Anon. - "The Life of Venerable Sister Margaret Bourgeois"

Jean de La Fontaine - "The Tales and Novels, v7: The Falcon and The Little Dog"

Anna Katharine Green - "Initials Only"

F. B. Tarbell - "A History Of Greek Art"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Puppet Crown

H >> Harold MacGrath >> The Puppet Crown




"I'd marry her," answered Maurice, banging his fist on the table,
"even if all the kings and queens of Europe rose up against me.
I would marry her, if I had to bind her hands and feet and carry
her to the altar and force the priest at the point of a pistol,
which, in all probability, is what you will have to do."

"I love her," sullenly.

"Do you know who she is?"

"No."

"Would it make any difference?"

"No. Who is she?"

"She is a woman without conscience; she is a woman who, to gain
her miserable ends, will stop neither at falsehood, deceit nor
bloodshed. Do you want me to tell you more? She is--"

"Maurice, tell me nothing which will cause me to regret your
friendship. I love her; she has promised to be my wife."

"She will ruin you."

"She has already done that," laconically.

"Do you mean to tell me--"

"Yes! For the promise of her love I am dishonored. For the
privilege of kissing her lips I have sold my honor. To call her
mine, I would go through hell. God! do you know what it is to be
lonely, to starve in God-forsaken lands, to dream of women, to
long for them?"

"And the poor paralytic king?"

"What is he to me?"

"And your father?"

"What are my dead father's wishes? Maurice, I am mad!"

"You are a very sick man," Maurice replied crossly. "What's to
become of all these vows--"

"You are wasting your breath! Do you remember what
Rochefoucauld said of Madame de Longueville?--`To win her heart,
to delight her beautiful eyes, I have taken up arms against the
king; I would have done the same against the gods!' Is she not
worth it all?" with a gesture of his arms which sent the live
coals of his pipe comet-like across the intervening space. "Is
she not worth it all?"

"Who?--Madame de Longueville? I thought she was dead these two
hundred years!"

"Damn it, Maurice!"

"I will, if you say so. The situation is equal to a good deal of
plain, honest damning." Maurice banged his fist again. "John,
sit down and listen to me. I'll not sit still and see you made a
fool. Promises? This woman will keep none. When she has wrung
you dry she will fling you aside. At this moment she is probably
laughing behind your back. You were brought here for this
purpose. Threats and bribes were without effect. Love might
accomplish what the other two had failed to do. You know little
of the ways of the world. Do you know that this house party is
scandalous, for all its innocence? Do you know that Madame's
name would be a byword were it known that we have been here more
than two weeks, alone with two women? Who but a woman that feels
herself above convention would dare offer this affront to
society? Do you know why Madame the countess came? Company for
Madame? No; she was to play make love to me to keep me out of
the way. Ass that I was, I never suspected till too late!
Madame's name is not Sylvia Amerbach; it is--"

The door opened unceremoniously and in walked the Colonel.

"Your voices are rather high, gentlemen," he said calmly, and
sat down in an easy chair.




CHAPTER XIII


BEING OF COMPLICATIONS NOT RECKONED ON

Maurice leaped to his feet, a menace in his eyes. The Colonel
crossed his legs, rested his hands on the hilt of his saber, and
smiled.

"I could not resist the desire to have a friendly chat with you."

"You have come cursed inopportune," snarled Maurice. "What do
you want?"

"I want to give you the countersigns, so that when you start for
Bleiberg to-morrow morning you'll have no trouble."

"Bleiberg !" exclaimed Maurice.

"Bleiberg. Madame desires me to say to you that you are to start
for that city in the morning, to fetch those slips of parchment
which have caused us all these years of worry. Ah, my friend,"
to Fitzgerald, "Madame would be cheap at twenty millions! You
sly dog! And I never suspected it."

Fitzgerald sent him a scowl. "You are damned impertinent, sir."

"Impertinent?" The Colonel uncrossed his legs and brought his
knees together. "Madame has been under my care since she was a
child, Monsieur; I have a fatherly interest in her. At any rate,
I am glad that the affair is at an end. It was very noble in you.
If I had had my way, though, it would have been war, pure and
simple. I left the duchess in Brunnstadt this morning; she will
be delighted to attend the wedding."

"She will attend it," said Maurice, grimly; "but I would not lay
odds on her delight. Colonel, the devil take me if I go to
Bleiberg on any such errand." He went to the window seat.

The Colonel rose and followed him. "Pardon me," he said to
Fitzgerald, who did not feel at all complimented by Madame's
haste; "a few words in Monsieur Carewe's ear. He will go to
Bleiberg; he will be glad to go." He bent towards Maurice. "Go
to Bleiberg, my son. A word to him about Madame, and off you go
to Brunnstadt. Will you be of any use there? I think not. The
little countess would cry out her pretty eyes if she heard that
you were languishing in the city prison at Brunnstadt, where
only the lowest criminals are confined. Submit gracefully, that
is to say, like a soldier against whom the fortunes of war have
gone. Go to Bleiberg."

"I'll go. I give up." It was not the threat which brought him to
this decision. It was a vision of a madonna-like face. "I'll go,
John. Where are the certificates?"

"Between the mattresses and the slats of my bed you will find a
gun in a case. The certificates are in the barrels." His
countenance did not express any particular happiness; the lines
about his mouth were sharper than usual.

"The devil!" cried the Colonel; "if only I had known that!" He
laughed. "Well, I'll leave you. Six o'clock--what's this?" as he
stooped and picked up Maurice's cast-off hussar jacket.

"I was about to use it as a door mat," said Maurice, who was in
a nasty humor. That Fitzgerald had surrendered did not irritate
him half so much as the thought that he was the real puppet. His
hands were tied, he could not act, and he was one that loved his
share in games.

The Colonel reddened under his tan. "No; I'll not lose my temper,
though this is cause enough. Curse me, but you lack courtesy.
This is my uniform, and whatever it may be to you it is sacred
to me. You were not forced into it; you were not compelled to
wear it. What would you do if a man wore your uniform and flung
it around in this manner?"

"I'd knock him down," Maurice admitted. "I apologize, Colonel;
it was not manly. But you must make allowances; my good nature
has suffered a severe strain. I'll get into my own clothes to-
morrow if you will have a servant sew on some buttons and mend
the collar. By the way, who is eating three meals a day in the
east corridor on the third floor?"

Their glances fenced. The Colonel rubbed his mustache.

"I like you," he said; "hang me if I don't. But as well as I
like you, I would not give a denier for your life if you were
found in that self-same corridor. The sentinel has orders to
shoot; but don't let that disturb you; you will know sooner or
later. It is better to wait than be shot. A horse will be
saddled at six. You will find it in the court. The countersigns
are Weixel and Arnoldt. Good luck to you."

"The same to you," rejoined Maurice, "only worse."

The Colonel's departure was followed by a period of temporary
speechlessness. Maurice smoked several "Khedives," while
Fitzgerald emptied two or three pipe-bowls.

"You seem to be in bad odor, Maurice," the latter ventured.

"In more ways than one. Where, in heaven's name, did you
resurrect that pipe?"

"In the stables. It isn't the pipe, it's the tobacco. I had to
break up some cigars."

Then came another period in the conversation. It occurred to
both that something yawned between them--a kind of abyss. Out of
this abyss one saw his guilt arise. . . . A woman stood at his
side. He had an accomplice. He had thrown the die, and he would
stand stubbornly to it. His pride built yet another wall around
him, impregnable either to protests or to sneers. He loved--
that was recompense enough. A man will forgive himself of grave
sins when these are debtors to his love.

As for the other, he beheld a trust betrayed, and he was
powerless to prevent it. Besides, his self-love smarted, chagrin
made eyes at him; and, more than all else, he recognized his own
share in the Englishman's fall from grace. It had been innocent
mischief on his part, true, but nevertheless he stood culpable.
He had no business to talk to a woman he did not know. The more
he studied the aspects of the situation the more whimsical it
grew. He was the prime cause of a king losing his throne, of a
man losing his honor, of a princess becoming an outcast.

"Your bride-elect," he said, "seems somewhat over-hasty. Well,
I'm off to bed."

"Maurice, can you blame me?"

"No, John; whom the gods destroy they first make mad. You will
come to your senses when it is too late."

"For God's sake, Maurice, who is she?"

"What will you do if she breaks her promise?" adroitly evading
the question.

"What shall I do?" He emptied the ashes from his pipe, and rose;
all that was aggressive came into his face. "I will bind her
hands and feet and carry her to the altar, and shoot the priest
that refuses to marry us. O Maurice, rest easy; no woman lives
who will make a fool of me, and laugh."

"That's comfort;" and Maurice turned in.

This night it was the Englishman who sat up till the morning
hours. Sylvia Amerbach. . . . A fear possessed him. If it should
be, he thought; if it should be, what then?



Midnight in Madame's boudoir; no light save that which streamed
rosily from the coals in the grate. The countess sat with her
slippered feet upon the fender. She held in her hand a screen,
and if any thoughts marked her face, they remained in blurred
obscurity.

"Heu!" said Madame from the opposite side; "it is all over. It
was detestable. I, to suffer this humiliation! Do you know what
I have done? I have promised to be his wife! His wife, I! Is it
not droll?" There was a surprising absence of mirth in the low
laugh which followed.

"I trust Madame will find it droll."

"And you?"

"And I, Madame?"

"Yes; did you not bring the clown to your feet?"

"No, Madame."

"How? You did not have the joy denied me --of laughing in his face?"

"No, Madame." With each answer the voice grew lower.

"Since when have I been Madame to you?"

"Since to-day."

Madame reached out a band and pressed down the screen. "Elsa,
what is it?"

"What is what, Madame?"

"This strange mood of yours."

Silence.

"You were gay enough this morning. Tell me."

"There is nothing to tell, Madame, save that my sacrifices are
at an end. I have nothing left."

"What! You forsake me when the end is won?" in astonishment.

"I did not say that I should desert you; I said that I had no
more sacrifices to make." The Countess rose. "For your sake,
Madame, because you have always been kind to me, and because it
is impossible not to love you, I have degraded myself. I have
pretended to love a man who saw through the artifice and told me
so, to save me further shame. O Madame, it is all execrable!

"And you will use this love which you have gained--this first
love of a man who has known no other and will know no other
while he lives!-- to bring about his ruin? This other, at whose
head you threw me--beware of him. He is light-hearted and gay,
perhaps. You call him a clown; he is cunning and brave; and
unless you judge him at his true value, your fabric of schemes
will fall ere it reaches its culmination. Could even you trick
him with words? No. You were compelled to use force. Is he not
handsome, Madame?" with a feverish gaiety. "Is there a gentleman
at your court who is a more perfect cavalier? Why, he blushes
like a woman! Is there in your court--" But her sentence broke,
and she could not go on.

"Elsa, are you mad?"

"Yes, Madame, yes; they call it a species of madness." Then,
with a sudden gust of wrath: "Why did you not leave me in peace?
You have destroyed me! O, the shame of it!" and she fled into
her own room.

Madame sat motionless. This, among other things, she had not
reckoned on.

Only the troopers and the servants slept in peace that night.

Maurice was up betimes next morning. The hills and valleys lay
under a mantle of sparkling rime, and the very air, keen of edge
and whistling, glistened in the sunlight. The iron shoes of the
horses beat sharply on the stone flooring of the court yard.
Maurice examined his riding furniture; pulled at the saddle,
tugged at the rein buckles, lifted the leather flaps and tried
the stirrup straps. It was not that he doubted the ability of
the groom; it was because this particular care was second nature
to him.

Fitzgerald watched him, and meditated. Some of his thoughts were
not pleasant. His eyes were heavy. At times he would lift his
shoulders and permit half a smile to flicker over his lips; a
certain thought caused this. The Colonel sat astride a broad-
chested cavalry horse, spotless white. He was going to accompany
Maurice to the frontier. He had imbibed the exhilarating tonic
of the morning, and his spirits ran high. At length Maurice
leaped into the saddle, caught the stirrups well, and signaled
to the Colonel that he was ready.

"You understand, Maurice?" Fitzgerald asked.

"Yes, John; all the world loves a lover. Besides, it is a
glorious morning for a ride. Up, portcullis, down drawbridge!"
waving his hand to the Colonel.

And away they went through the gateway, into the frosted road.
Maurice felt the spirit of some medieval ancestor creep into his
veins and he longed for an hour of the feudal days, to rescue a
princess from some dungeon-keep and to harry an over-lord. After
all, she was a wonderful woman, and Fitzgerald was only a man.
To give up all for the love of woman is the only sacrifice a man
can make.

"En avant!" cried the Colonel. "A fine day, a fine day for the
house of Auersperg!"

"And a devilish bad one for the houses of Fitzgerald and Carewe.
Woman's ambition, coupled with her deceit, is the root of all
evil; money is simply an invention of man to protect himself
from her encroachments. Eve was ambitious and deceitful; all
women are her daughters. When the pages of history grow dull--"

"Time puts a maggot in my lady's brain," supplemented the
Colonel. "It is like a row of dominoes. The power behind the
throne, the woman behind the power; an impulse moves the woman,
and lo! how they clatter down. But without woman, history would
be poor reading. The greatest battles in the world, could we but
see behind, were fought for women. Men are but footnotes, and
unfortunately history is made up of footnotes. But it is a fine
thing to be a footnote; that is my ambition.

"Ah, if you but knew what a pleasure it is for an old man like
me to have a finger in the game time plays! To meddle with
affairs, directly or indirectly! Kingdoms are but judy shows,
kings and queens but puppets; but we who pull the strings--Ah,
that is it! To play a game of chess with crowns!"

"There are exceptions; Madame seems to hold the strings in this
instance."

"Madame follows my advice in all she does."

Maurice opened his eyes at this statement.

"Would you believe an old man like me could lay such a train?
All this was my idea. It was difficult to get Madame to agree
with my views. War? I am not afraid of it; I am suspicious of it.
One day your friend returned a personal letter of Madame's
having written across it, `I laugh at you.' It was very foolish.
No man laughs at Madame more than once. She will, one day,
return this letter to him. A crown, a fine revenge, in one fell
swoop."

"She will ruin him utterly?"

"Utterly."

"Have you any idea what sort of man my friend is?"

"He lacks the polish of a man of affairs, and he surrenders too
easily."

"He will never surrender--Madame."

"How?"

"You remember his father; he will prove his father's son, every
inch of him. O, my Colonel, the curtain has only risen. One fine
morning your duchy will wake up without a duchess."

"What do you imply--an abduction?" The Colonel laughed.

"That is my secret."

"And the pretty countess?" banteringly.

"It was rather bad taste in Madame. It was putting love and
patriotism to questionable purposes. I am a gentleman."

"It was out of consideration for you; Madame was not quite sure
about you. But you are right; all of it has rather a dark shade.
You may rob a man of his valuables and give them back; a broken
word is not to be mended. Why did you keep the hiding place so
secret? I could have got those consols, and all this would have
been avoided."

"How should I know where they were? It was none of my affair."

"We are trusting you; I might have gone myself. You will return
with the treasure. Why have I not asked your word? Curiosity
will bring you back; curiosity. Besides this, you have an idea
that with your presence about, a flaw in the glass may be found.
Yes, you will be back. History is to be made; when you are old
you will glance at the page and say: `Look there; rather a
pretty bit, eh? Well, I helped to make it; indeed, had it not
been for me and my curiosity it would not have been made at all.'
Above all things, do not stop to talk to veiled women."

There was a chuckling sound. "I say, your Englishman is clever
now and then. In the gun barrels! Who would have looked for them
there? But why did he come himself? Why did he not trust to his
bankers? Why did he not turn over the affair to his
representative, the British minister? There were a hundred ways
of averting the catastrophe. Why did he not use a little fore-
thought when he knew how anxious we were for his distinguished
person?"

"Why does the moon rise at night and the sun at dawn? I am no
Cumaean Sybil. Perhaps it is the impulse which moves the woman
behind the power behind the throne; they call it fate. Had I
been in his place I dare say I should have followed his
footsteps."

Not long after they arrived at the frontier where they were to
separate, to meet again under conditions disagreeable to both.
The Colonel gave him additional instructions.

"Go; return as quickly as possible."

"Never fear; I should not like to miss the finale to this opera
bouffe."

"Rail on, my son; call it by any name you please, only do not
interrupt the prompter;" and with this the Colonel waved him an
adieu.

Maurice began the journey through the mountain pass, thinking
and planning and scheming. However he looked at the situation,
the end was the same: the Osians were doomed. If he himself
played false and retained the certificates until too late to be
of benefit to the duchess, war would follow; and the kingdom
would be soundly beaten. . . . Would Prince Frederick still hold
to his agreement and marry her Royal Highness, however ill the
fortunes of war fared? There was a swift current of blood to his
heart. The Voiture-verse of a countess faded away. . . .
Supposing Prince Frederick withdrew his claims? Some day her
Highness would be free; free, without title or money or shelter.
It was a wild dream. Was there not, when all was said, a faint
hope for his own affairs in the fall of Fitzgerald?

She was lonely, friendless, personally known to few. Still, she
would be an Osian princess for all her misfortunes. But an Osian
princess was not so great that love might not possess her.
Without royalty she would be only a woman. What would Austria do;
what would Austria say? If Austria had placed Leopold on the
throne, certainly it was to shut out the house of Auersperg.

And who was this man Beauvais, who served one house openly and
another under the rose? Where had he met him before, and why did
the thought of him cause unrest? To rescue her somehow, to win
her love, to see the glory of the world light the heavens in her
eyes! If the dream was mad, it was no less pleasant.

He was a commoner; he had nothing in the world but his brain and
his arm. Fitzgerald, now, possessed a famous title and an
ancient name. These kings and princes hereabout could boast of
but little more than he; and there were millions to back him. He
could dream of princesses and still be sane. Maurice did not
envy the Englishman's riches, but he coveted his right of way.

How often had he indulged in vain but pleasant dreams! Even in
the old days he was always succoring some proud beauty in
distress. Sometimes it was at sea, sometimes in railroad wrecks,
sometimes in the heart of flames; but he was ever there, like a
guardian angel. It was never the same heroine, but that did not
matter; she was always beautiful and rich, high placed and
lovable, and he never failed to brush aside all obstacles that
beset the path to the church door. He had dreamed of paladins,
and here at last was his long-sought opportunity--but he could
do nothing! He laughed. How many such romances lay beneath the
banter and jest of those bald bachelor diplomat friends of his?
Had fate reserved him for one of these?

It was noon when he entered the city of Bleiberg. He went
directly to his hotel, where a bath and a change of clothes took
the stiffness from his limbs. He was in no great hurry to go to
the Grand Hotel; there was plenty of time. Happily there was no
mail for him; he was not needed in Vienna.

At two o'clock he set out for the lower town. On the way he
picked up odd ends of news. The king was rapidly sinking; he had
suffered another stroke, and was now without voice. There was
unusual activity in the barracks. The students of the university
were committing mild depredations, such as building bonfires,
holding flambeau processions, and breaking windows which
contained the photographs of Prince Frederick of Carnavia, who,
strangely enough, was still wrapt in obscurity. When Maurice
entered the Grand Hotel he looked casually among the porters,
but the round-faced one was missing. He approached the desk. The
proprietor did not recognize him.

"No, my friend," said Maurice, affably, as a visitors' book was
pushed forward, "I am not going to sign. Instead, I wish to ask
a favor. A week ago a party of the king's troopers met upstairs."

The proprietor showed signs of returning memory, together with a
strange agitation.

"There was a slight disturbance," went on Maurice, still using
the affable tone. "Herr--ah-- Hamilton, I believe--"

The proprietor grew limp and yellow. "I--I do not know where he
is."

"I do," replied Maurice. "Don't you recognize me? Have I changed
so since I came here to doctor a sprained ankle?"

"You?--Before God, Herr, I was helpless; I had nothing to do
with it!" terrified at the peculiar smile of the victim.

"The key to this gentleman's room," was the demand.

"I--"

"The key, and be quick about it."

The key came forth. "You will say nothing, Herr; it would ruin
my business. It was a police affair."

"Has any one been in this room since?"

"No, Herr; the key has been in my pocket."

"Where is the porter who brought me here?"

"He was not a porter; he was with the police."

Maurice passed up the stairs. He found the room in disorder, but
a disorder rather familiar to his eyes. He had been the cause of
most of it. Here was where he broke the baron's arm and thumped
three others on the head. It had been a good fight. Here was a
hole in the wall where one of the empty revolvers had gone--
missing the Colonel's head by an inch.

There was a smudge on the carpet made by the falling candles. He
saw Fitzgerald's pipe and picked it up. No; the chamber maid had
not yet been there. He went over to the bed, stared at it and
shrugged. He raised the mattress. There was the gun case. He
drew it forth and took out the gun, not, however, without a
twist of his nerves.

Four millions of crowns, a woman's love, the fall of one dynasty
and the rise of another, all wadded in those innocent looking
gun barrels! He hesitated for a space, then unlocked the breech
and held the tubes toward the window. There was nothing in the
barrels, nothing but the golden sunlight, which glinted along
the polished steel.





CHAPTER XIV


QUI M'AIME, AIME MON CHIEN

On making this discovery Maurice was inclined to declaim in that
vigorous vocabulary which is taboo. He had been tricked. He was
no longer needed at the Red Chateau. Four millions in a gun
barrel; hoax was written all over the face of it, and yet he had
been as unsuspicious as a Highland gillie. Madame had tricked
him; the countess had tricked him, the Colonel and Fitzgerald.

That Madame had tricked him created no surprise; what irritated
him most was the conviction that Fitzgerald was laughing in his
sleeve, and that he had misjudged the Englishman's capacity for
dissimulation. Very well. He threw the gun on the bed; he took
Fitzgerald's pipe from his pocket and cast it after the gun, and
with a gesture which placed all the contents of the room under
the ban of his anathema, he strode out into the corridor, thence
to the office.