing from me that you would be back this
evening, he decided to stay all night at the hotel, so that he could
have a chat with you after your return, no matter at what hour it
might be. I believe he has left a note at your house."

"I will go to him, and we can then discuss its contents together,"
said Count von Breitstein. And the chauffeur who drove his electric
carriage was told to go to the Hohenlangenwald Hotel.

The Prince who would, the Chancellor hoped, become the _Deus ex
machina_, was engaged in selecting the wines for his dinner, when
Count von Breitstein's card was sent in. He was pleased to say that he
would receive his visitor, and (Egon having been sent about his
business) the Chancellor was shown into the purple drawing-room of the
suite reserved for Royalty.

As he entered, a young man jumped up from an easy chair, scattering
sheaves of illustrated papers, and held out both his hands, with a
"Welcome, my dear old friend!"

It would have been vain to scour the world in quest of a handsomer
young man than this one. Even Egon von Breitstein would have seemed a
more good-looking puppet beside him, and the Chancellor rejoiced in
the physical perfection of a Prince who might prove a dangerous rival
for an absent Emperor.

"This is the best of good fortune!" exclaimed Count von Breitstein.
"Egon told me you were here, and without waiting to get the note he
said you had left for me, I came to you, straight from the railway
station."

"Splendid! And now you must dine with me. It was that I asked of you
in my note. Dinner early; a serious talk; and an antidote for
solemnity in a visit to the Leopoldhalle to see Mademoiselle Felice
from the _Folies Bergère_ do her famous Fire and Fountain dance. A
box; curtains half drawn; no one need know that the Chancellor helps
his young friend amuse himself."

"I thank your Royal Highness for the honor you suggest, and nothing
could give me greater pleasure, if I had not a suggestion to venture
in place of yours, which I believe may suit you better. I think I know
of what you wish to talk with me, and I desire the same, while the
business I have most at heart--"

"Ah, your business is my business, then?"

"I hope you may so consider it. In any case it is business which must
be carried through now or never, and is of life and death importance
to those whom it concerns. How it's to be done, or whether done at
all, may depend on you, if you consent to interest yourself; and it
could not be in more competent hands. If I'd been given my choice of
an assistant, out of the whole world, I should have chosen your Royal
Highness."

"This sounds like an adventure."

"It may be an adventure, and at the same time an act of justice."

"Good. Although it was not in search of an adventure that I came to
you, any more than it was the hope of game which brought me on a
sudden impulse to my little hunting lodge, still, I trust I have
always the instinct of a sportsman."

"I am sure of that; and I have the less hesitation in enlisting your
good-will, because it happens that your bird and mine can be killed
with one shot."

"Chancellor, you excite my curiosity."

The old man smiled genially; but under the bristling brows glowed a
flame as of the last embers in a dying fire. "Up-stairs," said he, "is
a pretty woman; a beauty. She claims the name of Helen Mowbray, though
her right to it is more than disputable. Her love affairs threaten a
public scandal."

"Ah, you are not the first one who has spoken of this pretty lady
since I crossed the frontier this morning," exclaimed the young man,
flushing. He paused and bit his lip, before going on, as if he wished
to think, or regain self-control. But at last he laughed, not
altogether lightly. "So, the lady most talked about for the moment in
all Rhaetia, is under the same roof with me."

"Fortunately, she is close at hand," said the Chancellor. "To you,
more than to any other, I can open my heart in speaking of our great
peril. This girl has drawn the Emperor into a fit of moon-madness. It
is no more serious than that, and were she out of the way, he would
wake as from a dream. But this is the moment of the crisis. He must be
saved now, or he is lost forever, and all our hopes with him. Blessed
would be the man who brought my poor master to his senses. I have
tried and failed. But you could do it."

"I?"

"The sword of justice is ready for your hand."

"That sentence has a solemn ring. I don't see what you want me to do.
But--what sort of woman is this who has bewitched your grave Leopold?"

"Beautiful, and clever, as women are clever; but not clever enough to
fight her battle out against you and me."

The Prince laughed again. "It isn't my _métier_ to fight with women. I
prefer to make love to them."

"Ah, you have said it! That is what I beg your Royal Highness to do."

"How am I to get at her, when Leopold stands guard--"

"He will not be on guard for some hours."

"Ha, ha! You mean me to understand that there's no time to waste."

"Not a moment."

"What is the girl like?"

"Tall and slender, pink and white as a flower, dark-lashed and
yellow-haired, like an Austrian beauty. Eyes gray or violet, it would
be hard to say which, for a man of my years; but even I can assure you
that when the lady looks down, then suddenly up again, under those
dark lashes, it's something to quicken the pulse of any man under
sixty."

"It would quicken mine only to hear your description, if you hadn't
just put a maggot in my head that tickles me to laughter instead of
raptures," said the Prince. "Tell me this; has this girl a tiny black
mole just over the left eyebrow--very fetching;--and when she smiles,
does her mouth point upward a bit on the right side, like a fairy
sign-post showing the way to a small round scar, almost as good as a
dimple?"

The Chancellor reflected for a few seconds, and then replied that,
unless his eyesight and his memory had deceived him, both these marks
were to be met with on Miss Mowbray's face. He did not add that he had
seen her but once, and at the time had not taken interest enough to
note details; for it was plain that the Prince had a theory as to the
lady's real identity; and to establish it as a fact might be valuable.

"Is it possible that you've already met this dangerous young person?"
he asked eagerly.

"Well, I begin to believe it may be so. I'll explain why later;
thereby hangs a confession. At all events, a certain lady exactly
answering the description you've given, is very likely in this
neighborhood; I've heard that she was shortly due in Kronburg, and it
was in my mind when deciding suddenly to spend a few days in the woods
for the sake of seeing you, that I might see her also before I went
home again. As a matter of fact, the lady and I have had a
misunderstanding, at a rather unfortunate moment, as I'd just
imprudently taken her into my confidence concerning--er--some family
affairs. If it is she who is masquerading in Rhaetia as Miss Mowbray,
and turning your Emperor's head, it may be that she's trying to
revenge herself on me. She's pretty enough to beguile St. Anthony, let
alone a St. Leopold; and she's clever enough to have thought out such
a scheme. Our small quarrel happened about four weeks ago, and I've
lost sight of the lady since; she disappeared, expecting probably to
be followed; but she wasn't. The only question is, if she's playing
Miss Mowbray, where did she get the mother? I've heard there _is_ a
Mowbray-mother?"

"There's a faded Dresden china shepherdess that answers to the name,"
said the Chancellor, dryly. "But these mantelpiece ornaments are
easily manufactured."

The Prince was amused. "No, she wouldn't stick at a mother, if she
wanted one," he chuckled. "And while she was about it, she has
apparently annexed a whole family tree. The black mole, and the
scar-dimple, you're sure of them, Chancellor? Because, if you are--"

"Oh, I am practically certain!"

"Then, the more pieces in the puzzle which I fit together, the more
likely does it seem that your Leopold's Miss Helen Mowbray and my Miss
Jenny Brett are one and the same."

"Miss Jenny Brett?"

"Did you never hear the name?"

"If I have, I've forgotten it."

"Chancellor, you wouldn't if you were a few years younger. Jenny Brett
is the prettiest if not the most talented singer ever sent out from
Australia, the fashionable home of singers. She is billed to sing at
the Court Theater of Kronburg in a fortnight, her first engagement in
Rhaetia."

"You are right. It may well be that she's been having a game with
us--a game that we can prevent now, thank Heaven, from ending in
earnest."

"Oh, yes, we can prevent that."

"Your Royal Highness met the lady in your own country?"

"N-o. It was in Paris at first, but I'm afraid I induced her to accept
an engagement at home. We were great friends for a while, and really
she's a charming creature. I can't blame myself. Who would have
guessed that she'd turn out so ambitious? By Jove, I can sympathize
with Leopold. The girl tried to twist me round her finger, and I
verily believe fancied at one time that I would offer her marriage."

"It must be the same girl. And the Emperor _has_ offered her
marriage."

"What? Impossible! But--with the left hand, of course, though even
that would be unheard of for a man in his--"

"I swear to your Royal Highness that if he isn't stopped, he will
force her on the Rhaetian people as Empress."

"Gad! Little Jenny Brett! I didn't half appreciate her brilliant
qualities."

"Yet I would wager that she appreciated yours."

The Prince shrugged his shoulders. "I believe she really cared
something for me--a month ago."

"Then she still cares. You are not a man whom a woman can forget,
though pique or ambition may lead her to try. I tell you, frankly, I
believe that Providence sent your Royal Highness here at this moment,
and my best hopes are now pinned on you. You--and no one as well as
you--can save the Emperor for a nobler fate. Even when I supposed
you a stranger to this lady who calls herself Helen Mowbray, I
thought that, if you would consent to meet her and exercise your
fascinations, there might be hope of averting the danger from my
master. Now, I hope everything. I beg, I entreat, that your Royal
Highness will send up your name and ask the lady to see you without
delay. She will certainly receive you; and when the Emperor learns
that she has done so, it may go far to disillusion him, for--pardon
me--your Royal Highness has a great reputation as a lady-killer. Still
more valuable would it be, however--indeed, he would be cured of his
infatuation forever, if--if--"

"If what?" inquired the young man, tired of the Chancellor's long
windedness and beating about the bush.

"If you could persuade her to go out to your hunting lodge. Then
Leopold and Rhaetia would be saved--by you. What could be better, what
could be more suitable?"

"What indeed?" echoed the Prince. "For every one concerned,--except
for Jenny Brett."

"Considering the havoc she has worked among us all, need she be
considered--before the interests of a great country, and--perhaps I
may hint--an innocent and lovely Royal lady, whom this girl is doing
her best to humiliate?"

"I'm hanged if she need be so considered! Anyhow, I'll do what you
ask. I'll send up my card, and then--we'll see what happens."

The Prince took from his pocket a small gold case, sparkling with
jewels--a trifle which advertised itself as the gift of a woman. Out
of this came a card, with a crown over the name in the fashion of his
country and some others. An equerry, waiting in an adjoining room, was
summoned; the card given to him; passed on to a hotel servant; and
then, for five minutes, ten minutes, the old man and the young one
waited, talking of a subject very near to both their hearts.

At last, when they had no more to say, word came that Lady Mowbray and
Miss Mowbray would see his Royal Highness.

"The value of a well regulated mother!" laughed the young man, who had
not troubled to inquire for Lady Mowbray. "Well, whatever comes of
this interview, Chancellor, I shall presently have something to tell
you."

"The suspense will be hard to bear," said Count von Breitstein, "but I
have perfect faith in you. We understand each other completely now;
but--I'm growing old, and the past few days have tried me sorely.
Remember, I pray you, all that's at stake, and do not hesitate for an
instant. Have no false scruple with such a person as this. The Emperor
will soon arrive in Kronburg. He'll lose no time in trying to find the
girl, and, once they've had another meeting, all our plans, all our
precautions, may be in vain. He searches for her, to offer his crown."

The Prince listened, and did not smile as he went out.

He had bidden the Chancellor await his return in the salon of the
Royal suite, which was always kept at his disposal, when he appeared
in the neighborhood, as he often did since purchasing the hunting
lodge a few miles out of Kronburg, in the forest.

Other foreign royalties, or lesser princes from the provinces,
occasionally occupied the apartments, also; and this handsome Royal
Highness of to-day was not the only one whom the Chancellor of Rhaetia
had visited there. He knew by heart the rich purple hangings in the
salon, with the double wolf-head of Rhaetia stamped in gold at regular
intervals on the velvet; and he sickened of their splendor now, as the
moments dragged, and he remained alone.

When half an hour had passed, he could no longer sit still on the
purple velvet sofa, but began walking up and down, his hands behind
him, scowling at the full length, oil-painted portraits of Rhaetia's
dead rulers; glaring a question into his own eyes in the long, gold
framed mirrors,--a question he would have given his life to hear
answered in the way he wished.

Three quarters of an hour had gone at last, and still the Chancellor
paced the purple drawing-room, and still the Prince did not come back
to tell the news.

Had the young man failed? Had that Siren up-stairs beguiled him, as
she had beguiled one stronger and greater than he? Was it possible
that she had lured the whole secret of their scheme from the Prince,
and then induced him to leave the hotel while her arch enemy fumed in
the salon, awaiting his return?

But no, there were quick footsteps outside the door; the handle was
turned. At least, his Royal Highness was not a traitor.

As the Chancellor had confessed, he was growing old. He felt suddenly
very weak; his lips fell apart, trembling; yet he would not utter the
words that hung upon them.

Fortunately the Prince read the appeal in the glittering eyes, and did
not wait to be questioned.

"Well, I've seen the lady and had a talk with her," he said, in a
voice which was, the old man felt, somehow different in tone from what
it had been an hour ago.

"And is she the person you have known?"

"Yes, she's a person I have known. It's--it's all right about that
plan of yours, Chancellor. She's going with me to the lodge."

"Heaven be praised! It seems almost too good to be true. When does she
go?"

"At once. That is, as soon as she can get ready. She will dine with
me, and my equerry will stop behind and eat the dinner I had ordered
here."

"Magnificent. Then she will go with you alone? Nothing could be
better. The presence of the alleged mother as chaperon would be a
drawback."

"Oh, no chaperon is needed for us two. The--er--mother remains at the
hotel with a la--a companion they have, who is ill. It was--er--somewhat
difficult to arrange this matter, but I don't think the plot I have
in mind now will fail, provided you carry through your part as smartly
as I have mine."

"You may depend upon me. Your Royal Highness is marvelous. Am I to
understand that the lady goes with you quite of her own free will?"

"Quite. I flatter myself that she's rather pleased with the
invitation. In a few minutes, I and the fair damsel will be spinning
away for a drive in my red motor; you know, the one which I always
leave at the lodge, to be ready for use whenever I choose to pay a
flying visit. I shall keep her out until it's dark, to give you plenty
of time, but before starting I'll telephone to my _chef_ that, after
all, I sha'n't be away, and he must prepare dinner for two."

"I also will send a telephone message," said the Chancellor.

"To Leopold?"

"Yes, your Royal Highness. This time there will be no uncertainty in
my words to him. They will strike home, and, even if he should not be
intending to come to Kronburg to-night, they will bring him."

"You are sure you know where to catch the Emperor?"

"He'll telephone me from Felgarde, when he has found those he sought
are not there, as he will; and I must be at my house to receive and
answer his message. It will soon be time now."

"Very well, all that seems to arrange itself satisfactorily," said the
Prince. "Our motor drive can be stretched out for an hour and a half.
The lady will then need to dress. Dinner can be kept back till half
past eight, if it would suit your book to break in upon us, at the
table. My dining-room isn't very grand, but it has plenty of light and
color, and wouldn't make a bad background for the last act of this
little drama. What do you say, Chancellor? I've always thought that
your success as a stage manager of the Theater of Nations was
partially due to your eye for dramatic effects."

"Such effects are not to be despised, considering the audience we
cater for in that theater."

"Well, I promise you that for our little amateur play to-night, in my
private theater, the footlights shall be lit, the stage set, and two
of the principal puppets dressed and painted for the show, before
nine. I suppose you can introduce the leading man by that time or a
little later?"

The bristling brows drew together involuntarily. Count von Breitstein
was working without scruple against the Emperor, for the Emperor's
good; yet he winced at his accomplice's light jest, and it was by an
effort that he kept a note of disapproval out of his voice.

"Unless I much mistake, his Majesty will order a special train, as
soon as he has had my message," said he. "That and everything else
falling as I confidently expect, I shall be able to bring him out to
your Royal Highness's hunting lodge a little after nine."

"You'll find us at the third course," prophesied the Prince.

"Naturally, the Emperor's appearance will startle your visitor," went
on the Chancellor, keenly watching the young man's extraordinarily
handsome face. "She would not dare take the risk and drive out with
you, great as the temptation would no doubt be, did she dream that he
would learn of the escapade, and follow. Indeed, your Royal Highness
must have found subtile weapons ready to your hand, that you so soon
broke through the armor of her prudence. I expected much from your
magnetism and resourceful wit, yet I hardly dared hope for such
speedy, such unqualified success as this which now seems assured to
us."

"My weapons were sharpened on my past acquaintance with the pretty
lady," explained the Prince. "Otherwise the result might have been
postponed for as many days as I have delayed moments, though at last,
the end might have been the same."

"Not for Rhaetia. Every instant counts. Thanks to you, we shall win;
for actress as this girl is, she'll find it a task beyond her powers
to justify to a jealous man this evening's tête-a-tête with you."

"If she tests those powers in our presence, we can be audience and
admire her histrionic talents," said the Prince, pleasantly, though
with some faint, growing sign of constraint or perhaps impatience.
"There's no doubt in my mind, whatever may be the lady's conception of
her part, about the final tableau. And after all, it's with that alone
you concern yourself--eh, Chancellor?"

"It's that alone," echoed the old man.

"Then you would like to go and await the message. There's nothing more
for us to arrange. _Au revoir_, Chancellor, till nine."

"Till nine."

"When the curtain for the last act will ring up."

The Prince held out his hand. Count von Breitstein grasped it, and
then hurried to his electric carriage which had been waiting outside
the hotel. A few minutes later, he was talking over the wire to the
Emperor in the railway station at Felgarde.



CHAPTER XVII

THE OLDNESS OF THE CHANCELLOR


Leopold thought it more than possible that, by the time of his return
to Kronburg, the Chancellor would be as anxious to wriggle out of his
proposal to visit the Prince's hunting lodge, as he had been to have
it accepted a few hours before.

"He sha'n't escape his humiliation, though," the Emperor told himself.
"He shall go, and he shall beg forgiveness for his suspicions, in
sackcloth and ashes. Nothing else can satisfy me now."

Thinking thus, Leopold looked sharply from the window as his special
slowed into the central station at Kronburg, along the track which had
been kept clear for its arrival. No other train was due at the moment,
therefore few persons were on the platform, and a figure in a long
gray coat, with its face shadowed by a slouch hat, was conspicuous.

The Emperor had expected to see that figure; but vaguely he wished
there were not so much briskness and self-confidence in the set of the
massive head and shoulders. The young man believed absolutely in his
love; but he would have been gratified to detect a something of
depression in the enemy's air, which he might translate as a
foreknowledge of failure.

"I hope your Majesty will forgive the liberty I have taken, in coming
to the station without a distinct invitation to do so," were the
Chancellor's first words as he met the Emperor. "Knowing that you
would almost certainly arrive by special train, I came down from my
house some time ago, that I might be on hand without fail when you
arrived, to place my electric carriage at your service. I thought it
probable that you would not have sent to the Palace, and therefore it
might save you some slight inconvenience if I were on the spot. If you
will honor my poor conveyance--"

"Don't let us delay our business for explanations or compliments, if
you please, Chancellor," the Emperor cut him short, brusquely. "I
counted on your being here, with your carriage. Now for the hunting
lodge in the woods!"

As he spoke, his eyes were on the old man's face, which he hoped to
see fall, or change; but there was no visible sign of discomfiture,
and von Breitstein made no attempt to excuse himself from making the
proposed visit. Evidently nothing had happened during the hours since
the message by telephone, to change the Chancellor's mind.

"Yes, your Majesty," came the prompt response. "Now for the hunting
lodge in the woods. I am ready to go with you there--as I always have
been, and always shall be ready to serve you when I am needed."

It was on Leopold's tongue to say, that it would be well if his
Chancellor's readiness could be confined to those occasions when it
was needed; but he shut his lips upon the words, and walked by the old
man's side in frozen silence.

The carriage was waiting just outside the station, and the moment the
two men were seated, the chauffeur started, noiselessly and swiftly.

Both windows were closed, to keep out the chill of the night air, but
soon Leopold impatiently lowered one, forgetting the Chancellor's
old-fashioned hatred of draughts, and stared into the night. Already
they were approaching the outskirts of the great town, and flying
past the dark warehouses and factories of the neighborhood, they sped
toward the open country.

The weather, still warm the evening before--that evening of moonlight,
not to be forgotten--had turned cold with morning; and to-night there
was a pungent scent of dying leaves in the air. It smote Leopold in
the face, with the wind of motion, and it seemed to him the essential
perfume of sadness. Never again would he inhale that fragrance of the
falling year without recalling this hour.

He was half mad with impatience to reach the end of the journey, and
confound the Chancellor once for all; yet, as the swift electric
carriage spun smoothly along the white road, and landmark after
landmark vanished behind tree-branches laced with stars, something
within him, would at last have stayed the flying moments, had that
been possible. He burned to ask questions of von Breitstein, yet would
have died rather than utter them.

It was a relief to the Emperor, when, after a long silence, his
companion spoke,--though a relief which carried with it a prick of
resentment. Even the Chancellor had no right to speak first, without
permission from his sovereign.

"Forgive me, your Majesty," the old man said. "Your anger is hard to
bear; yet I bear it uncomplainingly because of my confidence that the
reward is not far off. I look for it no further in the future than
to-night."

"I, too, believe that you won't miss your reward!" returned the
Emperor sharply.

"I shall have it, I am sure, not only in your Majesty's forgiveness,
but in your thanks."

"I'll forgive you when you've asked my pardon for your suspicions, and
when you've found Miss Mowbray for me."

"I have already found her, and am taking you to her now."

"Then, you actually believe in your own story? You believe that this
sweet and beautiful young girl is a fast actress, a schemer, a friend
of your notoriously gallant friend, and willing to risk her reputation
by paying a late visit, unchaperoned, to him at his hunting lodge in
the woods! You are after all a very poor judge of character, if you
dream that we shall see her there."

"I shall see her, your Majesty. And you will see her, unless the
madness you call love has blinded the eyes of your body as well as the
eyes of your mind. That she is now at the lodge I know, for the Prince
assured me with his own lips that she had promised to motor out alone
with him, and dine."

"You mean, he told you that his friend the actress had promised. I'll
stake my life, even he didn't dare to say Miss Mowbray."

"He said Miss Brett, the actress, it's true. But when he called upon
her at her hotel (where he and I met to discuss a matter which is no
secret to your Majesty), he asked for Miss Mowbray. And the message
that came down, I heard. It was that Miss Mowbray would be delighted
to see his Royal Highness. This left no doubt in my mind that, after
giving out that she would leave to-day, the lady had remained in
Kronburg for the express purpose of meeting her dear friend the
Prince, the handsomest and best dressed young man in Europe--after
your Majesty, of course. And it was quite natural for her to hope
that, as she was supposed to be gone, and you were following her, this
evening's escapade would never be discovered."

"Please spare me your deductions, Chancellor," said the Emperor,
curtly, "and pray understand now, if you have not understood before,
that I am with you in this expedition not to prove you right, but
wrong; and nothing you can say will convince me that the Prince's
actress and Miss Mowbray are one. If we find a woman at the hunting
lodge, it will not be the lady we seek--unless she has been kidnapped;
and as you will presently be obliged to eat every word you've spoken,
the fewer such bitter pills you provide for yourself to swallow, the
better."

Thus snubbed by the young man whom he had held in his arms, an
imperious as well as an Imperial infant, the old statesman sought
sanctuary in silence. But he had said that which had been in his mind
to say, and he was satisfied. Meekness was not his _métier_, yet he
could play the part of the faithful servant, humbly loyal through
injustice and misunderstanding; and he played it now, because he knew
it to be the one effective rôle. He sat beside the Emperor with bowed
head, and stooping shoulders which suggested the weakness of old age,
his hands clasped before him; and from time to time he sighed
patiently.

As they glided under the dark arch of the Buchenwald, Leopold spoke
again.

"You have led me to suppose that our call at the hunting lodge will be
a surprise visit to the Prince. That is the case, isn't it?"

Count von Breitstein would have preferred that the question had not
been asked. He had intended to convey the impression which the Emperor
had received, but he had not clothed it in actual statement. Luckily
the Prince was as clever as he was good looking, and he could be
trusted as an actor, otherwise the old man would have been still more
reluctant to commit himself.

"Were our visit expected, we should not be likely to find the lady,"
said he. "The Prince and I are on such friendly terms, your Majesty,
that he didn't mind confessing he was to have a pretty actress as his
guest. He also answered a few questions I asked concerning her, freely
and frankly, for to do so he had to tell me only what the world knows.
How could he dream that the flirtations or the visits of a Miss Jenny
Brett could be of the slightest importance to the Emperor of Rhaetia?
Had he guessed, however, that the entertainment he meant to offer her
might be interrupted, naturally he would have taken some means to
protect her from annoyance."

"This night's work will give him cause to pick a private quarrel with
me, if he likes," said the Emperor, convinced of the Chancellor's good
faith.

"I don't think he will choose, your Majesty. You are in a mood to be
glad if he did, I fear. But no; I need _not_ fear. You will always
remember Rhaetia, and put her interests before your own wishes."

"You weren't as confident of that a few hours ago."

"Even then I knew that, when the real test should be applied, your
Majesty's cool head would triumph over the hot impulse of youth. But
see, we're passing through the village of Inseleden, fast asleep
already; every window dark. In six or seven minutes at this speed, we
shall be at the lodge."

The Emperor laughed shortly. "Add another seven minutes to your first
seven, and we shall be out of the lodge again, with Chancellor von
Breitstein a sadder and a wiser man than he went in."

Meekness was once more the part for the old man to play, and raising
his hands, palm upwards, in a gesture of generous indulgence for his
young sovereign, he denied himself the pleasure of retort.

The hunting lodge in the wood, now the property of the Chancellor's
accommodating young friend, had until recently belonged to a Rhaetian
semi-Royal Prince, who had been compelled by lack of sympathy among
his creditors to sell something, and had promptly sold the thing he
cared for least. The present owner was a keen sportsman, and though he
came seldom to the place, had spent a good deal of money in repairing
the quaint, rustic house.

Years had passed since the Emperor had done more than pass the lodge
gates; and now the outlines of the low rambling structure looked
strange to him, silhouetted against a spangled sky. He was glad of
this, for he had spent some joyous days here as a boy, and he wished
to separate the old impressions and the new.

Two tall chimneys stood up like the pricked ears of some alert,
crouching animal. The path to the lodge gleamed white and straight in
the darkness as a parting in the rough black hair of a giant. The
trees whispered gossip to each other in the wind, and it seemed to
Leopold that they were evil things telling lies and slandering his
love. He hated them, and their rustling, which once he had loved. He
hated the yellow eyes of the animal with the pricked ears, glittering
eyes which were lighted windows; he hated the young Prince who owned
the place; and he would have hated the Chancellor more than all, had
not the old man limped as he walked up the path, showing how heavy was
the burden of his years, as he had never shown it to his Emperor
before.

The path led to a hooded entrance, and ascending the two stone steps,
the Chancellor lifted the mailed glove which did duty as a knocker.
Twice he brought it down on the oak panel underneath, and the sound of
metal smiting against wood went echoing through the house, with an
effect of emptiness and desolation.

Nobody came to answer the summons, and Leopold smiled in the darkness.
He thought it likely that even the Prince was not at home. A practical
joke had been played on the Chancellor!

Again the mailed fist struck the panel; an echo alone replied. Count
von Breitstein began to be alarmed for the success of his plan. He
thanked the night which hid from the keen eyes of the Emperor--cynical
now, no doubt--the telltale vein beating hard in his forehead.

"Don't you think, Chancellor, that after all, you'd better try and
take me to some more probable, as well as more suitable, place to look
for Miss Mowbray?" he suggested, with a drawl intended to be as
aggravating as it actually was. "There doesn't appear to be any one
about. Even the care-takers are out courting, perhaps."

"But listen, your Majesty," said von Breitstein, when he knocked
again.

Leopold did listen, and heard the ring of a heel on a floor of stone
or marble.



CHAPTER XVIII

NOT AT HOME


It was a jäger clad in green who opened the door of the hunting lodge,
and gazed, apparently without recognition, at the two men standing in
the dark embrasure of the porch.

"We wish to see his Royal Highness, your master," said the Chancellor,
taking the initiative, as he knew the Emperor would wish him to do.

"His Royal Highness is not at home, sir," replied the jäger.

Leopold's eyes lightened as he threw a glance of sarcastic meaning at
his companion. But Iron Heart was undaunted. He knew very well now,
that this was only a prelude to the drama which would follow; and
though he had suffered a sharp pang of anxiety at first, he saw that
his Royal friend was playing with commendable realism. Naturally, when
beautiful young actresses ventured into the forest unchaperoned, to
dine with fascinating princes, the least that such favored gentlemen
could do was to be "not at home" to an intrusive public.

"You are mistaken," insisted the Chancellor, "his Royal Highness is at
home, and will receive us. It will be better for you to admit us
without further delay."

Under the domination of those eyes which could quell a turbulent
Reichstag, the jäger weakened, as his master had doubtless expected
him to do after the first resistance.

"It may be I have made a mistake, sir," he stammered, "though I do not
think so. If you will have the kindness to walk in and wait for a few
minutes until I can inquire whether his Royal Highness has come home,
or will come home--"

"That is not necessary," said the Chancellor. "His Royal Highness
dines here this evening. We will go with you to the door of the
dining-room, which you will open for us, and announce that two
gentlemen wish to see him."

[Illustration: _At sight of her the Emperor stopped on the threshold_]

With this, all uncertainty in the mind of the jäger was swept away.
He knew his duty and determined to stand by it; and the Chancellor
saw that, if the master had given instructions meaning them to be
over-ridden, at least the servant was sincere. He put himself in the
doorway, and looked an obstacle difficult to dislodge.

"That is impossible, sir!" he exclaimed. "I have had my orders, which
are that his Royal Highness is not at home to-night, and until I know
whether or not these orders are to stand, nobody, not if it were the
Emperor, should force his way."

"Fool, those orders are not for us; and it is the Emperor who will go
in." With a step aside, the Chancellor let the light from the hanging
lamp in the hall shine full upon Leopold's face, hitherto masked in
shadow.

His boast forgotten, the jäger uttered a cry of dismay, and with a
sudden failing of the knees, he moved, and left the doorway free.

"Your Majesty!" he faltered. "I did not see--I could not know. Most
humbly I beg your Majesty's gracious pardon. If your Majesty will but
hold me blameless with my master--"

"Never mind yourself, and never mind your master," broke in the
Chancellor. "Open that door at the end of the hall, and announce the
Emperor and Count von Breitstein."

The unfortunate jäger, approaching a state of collapse, obeyed. The
door of the dining-room, which Leopold knew of old, was thrown open,
and a quavering voice heralded "His Imperial Majesty the Emperor, and
the Herr Chancellor Count von Breitstein."

The scene disclosed was as unreal to Leopold's eyes as a painted
picture; the walls of Pompeian red; the gold candelabra; the polished
floor, spread with the glimmering fur of Polar bears; and in the
center a flower-decked table lit with pink-shaded lights, and
sparkling with gold and crystal; springing up from a chair which faced
the door, a young man in evening dress; sitting motionless, her back
half turned, a slender girl in bridal white.

At sight of her the Emperor stopped on the threshold. All the blood in
his body seemed rushing to his head, then surging back upon his heart.

The impossible had happened.



CHAPTER XIX

THE THIRD COURSE


The Prince came forward. "What a delightful surprise," he said. "How
good of you both to look me up! But I wish my prophetic soul had
warned me to keep back dinner. We have just reached the third course."
And his eyes met the Chancellor's.

"All the same," he went on, "I beg that you will honor me by dining.
Everything can be ready in a moment; and the _bisque eccrevisso_--"

"Thank you," cut in the Emperor. "We cannot dine." His voice came
hoarsely, as if a fierce hand pinched his throat. "Our call is purely
one of business, and--a moment will see it finished. We owe you an
explanation for this intrusion." He paused. All his calculations were
upset by the Chancellor's triumph; for to plan beforehand, what he
should do if he found Helen Mowbray dining here alone with the
Prince, would have been to insult her. His campaign had been arranged
in the event of the Chancellor's defeat.

Now, the one course he saw open before him was frankness.

To look at the girl, and meet guilt or defiance in her eyes would be
agony, therefore he would not look, though he saw her, and her alone,
as he stood gazing with a strained fixedness at the Prince.

He knew that she had risen, not in frightened haste, but with a
leisured and dainty dignity. Now, her face was turned to him. He felt
it, as a blind man may feel the rising of the sun.

He wished that she had died before this moment, that they had both
died last night in the garden, while he held her in his arms, and
their hearts beat together. She had told him then that she loved him;
yet she was here, with this man--here, of her own free will, the same
girl he had worshiped as a goddess in the white moonlight, twenty-four
hours ago.

The thought was hot in his heart as the searing touch of iron red from
the fire. The same girl!

His blood sang in his ears, a song of death, and for an instant all
was black around him. He groped in black chaos where there was
neither light nor hope, and dully he was conscious of the Chancellor's
voice saying, "Your Majesty, if you are satisfied, would you not
rather go?"

Then the dark spell broke. Light showered over him, as from a golden
fountain, for in spite of himself he had met the girl's eyes. The same
eyes, because she was the same girl; sweet eyes, pure and innocent,
and wistfully appealing.

"My God!" he cried, "tell me why you are here, and whatever you may
say, I will believe you, in spite of all and through all, because you
are You, and I know that you can do no wrong."

"Your Majesty!" exclaimed the Chancellor. But the Emperor did not
hear. With a broken exclamation that was half a sob, the girl held out
both her hands, and Leopold sprang forward to crush them between his
ice-cold palms.

"Thank Heaven!" she faltered. "You are true! You've stood the test. I
love you."

"At last, then, I can introduce you to my sister Virginia," said the
Crown Prince of Hungaria, with a great sigh of relief for the ending
of his difficult part.



CHAPTER XX

AFTER THE CURTAIN WENT DOWN


They were alone together. Adalbert and Count von Breitstein had stolen
from the room, and had ceased to exist for Leopold and Virginia.

"I'll tell you now, why I'm here, and everything else," she was
saying; but the Emperor stopped her.

"Ever since I came to myself, I wanted no explanation," he said. "I
wanted only you. That is all I want now. I am the happiest man in the
universe. Why should I ask how I came by my happiness? Virginia!
Virginia! It's a more beautiful name even than Helen."

"But listen," she pleaded. "There are some things--just a few
things--that I long to tell you. Please let me. Last night I wished to
go into a convent. Oh, it was because I loved you so much, I wanted
you to seem perfect, as my hero of romance, just as you were already
perfect as an Emperor. To think that I should have been far away, out
of Rhaetia, by this time, if Miss Portman hadn't been ill. Dear Miss
Portman! Maybe if we'd gone, nothing would ever have come right. Who
can say?

"You know, my brother came to our hotel this afternoon. When his card
arrived, we couldn't tell whether he knew our secret or not; but when
we had let him come up, we had only to see his face of surprise! He
was angry, too, as well as surprised, for he blurted out that there
were all sorts of horrid suspicions against us, and mother explained
everything to him before I could have stopped her, even if I would;
how I had not wanted to accept you unless you could learn to love me
for myself, and then--how I had been disappointed. No, don't speak;
that's all over now. You've more than atoned, a thousand times more.

"Dal explained things, too, then--very different things; about a
plan of the Chancellor's to disgust you with me, and how he--Dal--had
played into the Chancellor's hands, because, you see, he thought he
was acting wisely for his neglected sister's sake, and because he had
really supposed an actress he knows was masquerading as Miss
Mowbray. Very imprudently he'd told her that some day there might
be--something between you and his sister. She knew quite well, too,
that the real Mowbrays were our cousins; so you see, as she and he
have quarreled it might have been an easy and clever way for an
unscrupulous woman to take revenge. Dal would have gone, and perhaps
have said dreadful things to the Chancellor, who was waiting
down-stairs for news, but I begged him not. From being the saddest
girl in the world, I'd suddenly become the happiest, for the
Chancellor had told Dal, and Dal had told me, that you had _followed
Helen Mowbray to ask her to be the Empress_. That changed everything,
for then I knew you really loved her; but--just to punish you for what
I suffered through you last night, I longed to put you to one more
test. I said, 'Let the Chancellor carry out his plot. Let me go with
you to your hunting lodge.' At first Dal wouldn't consent, but when I
begged him, he did,--for generally I can get my way with people, I
warn you.

[Illustration: "_We shall never be old, for we love each other," said
the Emperor_]

"That's all, except that I hadn't realized how severe the test would
be, until you came in and I saw the look in your eyes. It was a dagger
of ice in my heart. I prayed Heaven to make you believe in me, without
a word, oh, _how_ I prayed through all that dreadful moment, and
how I looked at you, saying with my eyes, 'I love you; I am true.' If
you had failed me then, it would have killed me, but--"

"There could be no but," the Emperor broke in. "To doubt is not to
love. When a man loves, he knows. Even out of darkness, a light comes
and tells him."

"Then you forgive me--for to-night, and for everything, from the
beginning?"

"Forgive you?"

"And if I'd been different, more like other girls content with a
conventional affection, you wouldn't have loved me more?"

He took her in his arms and held her as if he would never let her go.

"If you had been different, I wouldn't have loved you at all," he
said. "But if _things_ had been different, I couldn't have helped
loving you, just the same. I should have been fated to fall in love
with Princess Virginia of Baumenburg-Drippe at first sight, exactly I
as fell in love with Helen Mowbray--"

"Ah, but at best you'd have fallen in love with Virginia because it
was your duty; and you fell in love with Helen Mowbray because it was
your duty not to. Which makes it so much nicer."

"It was no question of duty, but of destiny," said the Emperor. "The
stars ordained that I should love you."

"Then I wish--" and Virginia laughed happily, as she could afford to
laugh now--"that the stars had told me, last summer. It would have
saved me a great deal of trouble. And yet I don't know," she added
thoughtfully, "it's been a wonderful adventure. We shall often talk of
it when we're old."

"We shall never be old, for we love each other," said the Emperor.

                         THE END



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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors;
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words and intent.





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