Books: The Puppet Crown
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Harold MacGrath >> The Puppet Crown
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"Nothing wakes me but the roll of the drum or thunder," answered
Fitzgerald diffidently.
"I dream of horses," said Maurice carelessly.
"Bon jour, M. le Capitaine!" cried the countess. Then she added
with a light laugh: "Come, let me try you. Portons armes!
Presentons armes! --How beautifully you do it!--Par le flanc
gauche! En avant--marche!"
Maurice swung, clicked his heels and, with a covert glance at
Madame, led the way into the dining hall, whistling, "Behold the
saber of my father!"
"Ah, I do not see the Colonel," said Maurice; for night and day
the old soldier had been with them.
"He has gone to Brunnstadt," said Madame, "but will return this
evening."
The breakfast was short and merry. Words passed across the table
that were as crisp as the toast. Maurice remarked the advent of
two liveried servants, stolid Germans by the way, who, as he
afterward found, did not understand French.
"So the Colonel has gone to Brunnstadt?" said Maurice; which was
a long way of asking why the Colonel had gone to Brunnstadt.
"Yes," said Madame; "he has gone to consult Madame the duchess
to see what shall be done to you, Monsieur."
"To be done to me?" ignoring the challenge in her eyes.
"Yes. You must not forget that you promised me your sword, and I
have taken the liberty of presenting it to her Highness."
"I remember nothing about promising my sword," said Maurice,
gazing ceiling-ward.
"What! There was a mental reservation?"
"No, Madame. I remember my words only too well. I said that I
loved adventure, thoughtless youth that I was, and that I was
easy to be found. Which is all true, and part proved, since I am
here."
"Still, the uniform fits you exceedingly well. The hussars hold
a high place at court."
"Madame," replied he pleasantly, "I appreciate the honor, but at
present my sword and fealty are sworn to my own country. And
besides, I have no desire to take part in the petty squabble
between this country and the kingdom."
The forecast of a storm lay in Madame's gray eyes.
"Eh? You wish to placate me, Madame?" thought Maurice.
"He is right, Madame," interposed the countess. "But away with
politics! It spoils all it touches."
"And away with the duchess, too," put in Fitzgerald, reaching
for a bunch of yellow grapes. "With all due respect to your
cause and beliefs, Madame the duchess, your mistress, is a
bugbear to me. The very sound of the title arouses in my heart
all that is antagonistic."
"You have not seen her Highness, Monsieur," said Madame, quietly.
"Perhaps she is all that is desirable. She is known to be rich,
her will is paramount to all others. When she sets her heart on
a thing she leaves no stone unturned until she procures it. And,
countess, do they not say of her that she possesses something--
an attribute--more dangerous than beauty--fascination?"
"Yes, Madame."
"Madame the duchess," said Maurice dryly, "has a stanch advocate
in you, Madame."
"It is not unnatural."
"Be that as it may," said Fitzgerald, "she is mine enemy."
"Love your enemies, says the Book," was the interposition of the
countess, who stole a sly glance at Maurice which he did not see.
"That would not be difficult--in some cases," replied the
Englishman.
"Ah, come," thought Maurice, "my friend is beginning to pick up
his lines." Aloud he said: "Madame, will you confer a favor on
me by permitting me to inform my superior in Vienna of my
whereabouts?"
"No, Monsieur; prisoners are not allowed to communicate with the
outside world. Are you not enjoying yourself? Is not everything
being done for your material comfort? What complaint have you to
offer?"
"A gilded cage is no less a cage."
"It is but temporary. The duchess has commanded that you be held
until it is her pleasure to come to the chateau. O, Monsieur,
where is your gallantry? Here the countess and I have done so
much to amuse you, and you speak of a gilded cage!"
"Pretty bird! pretty bird!" said Maurice, in a piping voice,
"will it have some caraway?"
Madame laughed. "Well, I hear the grooms leading the horses
under the porte coch,re. Go, then, for the morning ride. I am
sorry that I can not accompany you. I have some letters to write."
Fitzgerald curled his mustache. "I'll forswear the ride myself.
I was reading a good book last night; I'll finish it, and keep
Madame company."
Madame trifled with the toast crumbs. Fitzgerald's profound
dissimulation caused a smile to cross Maurice's lips.
"Come, countess," said Maurice, gaily; "we'll take the ride
together, since Madame has to write and my lord to read."
"Five minutes until I dress," replied the countess, and she sped
away.
"What a beautiful girl!" said Madame, fondly. "Poor dear! Her
life has not been a bed of roses."
"No?" said Maurice, while Fitzgerald raised his eyebrows
inquiringly.
"No. She was formerly a maid of honor to her Highness. She made
an unhappy marriage."
"And where is the count?" asked Fitzgerald in surprise. He shot
a glance of dismay at Maurice, who, translating it, smiled.
"He is dead."
Fitzgerald looked relieved.
"What a fine thing it is," said Maurice, rising, "to be a man
and wed where and how you will!" He withdrew to the main hall to
don his cap and spurs. As he stooped to strap the latter, he saw
a sheet of paper, crinkled by recent dampness, lying on the
floor. He picked it up--and read it.
"The plan you suggest is worthy of you, Madame. The
Englishman is fair game, being a common enemy. Let
us gain our ends through the heart, since his purse
is impregnable to assaults. But the countess? Why not
the pantry maid, since the other is an American? They
lack discrimination. The king grows weaker every
day. Nothing was found in the Englishman's rooms. I
fear that the consols are in the safe at the British
legation. As usual, a courier will arrive each night.
B."
"Why--not--the--pantry maid?" Maurice drawled. "That is flippant."
He read the message again. "What plan?" Suddenly he struck his
thigh. "By George, so that is it, eh, Madame? So that is why we
are so comfortably lodged here? I am in the way, and you bait
the hook with a countess! Since the purse will not lead the way,
the heart, eh? Certainly I shall tell my lord the Englishman all
about his hostess when I return from the ride. Decidedly you are
clever. O, how careless! Not even in cipher, so that he who
reads may run. And who is B.?--Beauvais! Something told me that
this man had a hand in the affair. I remember the look he gave
me. A traitor, too.
"Hang my memory, which seems always to forget what I wish to
remember and remember what I wish to forget! Where have I met
this man Beauvais before? Ah, the countess!" He thrust the
message into his breast. "Evidently Madame thinks I am worth
consideration; uncommonly pretty bait. Shall I let the play run
on, or shall I tell her? Ah! you have two minutes to spare," he
said, as she approached. "But you do not need them," throwing a
deal of admiration into his glance.
"It does not take me long to dress--on occasions."
"A compliment to me?" he said.
"If you will accept it."
It was an exhilarating morning, full of forest perfumes. Through
the haze the mountains glittered like huge emeralds and
amethysts.
"What a day!" said the countess, as they galloped away.
"Aye, for plots and war and love!"
"For plots and war?" demurely. Her cheeks were rosy and her hair
as yellow as the silk of corn.
"Well, then, for love." He shortened his rein. "A propos, have
you ever been in love, countess?"
"I? What a question!"
"Have you?"
"N--no! Let us talk of plots and war," gazing across the valley.
"No; let us talk of love. I am in love, and one afflicted that
way wishes a confidant. I appoint you mine."
"Some rosy-cheeked peasant girl?" laughing.
"Perhaps. Perhaps it's only a--a pantry maid," with a sly look
from the corner of his eyes. Evidently she had not heard. She
was still laughing. "I have heard of hermits falling in love
with stars, and have laughed. Now I am in the same predicament.
I love a star--"
"Operatic? To be sure! Mademoiselle Lenormand of the Royal
Vienna is in Bleiberg. How she keeps her age!"
It was Maurice's turn to laugh.
"And that is why you came to Bleiberg! Ah, these opera singers,
had I my way, they should all be aged and homely."
"Countess, you are pulling the bit too hard," said he. "I
noticed yesterday that your horse has a very tender mouth."
"Thank you." She slacked the rein. "He was going too close to
the ditch. You were saying--"
"No, it was you who were saying that all actresses should be
aged and homely. But it is not Mademoiselle Lenormand, it is not
the peasant, nor the pantry maid."
This time she looked up quickly.
"The woman I love is too far away, so I am going to give up
thinking of her. Countess, I made a peculiar discovery this
morning."
"A discovery, Monsieur? What is it?"
"Do you see that fork in the road, a mile away? When we reach it
and turn I'll tell you what it is. If I told you now it might
spoil the ride. What a day, truly! How clear everything is! And
the air is like wine." He drew in deep breaths.
"Let us hurry and reach the fork in the road; my curiosity is
stifling me."
Maurice did not laugh as she expected he would. As she observed
the thoughtful frown between his brows, a shiver of dread ran
through her. It did not take long to cover the intervening mile.
They turned, and the horses fell into a quick step.
"Now, Monsieur; please!"
After all . . . But he quelled the gentle tremor in his heart. A
month ago, had he known her, he might now have told her
altogether a different story. He could see that she had not an
inkling of what was to come (for he had determined to tell her);
and he vaguely wondered if he should bring humiliation to the
dainty creature. It would be like nicking a porcelain cup. Her
brows were arched inquisitively and her lips puckered. . . .He
had had a narrow escape.
He drew the message from his breast, leaned across and handed it
to her.
"Why, what is this, Monsieur?"
"Read it and see" And he busied himself with the tangled mane of
his horse. When they had ridden several yards, he heard her
voice.
"Here, Monsieur" The hand was extended, but the face was averted.
"Countess, you are too charming a woman to lend yourself to such
schemes."
There was no reply.
"Did you not volunteer to make me fall in love with you to keep
me from interfering with Madame's plans?" It was brutal, but he
was compelled to say it.
Silence.
"Did you not?" he persisted. "When one writes such messages as
these, one should use an intricate cipher. Had I been other than
a prisoner, what I have done would not be the act of a gentleman.
But I am a prisoner; I must defend myself. To rob a man through
his love! And such a man! He is a very infant in the hands of a
woman. He has been a soldier all his life. All women to him are
little less than angels; he knows nothing of their treachery,
their deceit, their false smiles. It will be an easy victory, or
rather it would have been, for I shall do my best to prevent it.
Madame is not unknown to me; I have been waiting to see what
meant this peculiar house party.
"Perhaps I am now too late. Madame distrusts me. I dare say she
has her reasons. She went to you. You were to occupy me. I was
young, I liked the society of women, I was gay and careless. She
has decked me out as one would deck a monkey (and doubtless she
calls me one behind my back), and has offered me a sword to play
with.
"In America, when a man puts a sword in his hand, it is to kill
somebody. Here--aye, all over the continent, for that matter--
swords are baubles for young nobles, used to slash each other in
love affairs. I respect and admire you; had I not done so, I
should not have spoken. Countess, be frank with me, as frank as
I have been with you; have I not guessed rightly?"
"Yes, Monsieur," her head bowed and her cheeks white. "Yes, yes!
it was a miserable game. But I love Madame; I would sacrifice my
pride and my heart for her, if need be."
"I can believe that."
"And believe me when I say that the moment I saw you, I knew
that my conduct was going to be detestable. But I had given my
promise. A woman has but little to offer to her country; I have
offered my pride, and I am a proud woman, Monsieur. I am ashamed.
I am glad that you spoke, for it was becoming unbearable to
throw myself at a man whose heart I knew intuitively to be
elsewhere." She raised her eyes, which were filled with a
strange luster. "Will you forgive me, Monsieur?"
"With all my heart. For now I know that we shall be friends. You
will be relieved of an odious part; for you are too handsome not
to have in keeping some other heart besides your own."
He then began gaily to describe some of his humorous adventures,
and continued in this vein till they arrived once more at the
chateau. Sometimes the countess laughed, but he could see that
her sprightliness was gone. When they came under the porte
cochere he sprang from his horse and assisted her to dismount;
and he did not relinquish her hand till he had given it a
friendly pressure. She stood motionless on the steps, centered a
look on him which he failed to interpret, then ran swiftly into
the hall, thence to her room, the door of which she bolted.
"It would not be difficult," he mused, communing with the
thought which had come to him. "It would be something real, and
not a chimera."
He turned over the horses to the grooms, and went in search of
Fitzgerald to inform him of his discovery; but the Englishman
was nowhere to be found. Neither was Madame. Being thirsty, he
proceeded to the dining hall. Fadette, the maid, was laying the
silver.
"Ah, the `pantry maid,'" he thought. "Good day, Fadette."
"Does Monsieur wish for something?"
"A glass of water. Thanks!"
She retreated and kept her eyes lowered.
"Fadette, you are charming. Has any one ever told you that?"
"O, Monsieur!" blushing.
"Have they?" lessening the distance between them.
"Sometimes," faintly. She could not withstand his glance, so she
retired a few more steps, only to find herself up with the wall.
With a laugh he sprang forward and caught her face between his
hands and imprinted a kiss on her left cheek. Suddenly she
wrenched herself loose, uttered a frightened cry and fled down
the pantryway.
"What's the matter with the girl?" he muttered aloud. "I wanted
to ask her some questions."
"Ask them of me, Monsieur," said a voice from the doorway.
Maurice wheeled. It was Madame, but her face expressed nothing.
He saw that he had been caught. The humor of the situation got
the better of him, and he laughed. Madame ignored this unseemly
hilarity.
"Monsieur, is this the way you return my kindness?"
"Permit me to apologize. As to your kindness, I have just
discovered that it is of a most dangerous quality."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I could not kiss Madame the countess with the same
sense of security as I could the-- pantry maid," bowing.
Just now Madame's face expressed a good deal. "Of what are you
talking?" advancing a step.
"I had in mind what our friend, Colonel Beauvais, remarked in
his recent dispatch: I know no discrimination. The fact is, I do.
I found the dispatch on the floor this morning. Allow me to
return it to you. I have kept silent, Madame, because I did not
know how to act."
"You have dared--?" her lips pressed and her eyes thunderous.
"To read it? Aye. I am a prisoner; it was in self-defense.
Madame, you do me great honor. A countess! What consideration to
the indiscriminate! Au revoir, then, till luncheon;" and he left
the room, whistling--
Voici le sabre de mon pere!
CHAPTER XI
THE DENOUEMENT
At no time during the afternoon did Maurice find the opportunity
to speak privately to Fitzgerald. Madame hovered about, chatting,
smiling and humming snatches of song. She seemed to have formed
a sudden attachment for Maurice; that is to say, she could not
bear to lose sight of him, not for the briefest moment.
He swallowed his chagrin, for he could but confess that it was
sugar-coated. Madame had at last considered his case, and had
labeled him dangerous. Somehow a man always likes to be properly
valued. It re-establishes his good opinion of himself.
Well, well; however affectionate Madame might be, she could
scarcely carry it beyond the threshold of his chamber, and he
was determined to retire at an early hour. But he had many
things to learn.
Fitzgerald was abandoned to the countess, who had still much
color to regain. From time to time the Englishman looked over
his shoulder to see what was going on between Madame and his
friend, and so missed half of what the countess said.
"Come," thought Maurice, "it is time I made a play."
The blackberries were ripe along the stone walls which
surrounded the chateau. Maurice wandered here and there,
plucking what fruit he could find. Now and then he would offer a
branch to Madame. At length, as though by previous arrangement
with Madame, the countess led Fitzgerald around to the other
side of the chateau, so that Madame and Maurice were alone.
Immediately the smile, which had rested on her lips, vanished.
Her companion was gazing mountainward, and cogitating. How fared
those in Bleiberg?
"What a beautiful world it is!" said a low, soft voice close to
his ear.
Maurice resumed his berry picking.
"What exquisite tints in the skies!" went on the voice; "what
matchless color in the forests!"
Maurice plucked a berry, ate it, and smacked his lips. It was a
good berry.
"But what a terrible thing it would be if one should die
suddenly, or be thrown into a windowless dungeon, shut out from
all these splendid reaches?"
Maurice plucked another berry, but he did not eat it.
Instinctively he turned--and met a pair of eyes as hard and cold
and gray as new steel.
"That," said he, "sounds like a threat."
"And if it were, Monsieur, and if it were?"
"If it were, I should say that you had discovered that I know
too much. I suspected from the first; the picture merely
confirmed my suspicions. I see now that it was thoughtless in me
not to have told my friend; but it is not too late."
"And why, I ask, have I not suppressed you before this?"
"Till to-day, Madame, you had not given me your particular
consideration." Then, as if the conversation was not interesting
him, he returned to the berries. "There's a fine one there. It's
a little high; but then!" He tiptoed, drew the branch from the
wall, and snatched the luscious fruit. "Ah!"
"Monsieur, attend to me; the berries can wait."
"Madame, the life of a good blackberry is short."
"To begin with, you say that I did not show you consideration.
Few princes have been shown like consideration."
"I was wrong. It is not every man that has a countess--and a
pretty one, too!--thrown at his head."
Madame was temporarily silenced by this retort; it upset her
calculations. She scrutinized the clean, smooth face, and she
saw lines which had hitherto escaped her notice. She was at last
convinced that she had to contend with a man, a man who had
dealt with both men and women. How deep was he? Could honors,
such as she could give, and money plumb the depths? . . . He was
an American. She smiled the smile of duplicity.
"Monsieur," she said, "do you lack wealth?"
"Yes, I lack it; but that is not to say that I desire it."
"Perhaps it is honors you desire?"
"Honors? To what greater honor may I aspire than that which is
written in my passports?"
"What is written in your passports?"
"That I am a citizen of the United States of America. It would
not be good taste in me to accept honors save those that my
country may choose to confer."
Again Madame found her foil turned aside. She began to lose
patience. Her boot patted the sod. "Monsieur, since the countess
is not high enough, since gold and honors have no charm, listen."
"I am listening, Madame."
"I permit you to witness the comic opera, but I shall allow no
prompting from outsiders."
"Madame, do you expect me to sit calmly by and see my friend
made a fool?" He spoke warmly and his eyes remained steadfast.
"Certainly that is what you shall do," coldly.
"Madame, you are a beautiful woman; heaven has endowed you with
something more than beauty. Is it possible that the gods forgot
to mix conscience in the mold?"
"Conscience? Royalty knows none."
"Ah, Madame, wait till you are royal."
"Take care. You have not felt my anger."
"I would rather that than your love."
She marveled at her patience.
"If you have no conscience, Madame, I have. I shall warn him.
You shall not dishonor him if I can prevent it. You wish to win
his love, and you have gauged the possibilities of it so
accurately that you know you will have but to ask, be it his
honor or his life. A far finer thing it would be for you to win
your crown at the point of the sword. There would be a little
glory in it then. But even then, the world would laugh at you.
For you would be waging war against a lonely woman, a paralytic
king, a prelate who is a man of peace. What resistance could
these three offer?
"But to gain your ends by treachery and deceit, to rob a man of
his brains and heart, laughing the while in your sleeve; to
break his life and make him curse all women, from Eve to you and
the mother who bore him! Ah, Madame, let me plead with you. Give
him his liberty. Let him go back and complete the task imposed
on him. Do not break his life, for life is more than a crown; do
not compel him to sully his honor, for honor is more than life.
"Your cause is just, I will admit, but do not tarnish it by such
detestable means. 'Tis true that a crown to me signifies nothing,
but life and honor are common to us both. With all his strength
and courage, my friend is helpless. All his life he has been
without the society of women. If he should love you--God help
him! His love would be without calculation, without reason,
blind and furious. Madame, do not destroy him."
Sometimes, in the passing, we are stopped by the sound of a
voice. It is not the words it utters, nor the range nor tone. It
is something indefinable, and, though we can not analyze it, we
are willing to follow wherever it leads. Such a voice Maurice
possessed, though he was totally ignorant of its power. But
Madame, as she listened, felt its magic influence, and for a
moment the spell rendered her mute.
"Monsieur, you have missed your vocation; you plead well, indeed.
Unfortunately, I can not hear; my ears are of wax. No, no! I
have nourished these projects too long; they are a part of me.
Laughed at, you say? Have I not been laughed at from one end of
the continent to the other?" passionately. "It is my turn now,
and woe to those who have dared to laugh. I shall sweep all
obstacles away; nothing shall stop me. Mine the crown is, and
mine it shall be. I am a woman, and I wished to avoid bloodshed.
But not even that shall stay me; not even love!" Her bosom
heaved, her hands were clenched, and her gray eyes flashed like
troubled waters in the sunlight.
"Madame, if you love him--"
"Well?" proudly.
"No, I am wrong. If you loved him you would prize above all else
this honor of which you intend to rob him."
"I brought you here not to discuss whether I am right or wrong.
Look about you."
Maurice was somewhat troubled to discover several troopers
lounging about just out of earshot. They were so arranged as to
prevent egress from the park. He looked thoughtfully at the wall.
It was eight feet in height.
Madame saw the look, and said, "Corporal!"
There was a noise on the other side of the wall, and presently a
head bobbed up.
"Madame?" inquired the head.
"Nothing. I wished to know if you were at your post." She turned
to Maurice, who was puzzled to know what all this was preamble
to. "Monsieur Carewe, I never forget details. I had an idea that
when I submitted my proposals to you, you might be tempted to
break your parole."
Maurice gnawed his lip. "Proceed, Madame."
"There are only two. If you do not promise here and now in no
way to interfere with my plans, these troopers will convey you
to Brunnstadt, where you will be kept in confinement until the
succession to the throne is decided one way or the other. The
other proposal is, if you promise --and I have faith in your
word--the situation will continue the same as at present. Choose,
Monsieur. Which is it to be?"
The devil gleamed in his eyes. He remained silent.
"Well! Well!" impatiently.
"I accept the alternative," with bad grace. "If I made a dash--"
"You would be shot; those were my orders."
"And if I went to prison--"
"You would miss what you call the comic opera, but which to me
is all there is in life. You say that I have read your friend
well. That is true. Do you think that it is easy for me to
lessen myself in my own eyes? No woman lives who is prouder than
I. Remember, you are not to hint at what I propose to do, nor
who I am. See! It is all because you read something which was
not intended for your eyes. Be my friend, or be my enemy, it is
a matter of indifference to me. You have only yourself to blame.
Had you gone about your business and not intruded where you were
not wanted, neither you nor your friend would be here. No
interference from you, Monsieur; that is the understanding." She
raised her hand and made a sign, and the troopers took
themselves off. "Now you may go--to the countess, if you wish;
though I dare say that she will not find you in the best of
tempers."
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