Her Royal Highness: A Romance of the Chancelleries of Europe

by William Le Queux

her real identity and believing her to bepoor and dependent upon her uncle, had with a Frenchman's proverbialinconstancy returned to his own beloved boulevards?

  From the Princess's attitude he felt convinced that it was so, and hehad, in consequence, become much relieved.

  When Egisto had bowed low and again disappeared, having changed thedishes, Waldron looked across at his pretty companion, and in a voice ofdeeper earnestness, said:

  "May I not be permitted to know the nature of this tragedy? Remember,you alone know the tragedy of my own love. Is yours, I wonder, of asimilar nature?"

  She bit her lip, her wide-open eyes fixed upon his. He saw that herbreath came and went in short quick gasps and that in her strained eyeswas the light of unshed tears.

  "Yes," she managed to respond.

  There was silence for a few moments. She looked a sweet, patheticlittle figure, for her countenance was very pale and apprehensive.

  Then he bent across the table where she sat with her elbows upon it, herchin resting upon her hands, her plate untouched.

  "And will you not confide in me? You know my secret and gave me certainadvice which I heeded," he said.

  "Ah! Then you have broken with your Spanish dancer--eh?" she askedquickly in a voice which surprised him. She laid a bitter accent uponthe word "dancer."

  "I have."

  "Because she has, of course proved false to you--as I knew she would,"declared Her Highness. "Yes, Mr Waldron, you have acted wisely, as oneday you will most certainly be convinced. I heard all about it when Iwas visiting the Queen of Spain. The woman would have led you to ruin,as so many women have led the men who are the most honest and best inthe world. It seems by the contrariness of Fate that the life of a goodman should so often be linked with that of a bad woman--and vice versa?"

  He nodded in acquiescence.

  "Will you tell me nothing concerning yourself--your own difficulties andsorrows?" he asked, earnestly looking into her face. "I have beenperfectly frank with you, and surely you know how proud I am to believemyself your friend."

  "You are proud of my friendship merely because I happen to be aprincess," she remarked sharply, glancing straight at him, her dark,well-marked brows slightly contracted.

  "No, not for that, Your Highness," he protested. "When we first met youled me to believe that you were poor and dependent upon your uncle. Wasmy attitude in any way different towards you then than it is now?"

  "No. Ah, forgive me!" she replied quickly, stretching her little handacross to him in appeal. "I am, I know, too impetuous. It was foolishof me to utter such words, knowing them to be untrue! No, Mr Waldron,you have always shown yourself my friend, ever since that sunny morningwhen we first met on the deck of the _Arabia_. I deceived you, butunder sheer compulsion, I assure you."

  "I have forgiven that long, long ago," was his reply. "We are stillfriends and I, unfortunately, find you in distress. Yet you will notconfide in me. That is what annoys me."

  "I regret if my silence irritates you in the least," was her low reply,her face growing very grave. "But have you not, in your own heart,certain secrets which you do not desire divulged to anyone--certainprivate matters which concern your own life--perhaps your own honour?"

  "Well, if you put it to me in that fashion, I cannot deny it," he said."I suppose we all have, more or less."

  "Then pray do not let my hesitation annoy you, Mr Waldron," was herquiet, serious answer. "I know you are my friend, and I highlyappreciate your friendship,--but I--I--"

  And she broke off short, again biting her lip.

  Then, without another word she took up her knife and fork and commencedto eat, as though to divert her thoughts from some subject intenselydistasteful to her.

  Waldron sat sorely puzzled.

  Time after time he tried to induce her to explain further her strangehint as to blackmail, but without avail.

  The meal, which proved so dismal and unenjoyable, at last ended andEgisto disappeared for the last time. Both felt relieved.

  Then Waldron bent to the Princess Luisa, asking frankly:

  "Now tell me what may I do to prove to you my friendship?"

  "There is no necessity to prove a fact of which I am already aware," washer reply after a few seconds' reflection.

  "Truth to tell, Princess," he remarked, "I cannot quite make you out.Why are you so silent, and yet so distressed? As a man of the world--afreelance--I could, I am sure, extricate you from what I fear may be apitfall in which you to-night find yourself. You have been indiscreet,perhaps. Yet all of us, in every station of life, have committedregrettable indiscretions."

  "Indiscretions!" she echoed hoarsely. "Yes, you are right, Mr Waldron.Quite right! Ah!" she cried, after a slight pause. "I only wish Iwere permitted to reveal to you the whole of the strange, tragiccircumstances. They would amaze you, I know--but, alas! I can't."

  "Why not?" he protested.

  "For the sake of my own honour," she faltered, and her eyes, he saw,were filled with tears.

  He sprang up and took her small white hand warmly within his own,saying:

  "Let me be your friend, Princess. Do, I implore you."

  "Princess!" she cried bitterly. "Will you never learn to drop thattitle when you speak to me."

  He apologised, still holding her hand in his strong grip as pledge ofhis great friendship, and of his deep admiration for her. Love wasentirely out of the question, he knew. He had realised that hard factever since the startling discovery of that photograph in thedrawing-room of the Embassy.

  At last, after a long silence, she spoke in a hard, intense voice, quiteunusual to her, for she was full of suppressed emotion.

  "If you really are my friend I--I wonder," she hesitated, "if you woulddo something for me--something to assist me?"

  "Most willingly," he cried. "What is it?"

  "I--I hardly like to ask it, but I have no other true and confidentialfriend in Rome except Renata. And as a maid she cannot help me in thismatter without arousing suspicion in a certain quarter."

  "What can I do? I'm ready to assist you in any way in my power," heanswered her quickly.

  "Even though it necessitates a journey to Brussels?"

  "To Brussels!" echoed Hubert in surprise. Then he added: "Of course--anywhere that may be necessary."

  "Then I want this letter delivered by hand. It is most secret andimportant, and I would only trust it to you, Mr Waldron, because I knowthat you would never betray my confidence whatever may happen." And shedrew forth with nervous fingers from within her blouse a letter sealedwith a large black seal bearing the single letter "L." Waldron took itand saw that the address read:

  "Private--To Monsieur S. Petrovitch, Bruxelles."

  "See here," she went on, showing him a small scrap of paper upon whichshe had written: "Slavo Petrovitch, Box 463 Bureau de Poste, Bruxelles."

  "On arrival in Brussels send word to this address that you are there,and you will be met if you make an appointment in the Cafe Metropole."

  "But if this letter is in such strict secrecy how am I to establish theidentity of the Monsieur Petrovitch?" Waldron queried after a second'sthought.

  For answer she opened the small circular golden locket she woresuspended by a thin platinum chain and exhibited to him a photographwithin.

  He held his breath as his eyes fell upon it. The picture was that ofHenri Pujalet!

  She smiled mysteriously in his face, saying:

  "You recognise him, I see, as one of our fellow-travellers on the Nile?"

  "Yes I do," was Waldron's brief response.

  "And you will do this for me as my friend--and ask no questions?"

  "I have already promised," he replied, bowing before her very gravely.

  "Ah, Mr Waldron!" she cried, bursting into a sudden torrent of tears,quite unable further to repress her emotion. "Yes, I know you are myreal true friend! And if you will do this for me you can never know howgreat a service you are rendering me--a service the
magnitude of whichyou will perhaps one day know when--when I dare to tell you the tragicand astounding truth!" And before he could be aware of it, she hadraised his hand in a sudden outburst of frantic gratitude and kissed it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

  THE CIPHER DISPATCH.

  Next day Hubert Waldron continued his inquiry with unceasing activity.

  Armed with His Majesty's authority, he had an interview with theCommendatore Bertini, the Questore, or Chief of Police of Rome. Thesecret or political police under Ghelardi was an entirely differentdepartment. Therefore, without telling the bald-headed Questore thereason or nature of the inquiry in which he was engaged he