The Puppet Crown

by Harold MacGrath

  CHAPTER IX. NOTHING MORE SERIOUS THAN A HOUSE PARTY

  Standing just within the door, smiling and rubbing the gray bristleson his lip, was the Colonel. In the center of the room stood awoman dressed in gray. Maurice recognized the dress; it belonged toMademoiselle of the Veil, who was now sans veil, sans hat. A marvelousface was revealed to Maurice, a face of that peculiar beauty which poetsand artists are often minded to deny, but for the love of which men die,become great or terrible, overturn empires and change the map of theworld.

  Her luxuriant hair, which lay in careless masses about the shapely headand intelligent brow, was a mixture of red and brown and gold, a varietywhich never ceases to charm; skin the pallor of ancient marble, withthe shadow of rose lying below the eyes, the large, gray chatoyanteyes, which answered every impulse of the brain which ruled them. Theirregularity of her features was never noticeable after a glance intothose eyes. At this moment both eyes and lips expressed a shade ofamusement.

  Maurice, who was astonished never more than a minute at a time,immediately recovered. His toilet was somewhat disarranged, and the backof his head a crow's nest, but, nevertheless, he placed a hand over hisheart and offered a low obeisance.

  "Good morning, gentlemen," she said, in a voice which Maurice wouldhave known anywhere. "I hope the journey has caused you no particularannoyance."

  "The annoyance was not so particular, Madame," said Fitzgerald stiffly,"as it was general."

  "And four of my troopers will take oath to that!" interjected theColonel.

  "Will Madame permit me to ask when will the opera begin?" asked Maurice.

  "I am glad," said she, "that you have lost none of your freshness."

  Maurice was struck for a moment, but soon saw that the remark wasinnocent of any inelegance of speech. Fitzgerald was gnawing hismustache and looking out of the corner of his eyes--into hers.

  "My task, I confess, is a most disagreeable one," she resumed, lightlybeating her gauntlets together; "but when one serves high personages oneis supposed not to have any sentiments." To Fitzgerald she said: "Youare the son of the late Lord Fitzgerald."

  "For your sake, I regret to say that I am."

  "For my sake? Worry yourself none on that point. As the agent of herHighness I am inconsiderable."

  "Madame," said Maurice, "will you do us the honor to inform us to whomwe are indebted for this partiality to our distinguished persons?"

  "I am Sylvia Amerbach," quietly.

  "Amerbach?" said Maurice, who was familiar with the great names of thecontinent. "Pardon me, but that was once a famous name in Prussia."

  "I am distantly related to that house of princes," looking at hergauntlets.

  "Well, Madame, since your business doubtless concerns me, pray, begin;"and Fitzgerald leaned against the mantelpiece and fumbled with the rimof his monocle.

  Maurice walked to one of the windows and perched himself on the broadsill. He began to whistle softly:

  Voici le sabre de mon pere! Tu vas le mettre a ton cote....

  Beyond the window, at the edge of the forest, he saw a sentinel pacingbackward and forward. Indeed, no matter which way he looked, theautumnal scenery had this accessory. Again, he inspected the bars. Thesewere comparatively new. It was about thirty feet to the court below. Onthe whole, the outlook was discouraging.

  "Count," said the distant relative of the house of Amerbach, "how shallI begin?"

  "I am not a diplomat, Madame," answered the Colonel. "If, however, youwish the advice of a soldier, I should begin by asking if my lord theEnglishman has those consols about his person."

  "Fie, count!" she cried, laughing; "one would say that was a prelude torobbery."

  "So they would. As for myself, I prefer violence to words. If we takethese pretty papers by violence, we shall still have left our friendthe Englishman his self-respect. And as for words, while my acquaintancewith our friend is slight, I should say that they would only be wastedhere."

  The whistle from the window still rose and fell.

  "Monsieur, I have it in my power to make you rich."

  "I am rich," replied Fitzgerald.

  "In honors?"

  "Madame, the title I have is already a burden to me." Fitzgeraldlaughed, which announced that the cause of the duchess was not gettingon very well. Once or twice he raised the tortoiseshell rim to his eye,but dropped it; force of habit was difficult to overcome.

  "Your father nourished a particular rancor against the late duke."

  "And justly, you will admit."

  "Her Highness has offered you five millions for slips of paper worth nomore than the ink which decorates them."

  "And I have refused. Why? Simply because the matter does not rest withme. You have proceeded with a high hand, Madame, or rather your duchesshas. Nothing will come of it. Had there been any possibility of myconsidering your proposals, this kidnaping would have destroyed it."

  She smiled. Maurice saw the smile and stopped whistling long enough toscratch his chin, which was somewhat in need of a razor. He hadseen many women smile that way. He had learned to read it. It was aninarticulate "perhaps."

  "The rightful successor to the throne--"

  "Is Madame the duchess," Fitzgerald completed. "I haven't the slightestdoubt of that. One way or the other, it does not concern me. I came heresimply to fulfill the wishes of my father; and my word, Madame, fulfillthem I shall. You are holding me a prisoner, but uselessly. On thetwentieth the certificates fall due against the government. If they arenot presented either for renewal or collection, the bankruptcy scheme ofyour duchess will fall through just the same. I will tell you thetruth, Madame. My father never expected to collect the moneys so long asLeopold sat on the throne."

  The whistle grew shrill.

  "This officer here," continued Fitzgerald, while the Colonel made acomical grimace, "suggests violence. I shall save him the trouble. Ihave seen much of the world, Madame--the hard side of it--and, knowingit as I do, it is scarcely probable that I should carry about my personthe equivalent of four millions of crowns."

  "Well, Madame," said the Colonel, pushing his belt closer about hiships, as a soldier always does when he is on the point of departure,"what he says is true, every word of it. I see nothing more to do atpresent."

  Mademoiselle of the Veil was paying not so much attention to theColonel's words as she was to Maurice's whistle.

  "Monsieur," she said, coldly, "have you no other tune in yourrepertory?"

  "Pardon me!" exclaimed Maurice. "I did not intend to annoy you." Hestepped down out of the window.

  "You do not annoy me; only the tune grows rather monotonous."

  "I will whistle anything you may suggest," he volunteered.

  She did not respond to this flippancy, though the pupils of her grayeyes grew large with anger. She walked the length of the room and back.

  "Count, what do you think would be most satisfactory to her Highness,under the circumstances?"

  "I have yet to hear of her Highness' disapproval of anything youundertake."

  "Messieurs, your parole d'honneur, and the freedom of the chateau isyours--within the sentry lines. I wish to make your recollections of theRed Chateau rather pleasant than otherwise. I shall be most happy if youwill honor my table with your presence."

  The Colonel coughed, Maurice smoothed the back of his head, andFitzgerald caught up his monocle.

  "My word, Madame," said Maurice, "is not worth much, being that ofa diplomat, but such as it is it is yours. However, my clothes arescarcely presentable," which was true enough. Several buttons weremissing, and the collar hung by a thread.

  "That can be easily remedied," said she. "There are several new hussaruniforms in the armory."

  "O, Madame, and you will permit me to wear one of those gay uniforms oflight blue and silver lace?"

  The Colonel looked thoughtfully at Maurice. He was too much a bantererhimself to miss the undercurrent of raillery. He eyed Madame discreetly;he saw that she had accepted merely the surface ton
es.

  "And you will wear one, too, Jack?" said Maurice.

  "No, thank you. I pass my word, Madame; I do not like confinement."

  "Well, then, the count will shortly return and establish you in betterquarters. Let us suppose you are my guests for a--a fortnight. Sinceboth of us are right, since neither your cause nor mine is wrong,an armistice! Ah! I forgot. The east corridor on the third floor isforbidden you. Should you mistake and go that way, a guard will directyou properly. Messieurs, till dinner!" and with a smile which illuminedher face as a sudden burst of sunshine flashes across a hillside, shepassed out of the room, followed by her henchman, who had not yet putaside the thoughtful repose of his countenance.

  "A house party," said Maurice, when he could no longer hear theirfootsteps. "And what the deuce have they got so valuable in the eastcorridor on the third floor?"

  "It's small matter to me," said Fitzgerald tranquilly. "The main fact isthat she has given up her game."

  Said Maurice, his face expressing both pity and astonishment: "My dear,dear John! Didn't you see that woman's eyes, her hair, her chin, hernose?"

  "Well?"

  "True; you haven't had any experience with petticoats. This woman willrend heaven and earth rather than relinquish her projects, or ratherthose of her mistress. I should like to see this duchess, who shows afine discernment in the selection of her assistants. Beware of thewoman who is frankly your enemy. If she is frank, it is because she isconfident of the end; if not, she is frank in order to disarm us of thesuspicion of cunning. I would give much to know the true meaning of thishouse party."

  "Hang me if I can see what difference it makes. She can not do anythingeither by frankness or by cunning."

  "She gathered us in neatly, this red-haired Amazon."

  "Red-haired!" in a kind of protest.

  "Why, yes; that's the color, isn't it?" innocently.

  "I thought it a red-brown. It's too bad that such a woman should bemixed up in an affair like this."

  "Woman will sacrifice to ambition what she never will sacrifice to love.Hush; I hear the Colonel returning."

  They were conducted to the opposite wing of the chateau, to a room onthe second floor. Its windows afforded an excellent view of the landwhich lay south. Hills rolled away like waves of gold, dotted here andthere with vineyards. Through the avenue of trees they could see thehighway, and beyond, the river, which had its source in the mountainsten miles eastward.

  The room itself was in red, evidently a state chamber, for it containedtwo canopied beds. Several fine paintings hung from the walls, andbetween the two windows rose one of those pier glasses which owe theirexistence to the first empire of France. On one of the beds Maurice sawthe hussar uniform. On the dresser were razors and mugs and a pitcher ofhot water.

  "Ah," he said, with satisfaction.

  "The boots may not fit you," said the Colonel, "but if they do not wewill manage some way."

  "I shall not mind the fortnight," said Maurice. "By the way, Colonel, Inotice that French seems to prevail instead of German. Why is that?"

  "It is the common language of politeness, and servants do not understandit. As for myself, I naturally prefer the German tongue; it is bluntand honest and lacks the finesse of the French, which is full of evasivewords and meanings. However, French predominates at court. Besides,heaven help the foreigner who tries to learn all the German tongues tobe found in the empires of the Hohenzollern and Hapsburg. Luncheon willbe served to you in the dining hall; the first door to the right atthe foot of the grand staircase. I shall send you a trooper to act asvalet."

  "Spare me, Colonel," said Maurice, who did not want any one between himand the Englishman when they were alone.

  "I have never had a valet," said Fitzgerald; "he would embarrass me."

  "As you please," said the Colonel, a shade of disappointment in histones. "After all, you are soldiers, where every man is for himself.Make yourselves at home;" and he withdrew.

  Maurice at once applied lather and razor, and put on the handsomeuniform, which fitted him snugly. The coat was tailless, with rows ofsilver buttons running from collar to waist. The breast and shouldersand sleeves were covered with silver lace, and Maurice concluded that itmust be nothing less than a captain's uniform. The trousers were tightfitting, with broad stripes of silver; and the half boots were of patentleather. He walked backward and forward before the pier-glass.

  "I say, Fitz, what do you think of it?"

  "You're a handsome rascal, Maurice," answered the Englishman, who hadwatched his young friend, amusement in his sober eyes. "Happily, thereare no young women present."

  "Go to! I'll lay odds that our hostess is under twenty-five."

  "I meant young women of sixteen or seventeen. Women such as Madame havelong since passed the uniform fever."

  "Not when it has lace, my friend, court lace. Well, forward to thedining hall."

  Both were rather disappointed to find that Madame would be absent untildinner. Fitzgerald could not tell exactly why he was disappointed, andhe was angry with himself for the vague regret. Maurice, however, foundconsolation in the demure French maid who served them. Every time hesmiled she made a courtesy, and every time she left the room Mauricenudged Fitzgerald.

  "Smile, confound you, smile!" he whispered. "There's never a maid buthas her store of gossip, and gossip is information."

  "Pshaw!" said Fitzgerald, helping himself to cold ham and chicken.

  "Wine, Messieurs?" asked the maid.

  "Ah, then Madame offers the cellars?" said Maurice.

  "Yes, Messieurs. There is chambertin, champagne, chablis, tokayer andsherry."

  "Bring us some chambertin, then."

  "Oui, Messieurs."

  "Hurry along, my Hebe," said Maurice.

  The maid was not on familiar terms with the classics, but she told thebutler in the pantry that the smooth-faced one made a charming Captain.

  "Keep your eyes open," grumbled the butler; "he'll be kissing you next."

  "He might do worse," was the retort. Even maids have their mirrors, andhers told a pretty story. When she returned with the wine she asked:"And shall I pour it, Messieurs?"

  "No one else shall," declared Maurice. "When is the duchess to arrive?"

  "I do not know, Monsieur," stepping in between the chairs and fillingthe glasses with the ruby liquid.

  "Who is Madame Sylvia Amerbach?"

  "Madame Sylvia Amerbach," placing the bottle on the table and going tothe sideboard. She returned with a box of "Khedives."

  Fitzgerald laughed at Maurice's disconcertion.

  "Where has Madame gone?"

  "To the summer home of Countess Herzberg, who is to return with Madame."

  "Oho!" cried Maurice, in English. "A countess! What do you say to that,my Englishman?"

  "She is probably old and plain. Madame desires a chaperon."

  "You forget that Madame desires nothing but those certificates. And thechaperon does not live who could keep an eye on Madame Sylvia Amerbach."

  The mention of the certificates brought back all the Englishman'sdiscomfort, and he emptied his glass of wine not as a lover of good wineshould. Soon they rose from the table. The maid ran to the door and heldit open. Fitzgerald hurried through, but Maurice lingered a moment. Heput his hand under the porcelain chin and looked into the china-blueeyes. Fitzgerald turned.

  "What was that noise?" he asked, as Maurice shouldered him along thehall.

  "What noise?"

  Madame came back to the chateau at five, and dinner was announced ateight. The Countess Herzberg was young and pretty, the possessor of abeautiful mouth and a charming smile. The Colonel did the honors atthe table. Maurice almost fancied himself in Vienna, the setting of thedining room was so perfect. The entire room was paneled in walnut. Onthe mantel over the great fireplace stood silver candlesticks withwax tapers. The candlestick in the center of the table was composed oftwelve branches. The cuisine was delectable, the wines delicious. Madameand the countess were i
n evening dress. The Colonel was brimming withanecdote, the countess was witty, Madame was a sister to Aspasia.

  Maurice, while he enjoyed this strange feast, was puzzled. It was veryirregular, and the Colonel's gray hairs did not serve to alter thisfact. What was the meaning of it? What lay underneath?

  Sometimes he caught Fitzgerald in the act of staring at Madame when herattention was otherwise engaged; at other times he saw that Madame wasreturning this cursory investigation. There was, however, altogether adifferent meaning in these surreptitious glances. In the one there wereinterest, doubt, admiration; in the other, cold calculation. At no timedid the conversation touch politics, and the crown was a thousand milesaway--if surface indications went for aught.

  Finally the Colonel rose. "A toast--to Madame the duchess, since this isher very best wine!"

  Maurice emptied his glass fast enough; but Fitzgerald lowered his eyesand made no movement to raise his glass. The pupils in Madame's eyesgrew small.

  "That is scarcely polite, Monsieur," she said.

  "Madame," he replied gently, "my parole did not include toasts to herHighness. My friend loves wine for its own sake, and seldom bothers hishead about the toast as long as the wine is good. Permit me to withdrawthe duchess and substitute yourself."

  "Do so, if it will please you. In truth, it was bad taste in you, count,to suggest it."

  "It's all the same to me;" and the Colonel refilled his glass andnodded.

  The countess smiled behind her fan, while Maurice felt the edge of themild reproach which had been administered to him.

  "I plead guilty to the impeachment. It was very wrong. Far from it thatI should drink to the health of the Philistines. Madame the countess wasbeating me down with her eyes, and I did not think."

  "I was not even looking at you!" declared the countess, blushing.

  The incident was soon forgotten; and at length Madame and the countessrose.

  Said the first: "We will leave you gentlemen to your cigars; and whenthey have ceased to interest you, you will find us in the music room."

  "And you will sing?" said Maurice to the countess.

  "If you wish." She was almost beautiful when she smiled, and she smiledon Maurice.

  "I confess," said he, "that being a prisoner, under certaincircumstances, is a fine life."

  "What wicked eyes he has," said the countess, as she and Madame enteredthe music room.

  "Do not look into them too often, my dear," was the rejoinder. "I haveasked not other sacrifice than that you should occupy his attention andmake him fall in love with you."

  "Ah, Madame, that will be easy enough. But what is to prevent me fromfalling in love with him? He is very handsome."

  "You are laughing!"

  "Yes, I am laughing. It will be such an amusing adventure, a souvenirfor my old age--and may my old age forget me."

  The men lit their cigars and smoked in silence.

  "Colonel," said Maurice at last, "will you kindly tell me what all thismeans?"

  "Never ask your host how old his wine is. If he is proud of it, he willtell you." He blew the smoke under the candle shades and watched it asit darted upward. "Don't you find it comfortable? I should."

  "Conscience will not lie down at one's bidding."

  "I understood that you were a diplomat?" The Colonel turned toFitzgerald. "I hope that, when you are liberated, you will forget themanner in which you were brought here."

  "I shall forget nothing," curtly.

  "The devil! I can not fight you; I am too old."

  Fitzgerald said nothing, and continued to play with his emptiedwine-glass.

  "The Princess Alexia," went on the Colonel, "has a bulldog. I havealways wondered till now what the nationality of the dog was. Thebulldog neither forsakes nor forgives; he is an Englishman."

  This declaration was succeeded by another interval of silence. TheEnglishman was thinking of his father; the thoughts of Maurice wereanywhere but at the chateau; the Colonel was contemplating them both,shrewdly.

  "Well, to the ladies, gentlemen; it is half after nine."

  The countess was seated at the piano, improvising. Madame stood beforethe fireplace, arranging the pieces on a chess board. In the centerof the room was a table littered with books, magazines and illustratedweeklies.

  "Do you play chess, Monsieur?" said Madame to Fitzgerald.

  "I do not."

  "Well, Colonel, we will play a game and show him how it is done."

  Fitzgerald drew up a chair and sat down at Madame's elbow. He followedevery move she made because he had never seen till now so round andshapely an arm, hands so small and white, tipped with pink filbertnails. He did not learn the game so quickly as might be. He, likeMaurice, was pondering over the unusual position in which he foundhimself; but analysis of any sort was not his forte; so he soon forgotall save the delicate curve of Madame's chin and throat, the soft rippleof her laughter, the abysmal gray of her eyes.

  "Monsieur le Capitaine," said the countess, "what shall I sing to you?"

  "To me?" said Maurice. "Something from Abt."

  Her fingers ran lightly over the keys, and presently her voice rose insong, a song low, sweet, and sad. Maurice peered out of the windowinto the shades of night. Visions passed and repassed the curtain ofdarkness. Once or twice the countess turned her head and looked at him.It was not only a handsome face she saw, but one that carried the markof refinement.... Maurice was thinking of the lonely princess and hergrave dark eyes. He possessed none of that power from which princesderive benefits; what could he do? And why should he interest himself ina woman who, in any event, could never be anything to him, scarcely evena friend? He smiled.

  If Fitzgerald was not adept at analysis, he was. Nothing ever enteredhis mind or heart that he could not separate and define. It was strange;it was almost laughable; to have fenced as long and adroitly as he hadfenced, and then to be disarmed by one who did not even understand thefoils! Surrender? Why not?... By and by his gaze traveled to the chessplayers. There was another game than chess being played there, thoughkings and queens and knights and bishops were still the sum of it.

  "Are you so very far away, then?" The song had ceased; the countess waslooking at him curiously.

  "Thank you," he said; "indeed, you had taken me out of myself."

  "Do you like chestnuts?" she asked suddenly.

  "I am very fond of them."

  "Then I shall fetch some." It occurred to her that the room was verywarm; she wanted a breath of air--alone.

  "Checkmate!" cried the Colonel, joyfully.

  "Do you begin to understand?" asked Madame.

  "A little," admitted Fitzgerald, who did not wish to learn too quickly."I like to watch the game."

  "So do I," said Maurice, who had approached the table. "I should like toknow what the game is, too."

  Both Madame and the Colonel appeared to accept the statement and not theinnuendo. Madame placed the figures on the board.

  Maurice strolled over to the table and aimlessly glanced through theVienna illustrated weeklies. He saw Franz Josef in characteristic poses,full-page engravings of the military maneuvers and reproductions of thenotable paintings. He picked up an issue dated June. A portrait of thenew Austrian ambassador to France attracted his attention. He turned theleaf. What he saw on the following page caused him to widen his eyes andlet slip an ejaculation loud enough to be heard by the chess players.Madame seemed on the point of rising. Maurice did not lower his eyes norMadame hers.

  "Checkmate in three moves, Madame!" exclaimed the Colonel; "it iswonderful."

  "What's the matter, Maurice?" asked Fitzgerald.

  "Jack, I am a ruined man."

  "How? What?" nearly upsetting the board.

  "I just this moment remember that I left my gas burning at the hotel,and it is extra."

  The Colonel and Fitzgerald lay back in their chairs and roared withlaughter.

  But Madame did not even smile.