XVII
AT THE HOTEL DES S. CROIX
Some distance back from its fellows on the Boulevard S. Michel, not farfrom its intersection with S. Germain, stands the one-time palace of theDucs des S. Croix.
Time, the leveler, seemed to have no more effect upon the princely pilethan to increase its hauteur with each passing year. Its every stonebreathed the dominant spirit of its founders, until at last it stood forall that was patrician, exclusive and unapproachable.
Its eight-foot iron fence, wrought in many an intricate design, formed acorroding barrier to the over-curious, while its spiked top challengedthe foolish scaler. A clanging gate opened rebelliously to the paved waywhich led unto the wide balustraded steps. The windows, each with itsprojecting balcony, seemed thrusting back all cordial advances. Alongthat side toward the Quai D'Orsay, a cloistered porch joined the terracefrom the steps to rear its carven roof beneath the windows of the upperfloors. Each rigid pillar was lifted like a lance of prohibition. Thewalls of either neighbor, unbroken, windowless and blank, were flankingramparts of its secrecy.
The casual pedestrian, after dusk, was tempted to tiptoe lightly acrossthe palace front, so pervasive was its air of mystery. No more fittingplace could be found for plots of deposed monarchies and uncrownedkings. The last S. Croix, impoverished in the mutations of generations,reluctantly, half savagely, had swallowed his pride a few yearspreviously and had consented to rent his ancestral halls. The ideallocality and its immunity from the over-curious had appealed to one who,gladly paying the first price asked, had held the place against the dayof need. The lease was in the name of Josef Zorsky, none other than theHereditary Servitor.
Behind the mask of night, the new-found king, with his gentlemen, wasdriven to the Hotel des S. Croix, where three ordinary Parisian_fiacres_ discharged the royal party who had come directly from theattic studio. His Majesty was the last to alight. Taking ColonelSutphen's proffered arm, he proceeded toward the entrance, followed byhis suite. The place was dark and grim, no light came through theheavily curtained windows and only by a gleam through the transom abovethe door could the closest observer have discovered that it wasinhabited.
A single wayfarer--the neighborhood boasted but few pedestrians afterdark--was approaching. As he drew nearer the group about the King heslackened his pace. Probably actuated by some slight natural curiosityaroused by the unaccustomed sight of many men alighting from cabs beforea mansion traditionally, and apparently, empty, he could be excused forgazing inquiringly at each of the party in turn. Accident may have madeJosef the last to be noticed, but to Carter's watchful eyes it seemedthat some lightning recognition passed between the two. Certainly he sawJosef extend two fingers and as rapidly withdraw them. The passer-byacknowledged the signal, if such it was, by the slightest of smiles andpassed on toward the Quai D'Orsay. Carter mentally determined to speakto Sobieska at the first opportunity and regretted that his duties toHis Majesty for the present prohibited the consultation.
A species of stage-fright, seizing upon the King, sent a quiver throughhis limbs, causing his knees to quake, his hands to tremble.
"Who will be here?" he asked in a tone he strove desperately to holdnatural and easy. He had already received this information, but speechseemed a refuge from his trepidation. If Sutphen had noticed how hisking's voice quavered he was too loyal a subject to comment. With thepatience of iteration he answered his sovereign.
"The Duchess of Schallberg, the Countess Muhlen-Sarkey, together withthe remaining gentlemen of the household, are all anxiously waiting towelcome Your Majesty."
In response to a signal from Sutphen, the doors were flung wide to admitHis Majesty, Stovik Fourth, King of Krovitch. An hundred electriclights, doubled and trebled a score of times by pendant crystals andglistening sconces, greeted the eyes of the man who a few short hoursbefore had been a struggling artist.
Half blinded by the brilliance, he hesitated, his foot already upon away strange to him. He realized numbly how symbolic of his future thatpresent moment might be. New conditions arose suddenly to confront him,only to find him halting, incompetent. He took a step forward. In hisembarrassment his foot caught beneath a rug's edge. Calvert Carter'shand, alone, kept the king from sprawling frog-wise on the polishedfloor. A sudden pallor at the untimely accident came to the face ofSutphen.
"What is it?" Carter whisperingly inquired of the veteran.
"A bad omen, coming as it does as he enters the house," replied thesoldier in the same low tone, tinged with the superstition of his race."I pray God," he continued, "that he turn out no weak-kneed stumbler."
The incident naturally enough had not served to increase the King'sself-confidence. After a glance into the impassive faces of the waitingservants, he gathered sufficient grace to proceed and look about him,with eyes more accustomed to the light. With an assumption of easeforeign to his turbulent heart, he took his way along the splendid hall.He was soon lost in a professional appreciation of the evidence of royalcircumstance, the glories the succeeding years had generously spared,and which now were enriched and ripened by Times' deft touch.
From their coigns the priceless portraits of the S. Croix gazedcomplacently down upon him. Royalty had aforetimes been of daily habitto them. Their scornful brows with sombre eyes, their thin curling lips,appeared to be of some alien race. They seemed to hold themselves aloofas though he was a child of their one-time serfs, having no claim upontheir bond of caste. Even to himself he felt an impostor, a peasant in aroyal mask. That he was really a king had not yet come home to him. Hefelt no embryo greatness struggling to possess him. Upon his face abodethe look of one who dreams of pleasant, impossible things. Half smiling,he was yet reluctant of the awakening he was sure would come and scatterforever the wondrous glories of his slumbers. Unwilling that thesecreations of pigment, brush and canvas should, by exposing him,dissipate his fancies, he dropped his gaze to find himself approachingthe entrance of a brilliantly lighted salon.
What lay beyond?
A new world, a new life, an existence such as he had never dreamed ofmight be waiting on the thither side. He paused again involuntarily.Beside the richer scene, with all its priceless relics of another age,its warmth, its lights, its rows of bowing flunkeys and his new-foundfriends, its dream of a crown and distant throne, arose a passing visionof a life he had laid aside. There the plenty of yesterday melted in thepaucity of to-day. There cringing cold had crept forlornly in and hungerhad been no unexpected guest. There hope and ambition on their brows hadever borne the bruising thorns of defeat and failure. There wealth was asurprising stranger and poverty a daily friend. Friends! Friends! Yes,friends leal and true, a crust for one had meant a meal for all. Suchhad been real friends. Their jests had banished every aching care andsolaced each careless curse of fate. Would this new life give as much?Could the new life give him more? Would even the "glory that was Greeceand the splendor that was Rome" repay him for the sleepless nights, thewatchful anxious days of him who fought, who ruled, who trembled upon anuncertain throne?
Having chosen he feared to turn back, lest men should call him a cravenand coward. Sensual visions of a greater luxury than this around himcame to console him as the picture of the attic life slipped from him.
He stepped beyond the boundaries of regret into the radiant portals ofthe salon.
A woman stood before him.
Unconsciously his fingers itched for the abandoned brush while his thumbcrooked longingly for the discarded palette. Here was a subject fit forhis Muse, a Jeanne d'Arc whose soul was beaming from her luminous eyes.Not that maid of visions and fought fields, but as she hungflame-tortured in the open square of Rouen. No peasant soul this, rathera royal maiden burning on the altars of her country. Awkward andspeechless he stood before her. Instinct apprised him that this was noother than Trusia, waiting to receive her King.
Her head was held high in regal pride, but her eyes were the wide darkeyes of a fawn, fear-haunted, at the gaze. Her throat and shouldersgleamed white as
starlight while her tapering arms would have urged anenvious sigh from a Phidias or a David. Her gown of silk was snow white;the light clung to its watered woof waving and trembling in its folds asthough upon a frosted glass. Diagonally from right to left across herbreast descended a great red ribbon upon whose way the jeweled Lion ofKrovitch rose and fell above her throbbing heart. This with her diamondcoronet were her only jewels. The high spirited, whole-souled girl wasface to face at last with the man she had vowed to marry to give herland a king.
Unswervingly her fearless eyes probed to the soul of Stovik and draggedit forth to weigh it in the balance with her own. Fate had denied herheart the right of choosing, so she had prayed that at least her Kingshould be great and strong of soul. Fate in mockery had placed beforeher an ordinary man to rule her people and her future life.
As though to gain courage from the contact, her hand sought and restedupon the jeweled Lion of her race. Slowly she forced her lips into alittle smile, which one observer knew was sadder than tears.
Carter, standing behind the King, was madly tempted to dash aside theroyal lout to take her in his arms where she might find the longed-forsolace of her pent-up tears.
Colonel Sutphen with a courtly bow took her hand and turned to themonarch.
"Your Majesty," he said gravely, "this is Trusia, Duchess of Schallberg,than whom the earth holds no sweeter, nobler woman. To God and Trusiayou will owe your throne. She has urged us, cheered us, led us, tillthis day has grown out of our wordy plans. See that she has her fullmeasure of reward from you. Though our swords be for your service, ourhearts we hold for her in any hour of her need."
Sutphen's keen eyes had never left the sovereign's face while speaking.If the words were blunt his manner had been courtly and deferential.With a courtesy which was superbly free from her inmost trepidation,Trusia swept up the King's reluctant hand, pressing it to lips as chillas winter's bane.
"Sire," she said in a voice scarcely audible, "sire, I did no more thanmany a loyal son of Krovitch. I--we all--will give our lives for ourcountry and her rightful king."
"Duchess! Lady Trusia," stammered the flushing, self-conscious kingembarrassed by the kiss upon his hand, "I fear I am unworthy of suchdevotion. Unused to courtly custom I feel that I should rather renderhomage unto you. They tell me, these friends who say that they are mysubjects, that I am your debtor. My obligations may already be beyonddischarge. Add no more by obeisance." The poorly turned speech awoke aslight defiance in Trusia's heart. It was oversoon, she thought, for herKing to patronize her.
"Your Majesty mistakes," was the quick retort, "my homage is toKrovitch. We are equals--you and I."
"I could ask no greater distinction than equality with you." Stovik'sanswer was a pattern of humility, which Trusia in her loyalty was quickto see. Her face softened.
"If Your Majesty will deign to come, I have something over there I thinkwill interest you," and she indicated the far end of the room wherestood a velvet draped table guarded by two gentlemen in hussar uniform.With her hand upon his arm Stovik sedately approached the place. Here hesaw nothing but the bulk of objects covered by a silken cloth. ThisTrusia removed.
The act disclosed a crown, a sceptre and a jeweled sword. Before them onthe cushion also lay the grand badge of the Order of the Lion with afine chain of gold.
"As the hereditary head of the Order, sire," Trusia remarked as sheraised the glittering insignia, "you are entitled to assume the mark atonce." Without further words she drew the chain over his head lettingthe Lion depend upon the breast of his artist's blouse.
Lifting up the crown he turned to her mischievously. "Why not this?" Hemade a gesture to put it on his head.
"It will be a burden, sire. That's why they are all made so pleasing tolook upon; gemmed and jeweled, just as sugar coats a bitter pill. Acrown means weariness and strife. Are you so anxious to take up itscares? They will come soon enough." She spoke in a sweetly serious voicethat was not without its effect upon him. "Besides," she said, "theBishop of Schallberg has waited many years to perform that office. Wouldyou rob him of it?"
Although Stovik replaced the glittering loop upon the velvet pall, hesmiled to think how little the Church had entered into his former schemeof life. Trusia seemed to divine his thoughts, for, as his ascendingeyes met hers, she continued speaking of the aged prelate.
"He is a dear old man, sire, kindly and gentle. The beggars and littlechildren call him their patron saint. Well past the allotted span ofyears, he has prayed to be spared until the day when he can anoint thehead of the King of Krovitch. Then, he says, he will die joyously."
The King murmured his hopes for a longer life for the Bishop, and Trusiaturned to present her chaperon, the Countess Muhlen-Sarkey, with theremaining gentlemen of the Court.
After the formalities had been attended to, and he had received thesincere good wishes of his nobles, the King turned to the beautiful girlat his side.
"Do you leave with us to-morrow?" he asked. "Of our future plans I havehad necessarily only a sketch. So little time has elapsed since ColonelSutphen visited Eugene Delmotte that King Stovik can readily be forgivenfor some slight ignorance."
"If it meets with Your Majesty's approval, we will start to-morrow forVienna," Trusia said. "There we will await Colonel Sutphen's summonsfrom your capital, Schallberg. Major Carter, Josef, myself and theCountess Muhlen-Sarkey will accompany Your Majesty. The other gentlemenwill attend the Colonel. They precede us to ascertain if all is inreadiness."
"Will the gentlemen travel in uniform?" The King's glance about the roomhad not been free from an apprehension that such a course might awakeninquisitive questions from officials.
"Oh, certainly not, Your Majesty," the girl reassured him. "Your Majestywill procure a passport made out to Eugene Delmotte, artist. You will betraveling to Krovitch for studies for the painting I hear you aremaking. The uniforms will be a part of your paraphernalia."
"Will there be no risk?"
"Is Your Majesty unwilling to take the least? Your subjects must indeedseem reckless to you." Trusia's tone indicated the depth of her reproof.
"I suppose that did sound rather selfish," he hastened to confess, "butthe truth is that I do not yet realize that I am actually a king. ThatI, a few hours ago a penniless artist, should be plunging into anational movement as its leader, its king, seems nothing short of adream. But tell me, Duchess, from whom we should fear detection?"
"This is a national movement of ours, sire. Some chance may have arousedRussian suspicion, but believe me, I'd stake my life on your people'sloyalty. St. Petersburg may be apprehensive, but they know nothing ofthe real truth nor the imminence of our uprising. Here is ColonelSutphen, doubtless wishing to talk more fully of our plans to you," sheconcluded as the grizzled veteran stood courteously awaiting theirleisure to speak with the King.
Feeling free to do so now, she turned to her American aide. "MajorCarter," she said, "I think His Majesty can spare me now. Won't you tellme of your adventures to-night?" Taking the arm he offered they strolledtogether into the hall. Being there out of the royal presence they wereat liberty to seat themselves. An alcove held a tempting divan. Herethey found a place.
"Your Grace," he said in a tone he strove valiantly to hold within thepitch of social usage, "let me rather tell you how beautiful I fanciedyou to-night."
As the handsome fellow bent his head toward her, she was possessed of astrange yearning. The plans, the plots, the wearying details of yearshad almost deprived her of the solace of sex; in the role of patriot shehad well-nigh forgotten that she was a woman. A hunger for her due, solong deferred, spoke in her voice.
"Yes," she said honestly, "please do. Anything to make me forget for thefew minutes I can call my own. Tell me a fairy-story," she commandedwith almost childish eagerness. "Or have you Americans foresworn fairiesfor Edisons?"
"I know one who has not," he answered, falling soothingly into her mood."He has seen the Queen, Titania."
"Well, tell me about her.
Oh, I do hope that she was beautiful," and shedimpled bewitchingly.
"She was--fairy queens are always beautiful, and sometimes kind. Onceupon a time--all fairy-stories have happened once upon a time--there wasa man."
"Yes," she interrupted, bending expectantly toward him.
"He was poor," he continued quietly.
"Oh," she exclaimed in disappointment.
Carter shook his head understandingly. "He was an artist. He hoped oneday to be called a genius. The fairy queen knew this was not to be soshe made him a king and gave him--part of her kingdom." He paused tofind her looking down, a shade of sadness on her face. Noticing hispause she looked up.
"Well?" she asked.
"There was another man," he continued. "This other man was not poor. Hewas not an artist, but to-night he saw the fairy queen in all her regalsplendor. It made him think that all the flowers in all the worldscondensed into one small but perfect bloom were not so sweet as she. Sothe other man more than ever wished to rule in her fairyland--with her."
"No, no," she cried, detecting the prohibited note, "you must not speakso." Her hands crumpled the morsel of cobweb and lace she had forhandkerchief. Carried away with her proximity, however, he would not nowbe denied.
"This is but a fairy-story, Duchess. Oh, Fairy Queen, could you not finda kingdom for the other man in fairyland--a kingdom with you as Queen?"
His naked soul was laying pleading hands upon her quivering heart. Sheturned away, unable to withstand the suppliance of his eyes.
"You do not know what you ask," she whispered hoarsely. Then vehementlyspurring her resolve into a gallop, she added, "When the King is crownedin Schallberg, I become his wife."
"Suppose he isn't," he urged doggedly.
"Oh, no," she cried brokenly, "don't make me a traitor to my country'shopes. Don't make me wish for failure."
Unwittingly her words confessed her love for Carter. Grimly forcing herweakness back into her secret heart, she turned a calm front to him onceagain.
"Enough of fairy-stories, Major Carter," she said. "We live in aworkaday world where the 'little people' have no place. All of us haveour duties to perform. If some be less pleasant than others it is noexcuse for not fulfilling them to the uttermost. We have a hard daybefore us. With His Majesty's permission, therefore, I will retire forthe night." She arose as she said this, so Carter had no otheralternative than to follow her into the royal presence.
From a balcony at the far end of the room, crept a faint note of music.The players were carefully concealed behind banked palms and giganticferns. To the surprised ears of those unaware of their presence it camefirst as a single note, then a chord, a stave, a vibrant meaning. It waslike a distant bugle call across a midnight plain. It swelled into achallenge.
Then, echoing the hoof beats of horses, it swept into a glorious charge.All the invisible instruments crashed valorously into their fullestsounds. The arteries of the listeners throbbed a response to itsinspiration. Trusia, her eyes gleaming like twin stars, laid her handsoftly on the royal arm.
"Oh, sire," she cried, "it is our nation's battle song."
Carter sighed. He saw that her loyalty would hold her to an allianceagainst her heart.
Possessed by the ardor of the song, the nobles, drawing their swords,cried in ecstatic chorus, "For Krovitch! For Krovitch!" In theirpandemonium of joy, Carter's distress was unnoted.
He could not longer endure the sight of the prophetic association; itseemed as if they were receiving nuptial felicitations as they stoodthere side by side, so with a heavy heart he crept up to his ownapartment, where, at least, without stint, he could indulge histhoughts. After the brilliance of the salon, the single light in hisroom seemed puling and weak, so he crossed over and extinguished it. Indoing so, he found himself near the window, which, opening to the floor,door wise, looked along the roof of the stone porch. A cooling sweep ofmoonlight fell on Carter's face and urged him to peace of soul. He nevernoticed the soft indulgence of Diana, for, as he glanced streetward, herecalled the incident of Josef and the stranger. Drawing an easy-chairinto the zone of moonlight he lit a cigar and strove desperately to finda clue.
"Two fingers--that means two something, at first glance. Has it anyfurther significance?" he pondered. "Of course it was prearranged, whenand how--and does Sobieska know? If he doesn't, Josef has correspondentsunknown to Krovitch--that alone looks dangerous. I'll look up Sobieska.It's now twenty minutes of two," he said as he consulted his watch. Aswift inspiration caused him suddenly to raise his head. "I've got it.The house is all still now. Two--two--two o'clock, that's the solution.They're to meet at two o'clock. Where? I can't wait for Sobieska,there's no time."
He bent over and slipped off his military boots and put on a pair ofmoccasins he always wore about his room. Cautiously he opened the longwindow and stepped gingerly upon the roof. "Josef won't dare go out thefront way; so to leave the grounds he'll have to pass beneath me, and Ican follow if he does." Placing one hand on the bow window beside him,he leaned over to peer into the moonlit yard beneath.
After he had waited what seemed a double eternity he was rewarded byseeing a shape disengage itself from the shadows about the servant'squarters in the rear, and come and stand directly beneath his place ofobservation. Somewhere a clock struck two. There was a grating sound asof the moving of rusty hinges from the direction of the front of thehouse, and the first comer had a companion with whom he instantly begana whispered conversation, of which, strain his ears as he might, Cartercould catch only four words,--"Your report--and lists." The man whom hesupposed to be Josef drew a bulky sheaf of papers from his breast pocketand passed them to the mysterious stranger. It was time to interfere,Carter thought. Swinging by his arms until his legs encircled the stonepillar he slid to the porch and, leaping to the ground, confronted theconspirators. Instinctively his first act was to clutch the papers, andas he did so he was struck from behind and fell unconscious to theground. As his senses passed from him, he was dimly conscious of asurprise that neither man was Josef. A sleepy determination possessedhim to hold grimly to the papers. Then all was blank.
* * * * *
He wished they wouldn't annoy him, he remonstrated drowsily. When he wasasleep he didn't have that awful pain in his head. As he opened his eyeshe smiled vacuously into Trusia's face. That brought him to his senseswith a jerk. A candle sputtered fitfully in a gilt stand beside him onthe ground. Trusia's arm was about his shoulder. The King and, yes,Sobieska were there. And that other figure, that was Josef. He glancedat his own right hand. It was still tightly clenched, but held nopapers.
"How did you know I was here?" he inquired, his voice a trifle husky andweak. He looked at the girl against whose breast he leaned; her replyalone could satisfy him.
"Josef, in going around to see if all things were locked tight, heardyou groaning, and, not knowing who it was, gave the alarm."
Carter struggled to his feet and, though a trifle dizzy yet from theblow of his unseen foe, was able to stagger into the house. ThereTrusia, with a woman's tender solicitude for those for whom she cares,without the intervention of servants poured from a near-by decanter, andforced Carter to drain, a goblet of wine. Under the stimulant hisstrength returned.
"If Count Sobieska will lend me his arm I think I can retire now. How Icame in the yard--I see you are all curious though too polite toinquire--I'll tell you in the morning when I feel more fit. At present Ihave either a strange head or a beehive on my shoulders, I don't knowwhich."
When he reached his room and the Count entering also had closed thedoor, Carter threw off much of the assumed languor, and told theCounselor the whole of the tale. The Krovitzer shook his head dubiously."Josef found you at quarter past three this morning--yet you say Josefwas not one of the two men. Did you see the faces of both?"
"Only a glance. Both were bearded. The one who came from the back partof the house was dark, black eyebrows, heavy black beard, pallid face,or so it looked in the moonlight.
The visitor was undoubtedly Russian."
"It may have been soot," said Sobieska musingly. "I remember now that,while the rest of his face looked remarkably like a freshly scrubbedone, there was a long dark smear along one of Josef's eyebrows as webrought you into the house; but that is not enough to convict him of thetreason, however strong a suspicion it arouses. Well, things are lookinga trifle as if Vladimar not only knows where we are, but why we arehere. We'll have to strike quickly--as soon, in fact, as we set foot inKrovitch again."
Trusia: A Princess of Krovitch Page 17
