One usually has breakfast on the porch of the Hotel Schweizerhof at Interlaken. It is not the most fashionable hostelry in the quaint little town at the head of the Lake of Thun, but it is of an excellent character, and the rolls and honey to be had with one's breakfast can not be surpassed in the Bernese Oberland. Straight ahead lies one of the most magnificent prospects in all the world: an unobstructed view of the snow-thatched Jungfrau, miles away, gleaming white and jagged against an azure sky, suggesting warmth instead of chill, grandeur instead of terror. Looking up the valley one might be led to say that an hour's ramble would take him to the crest of that shining peak, and yet some men have made a life's journey of it. Others have turned back in time. One has a whiff of fragrant woodlands and serene hay-cocks, a breath of cool air from the Jungfrau's snows, a sniff of delectable bacon and toast—and a zest for breakfast. And one sets about it with interest, with the breakfast of the next day as a thing to look forward to. R. Schmidt sat facing the dejected Boske Dank. His eyes were dancing with the joy of living, and nothing better can be said of a man's character than that he is gay and happy at breakfast-time. He who wakes up, refreshed and buoyant, and eager for the day's adventure, is indeed a child of nature. He will never grow old and crabbed; he will grip the hand of death when the time comes with the unconquered zeal that makes the grim reaper despise himself for the advantage he takes of youth. "Well, here we are and in spite of that, where are we?" said Dank, who saw nothing beautiful in the smile of any early morn. "I mean to say, what have we to show for our pains? We sneak into this Godforsaken hamlet, surrounded on all sides by abominations in the shape of tourists, and at the end of twenty-four hours we discover that the fair Miss Guile has played us a shabby trick. I daresay she is laughing herself sick over the whole business." "Which is more than you can say for yourself, Boske," said Robin blithely. "Brace up! All is not lost. We'll wait here a day or two longer and then—well, I don't know what we'll do then." "She never intended to come here at all," said Dank, filled with resentment. "It was a trick to get rid of us. She—" "Be honest, old chap and say that it was a trick to get rid of me. Us is entirely too plural. But I haven't lost heart. She'll turn up yet." "Count Quinnox is in despair over this extraordinary whim of yours, highness. He is really ill in bed this morning. I—" "I'll run up and see him after breakfast," cried the Prince, genuinely concerned. "I'm sorry he is taking it so seriously." "He feels that we should be at home instead of dawdling about the—" "That reminds me. Dank," broke in the Prince, fresh happiness in his smile; "I've decided that home is the place for you and the Count—and Gourou too. I'm perfectly able to take care of myself,—with some assistance from Hobbs,—and I don't see any necessity for you three to remain with me any longer. I'll tell the Count that you all may start for Vienna tonight. You connect with the Orient express at—" "Are you mad, highness?" cried Dank, startled out of his dejection. "What you speak of is impossible—utterly impossible. We cannot leave you. We were delegated to escort you—" "I understand all of that perfectly, Dank," interrupted Robin, suddenly embarrassed, "but don't you see how infernally awkward it will be for me if Miss Guile does appear, according to plan? She will find me body-guarded, so to speak, by three surly, scowling individuals whose presence I cannot explain to save my soul, unless I tell the truth, and I'm not yet ready to do that. Can't you see what I mean? How am I to explain the three of you? A hawk-eyed triumvirate that camps on my trail from morn till night and refuses to budge! She'll suspect something, old fellow, and—well, I certainly will feel more comfortable if I'm not watched for the next few days." "That's the point, highness. You've just got to be watched for the next few days. We would never dare to show our faces in Graustark again if we allowed anything to happen to you while you are under our care. You are a sacred charge. We must return you to Graustark as—er—inviolate as when you departed. We—we couldn't think of subjecting you to the peril of a—that is to say, it might prove fatal. Graustark, in that event, would be justified in hanging two of her foremost citizens and yours truly from gibbets designed especially for the blackest of traitors." "I see, Dank. If I find happiness, you are almost sure to find disgrace and death, eh? It doesn't seem a fair division, does it? I suppose you all feel that the worst thing that can possibly happen is for me to find happiness." "If I were the Prince of Graustark I should first think of the happiness of my subjects. I would not offend." "Well put, Boske, but fortunately you are not the Prince. I sometimes wish that you were. It would relieve me of a tremendous responsibility. I am not mean enough, however, to wish a crown upon you, old fellow. You are lucky to be who and what you are. No one cares what you do, so long as you are honourable about it. With me it is different. I have to be watched day and night in order to be kept from doing what all the rest of the world looks upon as honourable." "I implore you, highness, to give up this mad enterprise and return to your people as—" "There is only one person in the world who can stop me now, Dank." "And she isn't likely to do so, worse luck," was the other's complaint. "When she tells me to go about my business, I'll go, but not until then. Don't you like honey, Dank?" "No," said Dank savagely. "I hate it." He leaned back in his chair and glowered upon the innocent, placid Jungfrau. The Prince ate in silence. "May I be permitted a question, highness?" "All you like, Boske. You are my best friend. Go ahead." "Did you see Miss Guile after that visit to St. Cloud—and to the police station?" "No. Evidently she was frightened out of her boots by the Hawkshaws. I don't blame her, do you?" "And you've had no word from her?" "None. Now you are going to ask what reason I have for believing that she will come to Interlaken. Well, I can't answer that question. I think she'll come, that's all." "Do you think she is in love with you?" "Ah, my dear fellow, you are asking me to answer my own prayer," said Robin, without a sign of resentment in his manner. "I'm praying that she isn't altogether indifferent. By the way, it is my turn to ask questions. Are you still in love with her?" "I am proud to say that you are more in my prayers that she," said Dank, with a profound sigh. "Nothing could please me more than to be the one to save my prince from disaster, even if it meant the sacrifice of self. My only prayer is that you may be spared, sir, and I taken in your place." "That was a neat answer, 'pon my soul," cried the Prince admiringly. "You—Hello, who is this approaching? It is no other than the great Gourou himself, the king of sleuths, as they say in the books I used to read. Good morning, Baron." The sharp-visaged little Minister of Police came up to the table and fixed an accusing eye upon his sovereign,—the literal truth, for he had the other eye closed in a protracted wink. "I regret to inform your majesty that the enemy is upon us," he said. "I fear that our retreat is cut off. Nothing remains save—" "She has arrived?" cried the Prince eagerly. "She has," said the Baron. "Bag and baggage, and armed to the eyes. Each eye is a gatling-gun, each lip a lunette behind which lies an unconquerable legion of smiles and rows of ivory bayonets, each ear a hardy spy, and every nut-brown strand a covetous dastard on the warpath not for a scalp but for a crown. Napoleon was never so well prepared for battle as she, nor Troy so firmly fortified. Yes, highness, the foe is at our gates. We must to arms!" "Where is she?" demanded Robin, unimpressed by this glowing panegyric. "At this instant, sir, I fancy she is rallying her forces in the very face of a helpless mirror. In other words, she is preparing for the fray. She is dressing." "The devil! How dare you pry into the secret—" "Abhorrent thought! I deduce, nothing more. Her maid loses herself in the halls while attempting to respond to the call for re-inforcements. She accosts a gentleman of whom she inquires the way. The gentleman informs her she is on the third, not the second etage, and she scurries away simpering, but not before confiding to me—the aforesaid gentleman—that her mistress will give her fits for being late with her hair, whatever that may signify. So, you see, I do not stoop to keyholes but put my wits to work instead." "When did she arrive?" "She came last night via Milan." "From Milan?" cried Robin, astonished. "A roundabout way, I'll admit," said the Baron, drily, "and tortuous in these hot days, but admirably suited to a purpose. I should say that she was bent on throwing some one off the track." "And yet she came!" cried the Prince, in exultation. "She wanted to come, after all, now didn't she, Dank?" He gave the lieutenant a look of triumph. "She is more dangerous than I thought," said the guardsman mournfully. "Sit down, Baron," commanded the Prince. "I want to lay down the law to all of you. You three will have to move on to Graustark and leave me to look out for myself. I will not have Miss Guile—" "No!" exclaimed the Baron, with unusual vehemence. "I expected you to propose something of the kind, and I am obliged to confess to you that we have discussed the contingency in advance. We will not leave you. That is final. You may depose us, exile us, curse us or anything you like, but still we shall remain true to the duty we owe to our country. We stay here, Prince Robin, just so long as you are content to remain." Robin's face was very red. "You shame me, Baron," he said simply. "I am sorry that I spoke as I did. You are my friends, my loyal friends, and I would have humbled you in the eyes of my people. I beg your pardon, and yours, Boske. After all, I am only a prince and a prince is dependent on the loyalty of such as you. I take back all that I said." The Baron laid a kindly hand on the young man's shoulder. "I was rough, highness, in my speech just now, but you will understand that I was moved to—" "I know, Baron. It was the only way to fetch me up sharp. No apology is required. God bless you." "Now I have a suggestion of my own to offer," said the Baron, taking a seat at the end of the table. "I confess that Miss Guile may not be favourably impressed by the constant attendance of three able-bodied nurses, and, as she happens to be no fool, it is reasonably certain that she will grasp the significance of our assiduity. Now I propose that the Count, Dank and myself efface ourselves as completely as possible during the rest of our enforced stay in Interlaken. I propose that we take quarters in another hotel and leave you and Hobbs to the tender mercies of the enemy. It seems to me that—" "Good!" cried Robin. "That's the ticket! I quite agree to that, Baron." Dank was prepared to object but a dark look from Gourou silenced him. "I've talked it over with the Count and he acquiesces," went on the Baron. "We recognise the futility of trying to induce you to leave at once for Graustark, and we are now content to trust Providence to watch over and protect you against a foe whose motives may in time become transparent, even to the blind." The irony in the remark was not lost on Robin. He flushed angrily but held his tongue. Ten o'clock found the three gentlemen,—so classified by Hobbs,—out of the Schweizerhof and arranging for accommodations at the Regina Hotel Jungfraublick, perched on an eminence overlooking the valley and some distance removed from the temporary abode of the Prince. Their departure from the hotel in the Hoheweg was accomplished without detection by Miss Guile or her friends, and, to all intents and purposes, Robin was alone and unattended when he sat down on the porch near the telescope to await the first appearance of the enchanting foe. He was somewhat puzzled by the strange submissiveness of his companions. Deep down in his mind lurked the disquieting suspicion that they were conniving to get the better of the lovely temptress by some sly and secret bit of strategy. What was back of the wily Baron's motive? Why were they now content to let him take the bit in his teeth and run wherever he would? What had become of their anxiety, their eagerness to drag him off to Graustark by the first train? There was food for reflection in the tranquil capitulation of the defenders. Were they acting under fresh instructions from Edelweiss? Had the Prime Minister directed them to put no further obstacle in front of the great Blithers invasion? Or—and he scowled darkly at the thought—was there a plan afoot to overcome the dangerous Miss Guile by means more sinister than subtle? Enlightenment came unexpectedly and with a shock to his composure. He had observed the three spirited saddlehorses near the entrance of the hotel, in charge of two stable-boys, but had regarded them only as splendid specimens of equine aristocracy. It had not entered his mind to look upon them as agents of despair. Two people emerged from the door and, passing by without so much as a glance in his direction, made their way to the mounting block. Robin's heart went down to his boots. Bedelia, a graceful figure in a smart riding habit, was laughing blithely over a soft-spoken remark that her companion had made as they were crossing the porch. And that companion was no other than the tall, good-looking fellow who had met her at Cherbourg! The Prince, stunned and incredulous, watched them mount their horses and canter away, followed by a groom who seemed to have sprung up from nowhere. "Good morning, Mr. Schmidt," spoke a voice, and, still bewildered, he whirled, hat in hand, to confront Mrs. Gaston. "Did I startle you?" He bowed stiffly over the hand she held out for him to clasp, and murmured something about being proof against any surprise. The colour was slowly returning to his face, and his smile was as engaging as ever despite the bitterness that filled his soul. Here was a pretty trick to play on a fellow! Here was a slap in the face! "Isn't it a glorious morning? And how wonderful she is in this gorgeous sunlight," went on Mrs. Gaston, in what may be described as a hurried, nervous manner. "I had the briefest glimpse of her," mumbled Robin. "When did she come?" "Centuries and centuries ago, Mr. Schmidt," said she, with a smile. "I was speaking of the Jungfrau." "Oh!" he exclaimed, flushing. "I thought you—er—yes, of course! Really quite wonderful. I have heard it said that she never removes her night-cap, but always greets the dawn in spotless—ahem! Of course you understand that I am speaking of the Jungfrau," he floundered. "Naturally, Mr. Schmidt. And so you came, after all. We were afraid you might have concluded to alter your plans. Miss Guile will be delighted." He appeared grateful for the promise. "I have been here for three days, Mrs. Gaston. You were delayed in leaving Paris?" "Yes," she said, and changed the subject. "The riding is quite good, I understand. They are off for Lauterbrunnen." "I see," said he. "There is a splendid inn there, I am told." "They will return here for luncheon, of course," she said, raising her eyebrows slightly. His heart became a trifle lighter at this. "Mr. White is a lifelong friend and acquaintance of the family," she volunteered, apropos of nothing. "Oh, his name is White?" with a quiet laugh. "If you have nothing better to do, Mr. Schmidt, why not come with me to the Kursaal? The morning concert will begin shortly, and I—" "I think you will find that the band plays in the square across the way, Mrs. Gaston, and not in the Casino. At least, that has been the programme for the last two mornings." "Nevertheless, there is a concert at the Casino today," she informed him. "Will you come?" "Gladly," he replied, and they set off for the Kursaal. He found seats in the half-empty pavillion and prepared to listen to the music, although his real interest was following the narrow highway to Lauterbrunnen—and the Staubbach. "This is to be a special concert given at the request of the Grand Duke who, I hear, is leaving this afternoon for Berne." "The Grand Duke? I was not aware of the presence of royalty," said he in surprise. "No? He has been here for three days, but at another hotel. The Grand Duke Paulus and his family, you know." Robin shot a swift, apprehensive glance about the big enclosure, sweeping the raised circle from end to end. On the opposite side of the pavillion he discovered the space reserved for the distinguished party. Although he was far removed from that section he sank deeper into his chair and found one pretext after another to screen his face from view. He did know the Grand Duke Paulus and the Grand Duke knew him, which was even more to the point. The Prince of Graustark had been a prime favourite of the great man since his knickerbocker days. Twice as a boy he had visited in the ducal palace, far distant from Graustark, and at the time of his own coronation the Grand Duke and his sons had come to the castle in Edelweiss for a full month's stay. They knew him well and they would recognise him at a glance. At this particular time the last thing on earth that he desired was to be hailed as a royal prince. Never, in all his life, had he known the sun to penetrate so brightly into shadows as it did to-day. He felt that he was sitting in a perfect glare of light and that every feature of his face was clear to the most distant observer. He was on the point of making an excuse to leave the place when the ducal party came sauntering down the aisle on their way to the reserved section. Every one stood up, the band played, the Grand Duke bowed to the right and to the left, and escape was cut off. Robin could only stand with averted face and direct mild execrations at the sunlight that had seemed so glorious at breakfast-time. "He is a splendid-looking man, isn't he?" Mrs. Gaston was saying. She was gazing in rapt admiration upon the royal group. "He is, indeed," said Robin, resolutely scanning a programme, which he continued to hold before his face. When he sat down again, it was with his back to the band. "I don't like to watch the conductors," he explained. "They do such foolish things, you know." Mrs. Gaston was eyeing him curiously. He was bitterly conscious of a crimson cheek. In silence they listened to the first number. While the applause was at its height, Mrs. Gaston leaned forward and said to him: "I am afraid you are not enjoying the music, Mr. Schmidt. What is on your mind?" He started. "I—I—really, Mrs. Gaston, I am enjoying it. I—" "Your mind has gone horse-back riding, I fear. At present it is between here and Lauterbrunnen, jogging beside that roaring little torrent that—" "I don't mind confessing that you are quite right," said he frankly. "And I may add that the music makes me so blue that I'd like to jump into that roaring torrent and—and swim out again, I suppose," he concluded, with a sheepish grin. "You are in love." "I am," he confessed. She laid her hand upon his. Her eyes were wide with eagerness. "Would it drive away the blues if I were to tell you that you have a chance to win her?" He felt his head spinning. "If—if I could believe that—that-" he began, and choked up with the rush of emotion that swept through him. "She is a strange girl. She will marry for love alone. Her father is determined that she shall marry a royal prince. That much I may confess to you. She has defied her father, Mr. Schmidt. She will marry for love, and I believe it is in your power to awaken love in that adorable heart of hers. You—" "For God's sake, Mrs. Gaston, tell me—tell me, has she breathed a word to you that—" "Not a single word. But I know her well. I have known her since she was a baby, and I can read the soul that looks out through those lovely eyes. Knowing her so well, I may say to you—oh, it must be in the strictest confidence!—that you have a chance. And if you win her love, you will have the greatest treasure in all the world. She—but, look! The Grand Duke is leaving. He—" "I don't care what becomes of the Grand Duke," he burst out. "Tell me more. Tell me how you look into her soul, and tell me what you see—" "Not now, sir. I have said enough. I have given you the sign of hope. It remains with you to make the most of it." "But you—you don't know anything about me. I may be the veriest adventurer, the most unworthy of all—" "I think, Mr. Schmidt, that I know you pretty well. I do not require the aid of Diogenes' lantern to see an honest man. I am responsible for her welfare. She has been placed under my protection. For twenty years I have adored her. I am not likely to encourage an adventurer." "I must be honest with you, Mrs. Gaston," he said suddenly. "I am not—" She held up her hand. "Mr. Totten has informed me that you are a life-long friend of Mrs. Truxton King. I cabled to her from Paris. There is no more to be said." His face fell. "Did she tell you—everything?" "She said no more than that R. Schmidt is the finest boy in all the world." Suddenly her face paled. "You are never—never to breathe a word of this to—to Bedelia," she whispered. "But her father? What will he say to—" "Her father has said all that can be said," she broke in quietly. "He cannot force her to marry the man he has selected. She will marry the man she loves. Come now! Let us go. I am tired of the music." "Thank you, thank you, Mrs. Gaston," he cried, with shining eyes. "God bless you!" She gave him a queer look. "You must not think that your task is an easy one," she said meaningly. "There are other men in the world, you know."
|