  Colonel Moore went slowly up the steps and into the room, through the half open door of which he saw the Archduke standing, with chin on breast and back to the fireplace. He looked up, as the Adjutant paused at the threshold, and nodded for him to come in. “Ordinarily it would be proper now for us to have a good, stiff drink, may be several of them,” he remarked, “but the only kind that fits this situation, so far as I’m concerned, is straight whisky, and I don’t believe this cursed place can supply it.” “Quite right; it can’t,” said Moore; “I tried the other day—won’t anything else do?” “No—nothing else; and it’s just as well I can’t get the whisky; I may need a clear head to night.” “You are not going, sir!” Armand nodded. “Going? of course I’m going—why not? and I only hope I’ll get a chance at my sweet cousin. We promised only to look—to raise no disturbance—and on Spencer’s account it is right enough that we should do nothing to betray her; but if Lotzen get in the way, Colonel, we are not obligated to avoid him.” “Why should Your Highness walk deliberately into the tiger’s lair—when another can go quite as well, and without danger?” Moore protested. The Archduke took a cigarette and tossed the case across to the Adjutant. “Because I’m really hunting the tiger,” he laughed; “and I like excitement in good company—though I fear it will be a very tame affair.” The other shook his head dubiously. “It’s not right, sir, for you to expose yourself so unnecessarily—let me go in command.” “Nonsense, Ralph, you’re getting in Bernheim’s class; quit it. What I wish you would tell me is whether Spencer dropped her veil intentionally or by accident.” “It seemed so accidental it must have been intentional,” said Moore. “If I were sure of it, that would cancel a trifle more of my obligation.” “Her Highness will know—” the Colonel began, and stopped abashed at his blunder. “And so will Mademoiselle d’EssoldÉ,” said Armand. “I may have to depend on you for information.” “Then Your Highness will likely have to get it, yourself,” Moore laughed. “We’re not speaking either, it seems; she let me put her up, because the Regent sent me to her, but—I’m chilly yet. Did you ever notice, sir, how disconcerting it is to think you’re talking to a woman, and then find it’s a mistake and that really you’re talking only to yourself?” The Archduke smiled. “Yes,” said he, “I’ve noticed it; and we may have a rather frigid atmosphere for a few moments this evening until I can explain—we are to dine with Her Highness and Mademoiselle.” “If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll violate propriety and let you arrive first; your explanation will do for both—and besides, I fancy such things are best done À deux.” “You fancy!—you innocent-Irishman-afraid-of-a-woman!” He drew on his gloves. “Come along—put on a brave front and I’ll take you home. Five minutes talk will set matters right.” “If you’re not talking to yourself,” Moore observed. The landlord was awaiting them in distress and trepidation almost pitiful. Such ill luck had not befallen the Inn in all its years of busy life. The Regent and the Governor! It was the end of his favor—the end of the Twisted Pines. To-morrow—may be to-day—would come the police, and the nails would go into the doors, and boards across the windows, and the big gates, that had always swung open at daybreak, would swing no more, and in disgrace and shame he and his would be turned out, with the curt admonition to seek a harbor in another land. He almost dropped as the Archduke’s hand fell on his shoulder. “Scartman,” said he kindly, yet incisively, “doubtless your mind is much too occupied to remember everything that happens here—but let me suggest that it would be well even to make a special effort to forget what has occurred this afternoon. I have known such forgetfulness to merit special reward.” The landlord looked up in bewildered joy. “But Her Highness, sir—she will not——” “Tush, man,” Armand interrupted, “I’ll answer for the Regent.” The old man began to cry, and through his tears he groped for the Archduke’s hand and kissed the gauntlet fervently. “God bless Your Highness!” he said—and was still repeating it when the latter passed the gate. The Archduke rode slowly along the line of Lancers, scrutinizing every man as he went; then motioned the officers to him. “Messieurs,” he said, “my compliments on your troop.—Captain Hertz, you may return to barracks.” Hertz saluted, faced his men and raised his sword. And Armand, galloping down the road, turned in saddle and with his cap answered the wild cheer they sent after him. “Purkitz,” said the Captain, before giving the order to break into column, “now is your opportunity to prove you can actually know something and not tell it.” “And yours also, O wiser than serpents,” the Lieutenant laughed, “to prove you actually do know something that you tell.” But the Archduke had not deemed it necessary to caution either of them; here, even the dullest witted soldier in the Army would have the sense to hold his tongue. Where the road for the Summer Palace took off at the old forge, the Colonel left him, and Armand went on to the Capital. He rode these last few miles at a slow jog, and thoughtfully. It was well enough to treat the matter lightly to Moore, but, none the less, it troubled him. Dehra’s conduct had been so extraordinary for her—who had refused to credit, for an instant, Madeline Spencer’s claim to be his wife, though actually supported by a marriage certificate—that he was puzzled and all sorts of doubts and fears harassed him. It suggested some untoward influence; what he could not imagine, nor how, nor whence it had come; but, even then, everything would be very easy to explain, if she would give him the opportunity, and not, in the natural perversity of a woman, refuse to see him, and so make herself miserable, altogether needlessly. He had yet to learn that sometimes it is well to let a woman inadvertently discipline herself; it is more effective than if the man does it; and usually saves him a vast amount of recrimination. So when he reached the Epsau, he was almost hoping to find a message from the Princess that he was not expected for dinner. But it was not there, nor had it come when he started for the Palace, though he waited until the very last moment. He found Moore pacing the corridor, on watch for him, but with nothing to clear up the situation. “And I’ve spent most of the time since I got back,” he ended, “in prancing up and down here, trying to get a glimpse of Mademoiselle, or some one, who might give me an inkling of the temperature inside—all on your account, sir, of course; I’m getting used to this freezing and thawing process.” “Very good, Colonel, then we will go right in, and you can be thawing while I am explaining—come along, man, come along,” and taking him by the arm they went on down the corridor, and entered the Princess’ small reception room next her boudoir. “Announce us,” said the Archduke to the footman, “but say to Her Highness that I would like a few minutes private speech with her—and to Mademoiselle d’EssoldÉ say that Colonel Moore has a message from me and awaits her here.... I leave that message to your Irish wit,” he remarked, when the servant had gone. But the man was very slow in returning, and presently Moore laughed. “It’s getting chilly,” he observed—“notice it?” The boudoir room swung open and Mlle. d’EssoldÉ came in. “Can’t say I do,” said the Archduke aside, as he acknowledged her curtsy; “looks very charming to me.” She gave the Archduke a smile, Moore a look of indifferent greeting, and then Armand another smile. “My mistress receives Your Highness,” she said, holding back the door; and quite ignoring Moore’s effort, as he sprang forward to relieve her. Under the chandelier, where sixty candles fluttered their mellow light about her, the Regent of Valeria was standing; but her eyes were on the red rose she was slowly pulling apart, nor did she lift them when Armand entered. Having come in a little way, slowly and with purposeful deliberation, he stopped, and leaning on his sword tarried The last petal fell; she plucked another rose—a white one—from her corsage, and looked up. “You may speak, sir,” she said, in voice an impersonal monotone. The Archduke bowed. “I have nothing to say,” he replied. She raised her eye-brows in polite surprise. “I thought you had requested ten minutes private speech with me.” “I did,” said Armand, “but I withdraw the request; explanations are vain, when one has been already judged, and judged unheard.” “One who is taken red-handed can have no explanation that explains,” said she. Then, of a sudden, out flashed the adorable smile, and she laughed, and flung him the white rose. “There, dear,” she said, “there, is your pardon—now, come,” and she held out both hands; “come and forgive me for this afternoon.” And when he had forgiven her, she put him in a chair and perched herself on the arm beside him. “Tell me, Armand,” she said, “are we never to be free of that awful woman?—where did she come from?—how did she happen to be at the Inn?” “And how did I happen to be with her there, you want to know,” he laughed. She nodded. “That more than all—yet I didn’t ask it.” He took out the anonymous letter, which he had remembered to get from Courtney; and when she had read it, he tore it into bits. “Will you have the explanation that explains now or during dinner?” he asked. She sprang up. “I forgot I was hungry! Come we will get Elise and Moore—that girl is a rare coquette; she makes my poor Adjutant’s life very miserable.” “It looks like it!” said Armand opening the door just as Moore caught Mlle. d’EssoldÉ and kissed her, despite her struggles. “I warned you, my lady,” he was saying, “you would tempt me too far some day ... will you forgive me now, or shall I do it all over again?” The Princess laughed. Moore’s arms dropped and he sprang back, while Mlle. d’EssoldÉ, flaming with embarrassment and anger, buried her face in her hands. “Forgive him until after dinner, Elise,” said Dehra; “you can retract then, and resume the situation, if you wish.” “O wise and beneficent ruler!” said Moore, bowing to the ground, “I agree to the compromise.” Mlle. d’EssoldÉ looked at him in contemptuous scorn—though, in truth, she was more inclined to laugh; she never could be angry with her Irishman, for long. “You savage,” she said, “you brutal savage; don’t ever speak to me again.” He stepped forward and offered his arm, with all the suavity he knew so well. “Never again after dinner, mademoiselle,” he said sadly; “meanwhile, the pleasure is mine.” And to his surprise she took his arm; and when the others’ backs were turned, she looked up and smiled, the impudently provoking smile he had suffered under so long, and had at last punished. “My compliments, Monsieur Ralph, on your adroit proficiency,”—and the tone and manner were as provoking as the smile—“it is quite unnecessary to refer to what it proves.” “As much so, as to refer to what enables one to recognize proficiency,” he agreed. “And if all the men I know are like you, sir—” He bent down. “Now that is an inference I’m curious to hear.” “Do you want them to be like you?” she asked, eyes half closed and glances sidelong—“because, if you do, it would be rather easy to oblige you—and may be not unpleasant—and I can begin with His Highness of Lotzen—truly it’s a pity, now, I ruined my frock so needlessly this morning, in the japonica walk;” and giving him no time for reply, she dropped his arm and glided quickly into the chair the bewigged and powdered footman was holding for her. No mention of the Twisted Pines was made until the coffee was being served; then the Princess motioned for the liqueur also to be put on the table, and dismissed the servants. Drawing out her case, and lighting a Nestor, she smiled at the Archduke, and at his nod passed the cigarette across;—and when Colonel Moore looked inquiringly at Mlle. d’EssoldÉ, she shrugged her pretty shoulders and gave him hers. “You know what it implies, Elise,” Dehra remarked.—“No?—then ask Colonel Moore to tell you sometime—now, we’re to hear the explanation that explains—the Tale of the Veiled Lady of the Inn,” and she looked at Armand.... When he had finished, the Princess offered no comment, but frowned and played with her cigarette; and the Archduke, ever glad for any excuse to look at her, and very ready to be silent the better to look, watched her in undisguised devotion. “What’s the plot behind it?” she demanded, suddenly; “I can’t make it out—it’s absurd to fancy that woman honest, though I’m perfectly sure Lotzen has the Book. But why—why should he want to show it to us? Not out of love nor friendship, surely; nor bravado, either; our dear cousin isn’t given to any such weakness. So it must be simply a rather clumsy attempt to lure “Don’t try, my dear,” the Archduke laughed. “We will give you the solution to-morrow.” She laid aside her cigarette, and, folding her arms on the table, surveyed him in displeased surprise. “Surely, Armand, you don’t mean that you are going?” she asked. He nodded, smilingly. “Why not?” he asked—“the Colonel and I, with a few good blades, and the Veiled Lady’s promise to protect us.” “But it’s absurd, perfectly absurd, for you to take such risk. At the best, you are obligated only to look, to make no attempt to-night to recover the Book; and at the worst you can only fight your way out of the trap. In the one case, Colonel Moore can do the looking as well as you—in the other, their plot to kill you will have failed and your substitutes will be given some excuse by Spencer and let go in peace—oh, it’s worse than absurd for you to go, Armand,”—she saw from his expression The Archduke laughed at her indulgently. “May be I am, little girl,” he said; “but I’ve made up my mind to fight this business out myself, and that sends me to the Ferida to-night. I’ll take every precaution——” “Except the proper one of staying away,” she interrupted. “You’re struggling for a Crown, man, and mad rashness has no place in the game. Play it like Lotzen, in the modern way, not like the Middle Ages—he uses its methods, true enough, but lets others execute his plans and face the perils.”—She put out her hand to him.—“Come, dear, be reasonable,” she begged; “be kind; even the wildest idea of leadership does not obligate you to go.” He took her hand and held it, with the firm, soft pressure of abiding affection, looking the while into her fair face, flushed now with the impetuous earnestness of her fear for him. “I think it does, Dehra,” he said gravely. “It is our duty to the country to find the Laws and settle the Succession at the quickest possible moment——” “Yes, it is, but——” “And there are but three in the Kingdom who have ever seen the Book, you and Lotzen and myself; and there must be no question as to its absolute identification, before you as Regent resort to force to recover it—force that may necessitate the taking of the Ferida by assault. Therefore, dear, I must go, for I must see the Book. Assume, just for illustration, that Colonel Moore brings a description that seems to correspond to the Laws; you, as Regent, formally accuse the Duke of Lotzen of having the Book and demand its instant surrender; and upon his indignant denial that he has it, and his offered readiness to have his Palace searched, you order me, as Governor of Dornlitz, to have my rival’s residence invaded and subjected to the ignominy of a mandat de perquisition; or, again, he may deny the Book without demanding a search, and submit to it only under protest; or he may refuse to permit the search and oppose it by force. And whichever the case may be, the Book will not be found—he will take very careful precaution, as to that, you may be sure. And what will my position be then, with the House of Nobles?—when our only explanation, for such fruitless insult, is that some one saw a book, which he described to us, and which we thought was the Laws. Indeed, though it hadn’t occurred to me before, it may be just such a condition that he is playing for——” “But, my dear Armand,” the Princess interrupted, “would it be any advantage even if we could say that you saw it?” “An incalculable advantage, Dehra; I know the Book—there could not be any chance for mistake; and it would then be my word against Lotzen’s, an even break, as it were; whereas, otherwise, it will be his word against our guess. Yet, indeed, in this aspect, it’s very doubtful if we ought to resort to open measures against him, even if I saw the Book. It would be a question for careful consideration and counsel with all our friends—and it is but right that I should be able to assure them that I, myself, saw it, and recognized it beyond a doubt. It’s worth all the danger it may involve; though I don’t anticipate any—the more I think, the more I believe we have solved the riddle. Lotzen wants some one to see the Book—he much prefers it shouldn’t be I; he fancies I will gladly send a substitute; and he takes me for a hot-headed fool, who then will promptly play out for him the rest of his game, landing him on the Throne and myself beyond the border.” The Princess had listened with growing conviction that he was right; now she turned to Moore. “And what is your best judgment?” she asked. “That His Highness has the argument,” was the prompt reply; “and I confess I was hitherto of your mind, and urged him, all I might, to let me go in his stead. Now, I am convinced not only that we should verify Mrs. Spencer’s story, but that the Archduke must do it.” “And because he has seen the Book, and can identify it beyond doubt?” “Exactly that, Your Highness; such identification is vital.” Dehra nodded and sipped her cordial meditatively; while Armand watched her in sudden disquiet; he had seen that look on her face a few times only, and it always presaged some amazing decision that was immutable—and not always to his approval. When she raised her eyes, it was with the conquering smile that he had never yet stood out against for long. “Armand,” said she, “you and Colonel Moore have persuaded me; it is right for you to go, and I’ll go with you——” “What! You!” the Archduke cried—“are you crazy, child?” “Not in the least, dear; only very sensible to your cogent logic—who can identify the Book so well as I, who have known it all my life; you have seen it but once, you know.” “But the danger!” “There isn’t any danger, you said—and if there were, the Regent of Valeria will be the best sort of protector for you.” “But you will have to—go into Madeline Spencer’s apartments—may be remain there half the night,” he protested. “And much more seemly for me than for you, my dear, and much less—tempting.” He joined in her laugh, but shook his head and turned to Moore. “Colonel, will you oblige me by telephoning Mrs. Spencer we shall not be there to-night; word it any way you wish.” “Colonel Moore,” said the Princess sharply, “you will do nothing of the sort. The Regent of Valeria requires the attendance of the Governor of Dornlitz and yourself to the Ferida Palace this night—and in the interval, you both will hold yourselves here in readiness.” Armand would have protested again, but she cut him short with a peremptory gesture. “It is settled,” she said; then added, almost vehemently: “surely, you can’t think I want to see that awful woman!—but it’s the only sure way to block Lotzen’s game. The Nobles will take my word as to the Book—and so will the Army, and the people, too. No, I must go.” |
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