“BIRNSDORF!” said the Princess.
There was no answer. Truth to tell, poor Countess Birnsdorf was dozing in an uncomfortable high-backed chair in the great drawing-room, where she had remained during Cyril’s interview with her mistress, after delivering a softened version of the latter’s message to Princess Soudaroff. Her knitting and her spectacles were left behind in the anteroom beyond the boudoir, where Captain Roburoff was improving the shining hour in a way that would have made her hair stand on end had she known of it, and the low murmur of voices from the intervening room had lulled her to sleep. The imperious tone in which the Princess repeated her summons reached her ears, however, and she made her appearance, full of apologies, at the inner door. The Princess was sitting at the table, her head supported pensively upon her hand.
“If Count Mortimer should present himself here again, Birnsdorf, remember that I will not receive him,” she said.
“No, madame?” hazarded the Countess, consumed with curiosity. It was evident that the crisis which every member of the household had been anticipating, although the Princess had apparently been blind to its approach, had come; but how, and with what result?
“He would scarcely venture to show himself,” pursued the Princess, meditatively, “but one can never tell. And exciting scenes of the kind are too much for me. Positively, I cannot stand them. I am too tender-hearted.”
“Indeed, madame, it has made you look frightfully ill.” Countess Birnsdorf was horrified by the strained paleness of her mistress’s face. “You will permit me to summon a physician? No?” Then, her indignation increasing as the Princess shook her head with the smile of a martyr, “I could never have believed that Count Mortimer would forget himself so far as to persist in a conversation disagreeable to your Highness, even if he had the bad taste to enter upon it.”
“Ah, when these self-restrained men have once lost control of themselves, there is no holding them. Did you see the poor man go out, Birnsdorf?”
“No, madame. I am certain he did not pass through the drawing-room.”
“Oh no, of course. I allowed him to escape by the private stair. One does not wish to subject to public humiliation a man who is already unhappy, even though it is by his own fault.”
“Ah, madame, in presence of your angelic kindness, I do not wonder that the unhappy nobleman forgot himself.”
“Nonsense, Birnsdorf! You are a sad flatterer,” with pathetic sweetness. “Where is Lida?”
“I believe her Highness is walking in the gardens with Mlle. Delacroix, madame,” replied the Countess, with a perceptible sniff. The elderly Frenchwoman who had been Princess Lida’s governess, and was now her chosen confidant, played the part of Mordecai to Countess Birnsdorf’s Haman.
“Beg her to come to me when she returns to the house. I have something important to say to her.” The lady-in-waiting departed, and the Princess, finding herself alone, threw aside the mask for a moment. Her right hand clenched itself involuntarily, the left was pressed upon her heart as she rose and paced the room.
“Yes,” she said to herself, “I will be prudent. I cannot afford to fail again. Lida must be safely married, or I shall lose my only chance of returning to power. I must have some standing-ground from which to move my world—a recognised position in some country or other. But as soon as I am sure of my footing—then, Count, look to yourself! You shall not return to Ernestine. You may scorn me if you like, but she shall not have you. I will track you step by step when you try to slink back to her, and, when you think you have won her, I will come between you. I can tell her a few little truths that will place you in a new light, my dear Count!”
She laughed mirthlessly, and returned with a swift step to her seat at the table as she heard her daughter crossing the anteroom. There was a pretty mixture of triumph and girlish timidity in Princess Lida’s manner as she came into the room, and her shining eyes and rose-flushed cheeks were eloquent of shy happiness. At any other time her mother’s eagle glance would have perceived the change immediately, but now the Princess was too much engrossed with her own thoughts to observe it.
“Ah, Lida!” she said. “I wanted to tell you that I think it advisable to hasten on your wedding a little. It will be a year next month since your father died, and there is no reason why you should not be married the month after.”
“Oh, mamma!” faltered Princess Lida, in dire dismay. “Michael is such a boy,” she explained, recovering herself.
“He will be nineteen then. Many kings have been younger when they married.”
“But he is so—so disagreeable. You know, when I have complained to you of his behaviour, you have always said he would undergo a change and become quite different before we were married; but he hasn’t done anything of the kind yet. Lately he has been worse than ever.”
“Well, you will have the pleasure of superintending his reformation yourself. You are not the girl I think you if you can’t make him treat you with proper respect.”
“Oh, I am not afraid of that.” Princess Lida raised her dark head proudly. “But, mamma, I don’t see any reason for being in such a hurry. I don’t care to be married just yet.”
“My dear child, you talk as if you had only to hold up your finger and Michael would come whenever you chose to claim him. But that is not the case. He would be little Philippa’s bridegroom now if she would have taken him.”
“I only wish she had!”
“Lida, this is childish. Michael can give you a crown, and you don’t find crowns hanging on every bush. The eligible princes of Europe are not contending for the light of your beaux yeux, my dear—far from it. You must take what you can get, or you will end by getting nothing.”
“It’s very hard,” pouted Princess Lida, “that the only person I can get should be so horrid. Bettine had no trouble of this kind. Look how devoted Albrecht is to her.”
“I know he is, my dear child; but that can’t be helped. Bettine’s marriage was arranged for her just as yours was, and we could not tell how differently Michael and Albrecht would turn out. Of course circumstances were more favourable at the time of her wedding. Your father’s death, and your brother’s unkind behaviour in depriving us of a home, place us in a difficult position at present, and Michael does not show the consideration he might. But for your comfort, Lida, I will say this. Michael is one of the most pliable men I know, if you take him the right way. Once get rid of his present companions, and make yourself necessary to him, and he will be your devoted slave as long as you take care not to pull the chain too tight.”
“I should like to snap it at once. I don’t want to marry him. Mamma, you married for love, didn’t you?”
“My dear Lida!” The Princess was shocked. “Who has been talking to you of such things? You have picked up a wrong idea, of course. What really happened was only that when my father chose to turn against the lover whom he had himself recommended to me, I did not.”
“I knew that was it! And you married him?”
“I did; but then, you see, we had been allowed to fall in love with one another. I have taken care that there should be no complication of the sort in your case.”
“But Bettine and Albrecht love one another.”
“My dear child, pray don’t cavil. I mean, of course, that I have taken care you should have no chance of falling in love with any one but the man you are to marry.”
“But he doesn’t love me.”
“You are becoming a little tiresome, Lida. There were unfortunate circumstances which obliged me to hasten on your betrothal before Michael had perceived the nature of his feeling for you, and unhappily he resents being bound, as he considers it. But I have already said that you will be able to set things right as soon as you are married, if you go the right way to work.”
“But, mamma, you say you were right in disobeying your father because it was for your lover’s sake. If I had a lover, mamma——?” She came forward a little with clasped hands, and her eyes rested entreatingly on her mother’s face. The Princess laughed coldly.
“Don’t imagine impossibilities, my dear child. You have no lover—could not have one without my knowledge, and I have no intention of allowing you such a luxury. You will marry Michael two months hence, and I shall write to him to-day to make arrangements. The letter will take some time, for I must be careful how I put things. That equerry of his had better wait until to-morrow before returning, Czartoriski and he must amuse one another.”
“We were thinking of a ride this afternoon,” suggested Princess Lida meekly. Her mother nodded assent.
“That will do very well. By the bye, Lida, if you should come across Count Mortimer, you need not speak to him. Bow, of course, but nothing more.”
“Yes, mamma. Has he done anything?” Princess Lida’s eyes were dancing.
“Count Mortimer has thought fit to lose sight of the difference between his position and mine, and address me in a very strange way. That is all.”
It was enough for Princess Lida, who never dreamt of regarding Cyril as anything but an unhappy victim of her mother’s charms. She told the story with great glee to Mlle. Delacroix, and Mlle. Delacroix retailed it to a compatriot who was visiting the baths. Since every one at Ludwigsbad takes a childlike and unabashed interest in every one else’s affairs, it was known by the evening from one end of the little town to the other that Count Mortimer had conceived a romantic adoration for the Princess of Dardania—and had declared it to its object! Coming so soon after the revelations put forth by Dr Texelius, the story met with instant and universal acceptance, and there were only a few people who remarked that Count Mortimer must have been playing for very high stakes when he allowed himself to appear such a fool. Mansfield had been spending the afternoon at one of the shooting-galleries, where the gilded youth of both sexes were wont to consume much valuable time in massacring little wooden soldiers by means of air-guns. Here he heard the tale, and returned to the hotel with a settled gloom on his countenance such as even the fact of Philippa’s departure had been insufficient to produce.
“Why so sad, gentle youth?” asked Cyril, catching sight of his face.
“They are saying all over the place that the Princess of Dardania has—has given you the sack, Count,” said Mansfield tragically.
“They are—are they? Really there’s something positively demoniacal about that woman’s cleverness! And you, Mansfield, you—try to comfort me in my misery with the assurance that my sad plight is known all over the town!”
“It’s not true?” burst from Mansfield.
“Since the Princess has spread the report, she must intend it to be believed. Is it for me to contradict a lady? Rather let me study how best to corroborate her assertion. I must go to dinner in a Norfolk jacket, I suppose, and neglect my appearance generally. If Dietrich could only be induced to forget to shave me! But perhaps it would be just as effective if I let my moustache droop for a day or two. What do you say, Mansfield? You will look disconsolate too, of course—in fact, you are doing it already—but you will wear your rue with a difference. The Confidant is only allowed to go mad in white linen, you know. Tilburina’s white satin must be reserved for me.”
“But the Princess has given orders that you are to be refused admission if you try to see her.”
“Oh, that’s what is afflicting you, is it? Make your mind easy; I have no intention whatever of trying to see the Princess.”
“But will you let her go on spreading these lies about you?”
“Why not, if it pleases her? They are telling worse lies about me all over Europe, and it does me no harm. You and the Chevalier Goldberg seem to take these things to heart much more than I do. By the bye, mind you show up when the Chevalier arrives to-morrow. He wants to speak to you.”
The Chevalier’s reason for wishing to see Mansfield was made clear on his arrival the next day, when the unwilling secretary found himself invested with a gold watch and chain of surpassing magnificence. The watch was decorated with an inscription to the effect that it was a slight token of admiration and gratitude for Mansfield’s bravery in saving Count Mortimer’s life, and the chain carried a small fortune in the way of charms, which puzzled the recipient not a little. The Chevalier had originally intended his testimonial of gratitude to take the form of a diamond ring of the size and lustre commonly seen only on South African mine-owners and the monarchs of high finance, but on consulting Cyril he found that such an ornament in Mansfield’s possession would never see the light of day, and with reluctance chose instead the best watch that money could buy. He had taken a great fancy to Mansfield, purely on Cyril’s account, and he dismissed him now with an assurance of future favour which would have driven one of his own nation wild with joy. Mansfield, who was English, and failed to appreciate properly the power which the Chevalier possessed in right of his millions, received the promise without any particular emotion, and went out for a mountain walk. Left alone together, the Chevalier and Cyril turned their attention to business. They spoke in English, for the Chevalier was proud of his proficiency in that language, and liked to keep himself in practice.
“Well, have you come to tell me that I am the best-execrated man in Europe?” asked Cyril.
“If dere was such noose to tell you, I would not be de men to do it,” was the quick response. “No, my frient, de storm is passed ofer your head like water off a duck’s beck.”
Cyril smiled involuntarily. “This is extremely gratifying, Chevalier. You think Texelius has overreached himself, then?”
“Undoubtedly. You know he was placed on de board off manachement off de United Nation? Well, de directors met yesterday, and expelled him, solely on account of his atteck on you.”
“But that was purely your doing, of course.”
“Not at all. Dere were some det took your side from de first, and de rest came ofer to it ess soon ess dey heard off your confersation wid de Emperor about Prince Franz Immanuel. Dey saw at once det you hed been foolink de Scythians all de time dey thought dey were foolink you, and det it was not you, but de mysterious lady, who hed been deceifed in de metter.”
“But how did the Franz Immanuel business come out?”
“I saw to det, my frient. Dere was an inspired paragreph in all de Findobona papers yesterday which related de fects.”
“I am sorry you did that, Chevalier. If the proposal has become public, it means that there is no hope of getting it adopted.”
“Dere nefer wass any,” said the Chevalier calmly. “I hed sent an achent to sound de Prince’s parents, and dey would not hear off his goink to Pelestine. Dey mean him to merry de young Queen of Frisia.”
“Another check!” cried Cyril. “I thought we were on firm ground at last. Then my journey to Vindobona was all for nothing?”
“By no means, Count. De proposal may hef failed, but at least it safed you first. It was so netural and so suitable det no one could beliefe de story off Texelius. Herschel Rubenssohn, whom I met passink through Vindobona, hess written a great article on de subchect in my paper, which I hef wid me, and you shell see it. Transferrink his republican fiews to you, he says det de nobility off your cheracter and aims would prefent you from efer dessirink to make yourself a prince.”
“It is dangerous to dogmatise,” said Cyril gravely. “If Palestine was offered me by a unanimous vote of the Powers, I fear all Mr Rubenssohn’s pledges on my behalf would not make me refuse it.”
The Chevalier smiled, but wistfully. “Ah, my frient, why were you not born a prince—efen a Cherman princelink?” he said.
“Probably because Europe would have been too small to hold me. Now, pray, Chevalier, no hankering after impossibilities.”
“You might efen now become a confert to Rome, and buy a dukedom from de Fatican,” suggested the financier, with the uneasy smile of a man experimenting on the edge of a slumbering volcano. “De money iss et your serfice, and wid de Chews supportink you on one side and de Chesuits on de oder, not efen Scythia could hope to keep you out of Pelestine.”
“Ah, if I could take you over to Rome with me, there might be something in the idea,” responded Cyril instantly. “The Goldberg millions would be welcome indeed at the Papal Court. But without them—— No, Chevalier, it won’t do. And what has happened to Texelius?”
“He retains de direction off de colonisink scheme, but he hess lost his influence in our cheneral councils,” replied the Chevalier, accepting the change of subject obediently and gratefully. “Det will allow Koepfle to come to de front—a better men off business, dough widout de European lustre off Texelius, and one det hess nefer yet receifed de full recognition he desserfes. It was from an idea off his det I gained de first notion off foundink our Syndicate, in order to help to completion de schemes he hed outlined. We shell do better now den before, I think.”
“When do you expect to get your concession?” asked Cyril suddenly.
“Fery soon,” replied the Chevalier. “It may be two—three days, det iss all.”
“And when you have got it, you will have no need of me for a month or so? I want a holiday. A trip to Syria would do me good, I think.”
“To Syria? to Pelestine, you mean. Ah, my frient, you hef a plen! You will not hide it from me? De Goldberg millions are all et your serfice. You intend to make yourself master off de Land by a coup de main?”
“My dear Chevalier, I don’t intend anything of the kind. I am quite in earnest in saying that the governorship is out of my reach. My visit would be purely private and unofficial. You may call it a pilgrimage if you like, although the saint whose shrine I have in view is alive and not dead.”
“You would not deceife your frient?—dough I shell not be engry if I hear you hef esteblished yourself dere. I know your prudence, Count. But you will not be lonk away? Our affairs in Europe will go to ruin widout you.”
“I don’t expect to be long, but it depends on the success I may meet with. If others get before me, I shall have a poor chance. But business first, Chevalier. If you need me in Europe, I won’t go.”
“My frient, if dis fissit iss for your adfantache or pleassure, you shell go whatefer heppens. Dere iss always the telegreph by which I may consult you.”
In the fulness of his generosity, the Chevalier proceeded to develop a plan by which a staff of operators with a field telegraph were to follow Cyril from place to place, so as to keep him always in touch with the European headquarters of the Jewish movement. His schemes were interrupted by the arrival of a telegram in cipher, which he read to Cyril with triumph in his tones: “Czarigrad. You are wanted here. Concession will probably issue to-morrow or next day.”
“It iss well,” said the Chevalier. “To-night I leafe for Czarigrad. I return wid de concession, den you start for Pelestine. One confersation we must hef first, to settle our line off ection in future.”
“All right,” said Cyril, and the financier departed. On his return from his walk, the astonished Mansfield was desired to hold himself in readiness for a journey to Syria, which might become necessary at any time within the next month. No explanation was given, but he attributed the probable necessity to the business of the Syndicate, and having made his preparations, awaited placidly the summons to start.