  When the train had crossed the Lorg and the towers of Dornlitz shone far off to the front, the following morning, the Princess sent for the Archduke. “Armand,” said she, “I have been thinking—much of the night, indeed—and I am persuaded that this day will see the end of our quest; don’t smile; wait, wait until the day has passed. Lotzen knows where the Book is—he hasn’t it—he never has had it—he would not have needed a counterfeit if he had; besides, do you fancy he would have left it behind when he went to Lotzenia—or that he would have come back here if he had it with him? If he knows now where the Book is, he has known all along—then why hasn’t he got it? Because it’s been impracticable, no adequate opportunity. Where is the opportunity now that he hasn’t had before?—the Summer Palace—with the Household gone, he can spend a day in it without explanation or interruption—and the King’s suite is vacant. There Adolph hid the Laws—and Lotzen knows where—and they are what he has gone for; that is why he left his Castle night before last, within an hour after me; he realized the false book would The Archduke went over and stood beside her, stroking her fair hair softly with his finger tips. “Sweetheart,” said he, “there is much force in what you say, and you will also remember that Elise d’EssoldÉ saw Lotzen come from the library the day you charged him with killing Adolph and stealing the Book. Yet the answer to it all is, that the entire Palace has been searched and vainly—and the King’s suite torn almost into bits. Hence, under the facts, your theory seems unavailing.” She looked up at him with a half disappointed smile, but with an insistent shake of the head. “You go too far with your facts, dear,” she said; “I, too, thought that every inch of the King’s suite had been searched, but I’ve changed my mind; it hasn’t been—if it had, we would have found the Laws.”—She gave a cry and sprang up. “The box, Armand! the box! the Book’s in it.” He looked at her in amazement. “The box was empty,” he said. “Yes—was! was! but is not now! When did you look in it last?” “At the Council.” “Exactly—so did I—and Adolph brought it to us, lid down and ‘locked,’ she said. Oh, I see it all now:—it wasn’t locked, and he put the Book back in it, and told Lotzen, and Lotzen killed him—and then, when he came for the Book, he found the combination changed—you did it, you know—and as long as Moore was in the suite he could not break the vault; so he lures us all away: if he can kill you, he will be King and can get the Book at his leisure; if he fail, as he has done, then it’s the Laws before we return.” She flung her arms around his neck. “Don’t tell me I’m mistaken, Armand! don’t tell me I’m mistaken!” He held her off, and looked at her in wondering admiration. “Oh woman!” he said, “oh faith, and intuition, and loyalty beyond the stars! No, Dehra, I will not say you are mistaken; I do not know; we will test it. We will go straight to the Palace—you and I, without a word as to our purpose—and we will open the vault, and the box—and if the Laws are in it, yours be the glory.” “And yours the Crown!” she cried, and kissed his hand. Then the train ran into the station and stopped, and the Archduke stepped out and gave his hand to the Princess. The platform was empty save for Count Epping. “Your Royal Highness will pardon the informality of your reception,” the Prime Minister said, when the greetings were over; “I assumed you did not want Lotzen to know of your coming; “Where is he now?” the Princess asked. “At Ferida Palace—he went there last night and has not left it since.” “I think I want him at the Council,” she said; “Colonel Moore, will you and Colonel Bernheim please go and summon him; then follow us at once; and do you, my dear Count, come to me as soon as the Ministers have assembled.” The brougham flashed away, and the Archduke drew down the blinds. Dehra gave a satisfied little sigh and sank back in the corner. “We seem to have beaten him,” she said; “we shall have the first look into the box.” Armand put his arm around her, and drew the fair head to his shoulder. “I have already beaten him,” he said—“we fought first, for you, little girl. A fig for the box, and the Book and the Crown!” At the gate of the Park the Princess signaled to halt, and raised the blind. “Who of the Royal Council have arrived?” she asked the officer on duty. “His Royal Highness the Duke of Lotzen, General Du——” he got no further. “To my private entrance! quick, quick!” she called, and the carriage shot away.... “What does it mean?” she demanded; “Epping said Lotzen had not left the Ferida.” “It means that you have solved the riddle. Lotzen has not come to the Council, he does not even know of it; he has come for the Book.” They drew up at the door, the Archduke opened it with Dehra’s key, and they dashed up stairs. She snatched a master-key from a drawer of her writing table, and they crossed the corridor and entered the King’s suite through the small reception room, between which and the library lay a cabinet and a bedroom. As they entered the latter, treading cautiously, they heard the Duke of Lotzen’s voice in the library, the door of which stood ajar. “It’s a pity to break it,” he was saying, “but——” and there was a snap and crack. Under the Archduke’s hand the door opened noiselessly, and through the narrow rift, between the hangings, they could see within. The Duke, no longer disguised but wearing the undress uniform of his rank, was standing at the large desk; beside him an officer in a long cape and a Cuirassier helmet; and before him the big, black box of the Laws. He had just forced the lock; now he laid back the lid, and took out the Book. “We win, Duchess!” he said, “we win! thanks to your marvellous fingers and quick brain,” and lifting the helmet from Madeline Spencer’s high piled hair, he kissed her ardently. “Not so, cousin!” said the Princess, flinging aside the curtain, “you lose—it is we who win.” For a moment the Duke stood staring, too amazed to speak, and Mrs. Spencer, with a sharp cry, fled to his side; then, as he saw the end of his dream, the passing of his hopes, the fierce and fiery spirit, that was always burning deep in his soul, burst through the gyves of studied equanimity his stern will had imposed. “Not yet!” he cried, “not yet!” and turning quickly he tossed the Book into the big chimney behind him where a wood fire burned. “Come on!” he taunted, flashing out his sword, “come on, cousin Armand!—there’s your crown, come get it!” “Look to the Book, Dehra!” the Archduke called, and sprang at Lotzen, with a joyful smile. “At last!” he said, and the fight began. “Push the Book farther into the fire, Madeline!” the Duke ordered, the words timed to the beat of the steel. Dropping her cape Mrs. Spencer, with the easy hand of a practiced fencer, whipped out the sword she was wearing, in her disguise as an officer, and was speeding to obey, when Dehra caught up one of Colonel Moore’s swords from the corner and rushed upon her. “Guard yourself, Duchess!” Lotzen cried; and she swung around just in time to throw herself between the Princess and the fireplace. Instantly their blades rang together. The Archduke heard, and out of the side of his eye he saw, and his brow wrinkled in anxiety. Spencer was no novice; she, too, he knew, had learned the gentle art of the foils in her youth, and under French maÎtres, and she was not to be despised even by one so skilful as the Regent. He had little doubt that he could kill the Duke, but what profit in it if Dehra died. He hesitated to speak, it might disconcert her, and yet he must warn her. “Watch her play in tierce,” he said, in the most casual tone; and almost shouted for joy, when he heard Dehra’s little laugh, and her voice calm and easy. “Thank you, Armand!” But it very nearly cost him his own life, for in trying to catch a glimpse of her he had loosed his eye-grip, and Lotzen’s point shot out viciously, and only a lucky swing aside sent it scraping along the skin instead of through the neck. “Rather close, cousin!” he remarked. “The next will be closer,” said the Duke softly. “Meanwhile, the Book burns.” But the Archduke did not fall into the trap, and loose the eye-grip a second time. “Let it burn!” he answered, “I’d rather kill you than save it—but I will do both.” “If you can, cousin! if you can—” and the swords rang on. And the Duke was right—the Book was burning, slowly, but burning none the less. His throw had been a trifle short, and instead of being in the heart of the fire it was on the outer edge, where the coals were not so glowing. There the leather and metal cover had protected it for a short while, but now the tiny flames were crawling along the edges, shooting up quick pencils of light that flared ever higher and more frequent. And Dehra caught the gleam when it flashed the brightest, and in a fury of desire she drove at Madeline Spencer. Hitherto she had aimed only to disarm her, now it was the Book at any price. But the American woman’s defense was still impenetrable; defence was her forte—trick, feint, attack, she knew every one, and always her sword blocked them or turned them aside. But there she had stopped; never once had she herself assumed the offensive. She would take no chance of killing the Regent; and she had soon discovered the Regent was not aiming to kill her. But now she felt the change, and she knew that it was a matter of only a little while until she would have to yield or be sped. She could hear Lotzen and the Archduke, at the other end of the room, still fighting as fiercely as at the beginning;—the taunting laugh; the quip given, and returned; the crash of a chair as one of them kicked it away; but all she saw was the flitting steel before her, and the Princess’ glowing eyes. Of a sudden there came a burst of voices, the door toward the Council Chamber was dashed open, and Count Epping rushed in, and all the Ministers behind him. Madeline Spencer drew back and lowered her sword; the Princess sprang to the fire-place and rescued the Book, smothering the flames with the hearth rug; but Lotzen ground out an oath and flung himself with fresh fierceness at the Archduke. At first even the imperturbable Prime Minister had been too astonished to act; now he came slowly forward, his old, lean face aglow with the joy of the combat and the music of the steel. Then he stopped and stood, watching, head slightly forward, lips half parted, eyes shining, fingers playing lovingly over his own hilt. Ah! it was a good fight to look upon; a noble fight, indeed; such masterly sword play he had never seen, nor was ever like to see again; the swift attacks, the fierce rallies, the marvellous agility, the steady eye, the steel wrist. And then, the nerve of him who was losing, and must know it; for Lotzen was losing—surely losing. Twice the Archduke had driven him around the table; now he forced him slowly back ... back ... back ... to the wall ... against it ... tight against it. “Yield, cousin!” he said; “it’s your last chance.” But the Duke only smiled mockingly and fought on. With an appealing cry Madeline Spencer darted toward them. “Spare him, Armand!” she pleaded, “spare him!” The Archduke stepped out of distance, but with point still advanced. “Take him!” he said, “take him, and joy with him!” Ferdinand of Lotzen slowly raised his sword in salute. “My thanks, cousin!” he said, “I can accept from her what I could not from you. You have bested me—the game is over. I shall not be needed at the reading of the decree.—Your Royal Highness—Messieurs of the Council—I bid you fare-well.” He held out his hand to Madeline Spencer. “Come, my Duchess, we will to your Paris and the Rue Royale.—Monsieur le Comte, the door!”—and with all the stately grace and courteous deference of a minuet he led her down the room, and bowed her out, and himself after. There was a moment of silence; then the Archduke spoke. “My lords, the Book of Laws is found, or so much of it as the fire has spared. How we chanced to come upon it here will best be told another time; enough now that but for the daring and quick wit of Her Royal Highness, it would have been forever lost.” He glanced at the clock. “The hour for the Council has already passed. Your Excellency, the Laws are before you, will you do us the favor to read the decree?” The Count stepped forward and lifted the Book from the rug; of the heavy cover little remained but the brass hinges; the first few pages were scorched and half consumed, and all the edges charred and split and eaten into by the flames; but otherwise it seemed to be without hurt. Yet Dehra’s hand went to her heart, and her breath came sharply, as slowly and carefully Epping turned the leaves, holding them together the while, lest they break apart. Was the decree there! Might Lotzen have destroyed it—torn it from the Book, before they came upon him! Then the Count stopped, and bending down read for a moment. When he looked up there was a strange expression on his face; he did not speak at once; and when he did his voice was repressed and almost trembling. “It is here,” he said; “executed the day before King Frederick died. I read it:
For an instant Armand’s brain whirled—then he awoke to Dehra’s hands in his, and her voice in his ear, and the shouts and waving blades of the Ministers. “The ritual, Epping! the ritual!” the Princess cried, and caught up the sword she had tossed aside to rescue the Book—then gasped in wondering fear, as the old Count raised his hand and shook his head. “Wait!” he said; “there is another decree that comes before the ritual. Attend!—
And now the swords were up again, and the Archduke’s with them, and the wild huzza roared through the Palace and far into the Park; and Bernheim and Moore, coming down the corridor, dashed into the library and stopped, amazed; then joined in, knowing that it must mean victory. But Dehra, herself, pale-faced, tear-eyed and trembling, turned and flung her arms around Armand’s neck. “It’s wrong, dear! it’s wrong!” she cried; “you are the King!—you are the Dalberg!” “No, sweetheart, it is right!” he said, releasing her arms, and bowing over her hand until his lips touched it. “Praise God! it is right.” Then he stepped back and flashed his sword above her head; and all the others sprang to meet it, and locked there, a canopy of steel. “Valeria hails the Head of the House of Dalberg as the Queen!” he cried. And from every throat came back the answer: “We hail the Dalberg Queen!” And now the trembling had passed; she looked up at the swords proudly, and stretching out her hand she touched them one by one; but touching Armand’s last—and her eyes sought his, and over her face broke the adorable smile, and she drew down his blade, and kissed it. “Hail, also, to the King!” she said; “your King and mine, my lords!—the King that is to be.” The End BY THE SAME AUTHOR THE COLONEL OF THE A dashing romance, in which appear the same characters as in “The Princess Dehra.”
With three full-page illustrations in color 12mo. Decorated cloth, $1.50 BEATRIX OF CLARE A captivating story, the scenes of which are laid in England at the time of Richard the Third. The heroine, the Countess of Clare, is a beautiful and charming lady of the court, a protÉgÉe of the queen.
With four full-page illustrations in color 12mo. Decorated cloth, $1.50 THE DASHING NOVEL |
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