Notwithstanding the strongly expressed sentiments of the Princess with regard to the Chevalier Stubber, she received him with marked favor, and gave him her hand to kiss, with evident cordiality. As for Upton, it was the triumph of his manner to deal with men separated widely from himself in station and abilities. He could throw such an air of good fellowship into the smallest attentions, impart such a glow of kindliness to the veriest commonplaces, that the very craftiest and shrewdest could never detect. As he leaned his arm, therefore, on Stubber's shoulder, and smiled benignly on him, you would have said it was the affectionate meeting with a long-absent brother. But there was something besides this: there was the expansive confidence accorded to a trusty colleague; and as he asked him about the Duchy, its taxation, its debt, its alliances and difficulties, you might mark in the attention he bestowed all the signs of one receiving very valuable information.

“You perceive, Princess,” said he, at last, “Stubber quite agrees with the Duke of Cloudeslie,—these small states enjoy no real independence.”

“Then why are they not absorbed into the larger nations about them?”

“They have their uses; they are like substances interposed between conflicting bodies, which receive and diminish the shock of collisions. So that Prussia, when wanting to wound Austria, only pinches Baden; and Austria, desirous of insulting Saxony, 'takes it out' on Sigmaringen.”

“It's a pleasant destiny you assign them,” said she, laughing.

“Stubber will tell you I'm not far wrong in my appreciation.”

“I 'm not for what they call 'mediatizing' them neither, my Lady,” said Stubber, who generally used the designation to imply his highest degree of respect. “That may all be very well for the interests of the great states, and the balance of power, and all that sort of thing; but we ought also to bestow a thought upon the people of these small countries, especially on the inhabitants of their cities. What's to become of them when you withdraw their courts, and throw their little capitals into the position of provincial towns and even villages?”

“They will eke out a livelihood somehow, my dear Stubber. Be assured that they 'll not starve. Masters of the Horse may have to keep livery stables; chamberlains turn valets; ladies of the bedchamber descend to the arts of millinery: but, after all, the change will be but in name, and there will not be a whit more slavery in the new condition than in the old one.”

“Well, I 'm not so sure they 'll take the same comfortable view of it that you do, Sir Horace,” said Stubber; “nor can I see who can possibly want livery stables, or smart bonnets, or even a fine butler, when the resources of the Court are withdrawn, and the city left to its own devices.”

“Stubber suspects,” said Upton, “that the policy which prevails amongst our great landed proprietors against small holdings is that which at present influences the larger states of Europe against small kingdoms; and so far he is right. It is unquestionably the notion of our day that the influences of government require space for their exercise.”

“If the happiness of the people was to be thought of, which of course it is not,” said Stubber, “I'd say leave them as they are.”

“Ah, my dear Stubber, you are now drawing the question into the realm of the imaginary. What do any of us know about our happiness?”

“Enough to eat and drink, a comfortable roof over you, good clothes, nothing oppressive or unequal in the laws,—these go for a good way in the kind of thing I mean; and let me observe, sir, it is a great privilege little states, like little people, enjoy, that they need have no ambitions. They don't want to conquer anybody; they neither ask for the mouth of a river here, or an island there; and if only let alone, they 'll never disturb the peace of the world at large.”

“My dear Stubber, you are quite a proficient at state-craft,” said Upton, with the very least superciliousness in the accent.

“Well, I don't know, Sir Horace,” said the other, modestly, “but as my master's means are about the double of what they were when I entered his service, and as the people pay about one-sixth less in taxes than they used to do, mayhap I might say that I have put the saddle on the right part of the back.”

“Your foreign policy does not seem quite as unobjectionable as your home management. That was an ugly business about that boy you gave up to the Austrians.”

“Well, there were mistakes on all sides. You yourself, Sir Horace, gave him a false passport; his real name turns out to be Massy: it made an impression on me, from a circumstance that happened when I was a young fellow living as pad-groom with Prince Tottskoy. I went over on a lark one day to Capri, and was witness to a wedding there of a young Englishman called Massy.”

“Were you, then, present at the ceremony?”

“Yes, sir; and what's stranger still, I have a voucher for it.”

“A voucher for it. What do you mean?”

“It was this way, sir. There was a great supper for the country people and the servants, and I was there, and I suppose I took too much of that Capri wine; it was new and hot at the time, and I got into a row of some sort, and I beat the Deputato from some place or t' other, and got locked up for three days; and the priest, a very jolly fellow, gave me under his handwriting a voucher that I had been a witness of the marriage, and all the festivities afterwards, just to show my master how everything happened. But the Prince never asked me for any explanations, and only said he 'hoped I had amused myself well;' and so I kept my voucher to myself, and I have it at this very hour.”

“Will you let me see it, Stubber?”

“To be sure, sir, you shall have it, if I can lay my hand on 't in the course of the day.”

“Let me beg you will go at once and search for it; it may be of more importance than you know of. Go, my dear Stubber, and look it up.”

“I'll not lose a moment, since you wish to have it,” said Stubber; “and I am sure your ladyship will excuse my abrupt departure.”

The Princess assured him that her own interest in the document was not inferior to that of Sir Horace, and he hastened off to prosecute his search.

“Here, then, are all my plans altered at once,” exclaimed she, as the door closed after him. “If this paper mean only as much as he asserts, it will be ample proof of marriage, and lead us to the knowledge of all those who were present at it.”

“Yet must we well reflect on the use we make of it,” said Upton. “Glencore is now evidently balancing what course to take. As his chances of recovery grow less each day, he seems to incline more and more to repair the wrong he has done. Should we show on our side the merest semblance of compulsion, I would not answer for him.”

“So that we have the power, as a last resource, I am content to diplomatize,” said the Princess; “but you must see him this evening, and press for a decision.”

“He has already asked me to come to him after we return from Court. It will be late, but it is the hour at which he likes best to talk. If I see occasion for it, I can allude to what Stubber has told us; but it will be only if driven by necessity to it.”

“I would act more boldly and more promptly,” said she.

“And rouse an opposition, perhaps, that already is becoming dormant. No, I know Glencore well, and will deal with him more patiently.”

“From the Chevalier Stubber, your Excellency,” said a servant, presenting a sealed packet; and Sir Horace opened it at once. The envelope contained a small and shabby slip of paper, of which the writing appeared faint and indistinct. It was dated 18—, Church of St. Lorenzo, Capri, and went to certify that Guglielmo Stubber had been present, on the morning of the 18th August, at the marriage of the Most Noble Signor Massy with the Princess de la Torre, having in quality as witness signed the registry thereof; and then went on to state the circumstance of his attendance at the supper, and the event which ensued. It bore the name of the writer at foot, Basilio Nardoni, priest of the aforesaid church and village.

“Little is Glencore aware that such an evidence as this is in existence,” said Upton. “The conviction that he had his vengeance in his power led him into this insane project. He fancied there was not a flaw in that terrible indictment; and see, here is enough to open the door to truth, and undo every detail of all his plotting. How strange is it that the events of life should so often concur to expose the dark schemes of men's hearts; proofs starting up in un-thought-of places, as though to show how vain was mere subtlety in conflict with the inevitable law of Fate.”

“This Basilio Nardoni is an acquaintance of mine,” said the Princess, bent on pursuing another train of thought; “he was chaplain to the Cardinal Caraffa, and frequently brought me communications from his Eminence. He can be found, if wanted.”

“It is unlikely—most unlikely—that we shall require him.”

“If you mean that Lord Glencore will himself make all the amends he can for a gross injury and a fraud, no more is necessary,” said she, folding the paper, and placing it in her pocket-book; “but if anything short of this be intended, then there is no exposure too open, no publicity too wide, to be given to the most cruel wrong the world has ever heard of.”

“Leave me to deal with Glencore. I think I am about the only one who can treat with him.”

“And now for this dinner at Court, for I have changed my mind, and mean to go,” said the Princess. “It is full time to dress, I believe.”

“It is almost six o'clock,” said Upton, starting up. “We have quite forgotten ourselves.”