Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net THE PRINCESS DEHRA BY JOHN REED SCOTT AUTHOR OF âTHE COLONEL OF THE RED HUZZARS,â âBEATRIX OF CLARE,â ETC. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR BY CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 1908 Copyright, 1908, by John Reed Scott Published May, 1906 Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company The Washington Square Press, Philadelphia, U. S. A. TO THE REAL PRINCESS THE PRINCESS DEHRA I THE RECALL For the first time in a generation the Castle of Lotzen was entertaining its lord. He had come suddenly, a month before, and presently there had followed rumors of strange happenings in Dornlitz, in which the Duke had been too intimately concerned to please the King, and as punishment had been banished to his mountain estates. But Lotzenia was far from the Capital and isolated, and the people cared more for their crops and the amount of the tax levy than for the doings of the Court. And so it concerned them very little why the red banner with the golden cross floated from the highest turret of the old pile of stone, on the spur of the mountain overhanging the foaming Dreer. They knew it meant the Duke himself was in presence; but to them there was but one over-lord: the Dalberg, who reigned in Dornlitz; and in him they had all prideâfor was not the Dalberg their hereditary chieftain centuries before he was the King! True, the Duke of Lotzen had long been the Heir Presumptive, and so, in the prospective, entitled to their loyalty, but lately there had come from across the Sea a new Dalberg, of the blood of the great Henry, who, it was said, had displaced him in the line of Succession, and was to marry the Princess Dehra. And at her name every woman of them curtsied and every man uncovered; blaming High Heaven the while, that she might not reign over them, when Frederick the King were gone; and well prepared to welcome the new heir if she were to be his queen. At first the Duke had kept to the seclusion of his own domain, wide and wild enough to let him ride all day without crossing its boundary, but after a time he came at intervals, with a companion or two, into the low-lands, choosing the main highways, and dallying occasionally at some cross-road smithy for a word of gossip with those around the forge. For Lotzen was not alone in his exile; he might be banished from the Capital, but that was no reason for denying himself all its pleasures; and the lights burned late at the Castle, and when the wind was from the North it strewed the valley with whisps of music and strands of laughter. And the country-side shook its head, and marveled at the turning of night into day, and at people who seemed never to sleep except when others worked; and not much even then, if the tales of such of the servants as belonged to the locality were to be believed. And the revelry waxed louder and wilder as the days passed, and many times toward evening the whole company would come plunging down the mountain, and, with the great dogs baying before them, go racing through the valleys and back again to the Castle, as though some fiend were hot on their trail or they on his. And ever beside the Duke, on a great, black horse, went the same woman, slender and sinuous, with raven hair and dead-white cheek; a feather touch on rein, a careless grace in saddle. And as they rode the Duke watched her with glowing eyes; and his cold face warmed with his thoughts, and he would speak to her earnestly and persuasively; and she, swaying toward him, would answer softly and with a tantalizing smile. Then, one day, she had refused to ride. âI am tired,â she said, when at the sounding of the horn he had sought her apartments; âlet the others go.â He went over and leaned on the back of her chair. âTiredâof what?â he asked. âOf everythingâof myself most of all.â âAnd of everybody?â smiling down at her. âOne usually tires of self last.â âAnd you want to leave me?â he asked. She shook her head. âNo, not you, Ferdinandâthe others.â âShall I send them away?â he said eagerly. âAnd make this lonely place more lonely still!â âI despise the miserable place,â he exclaimed. âThen why not to Paris to-night?â she asked. âWhy not, indeed?â he answered, gravely, âfor the others andâyou.â âAnd you, too?â glancing up at him and touching, for an instant, his hand. He shrugged his shoulders. âYou forget, there is a King in Dornlitz!â âYou would go incog. and old Frederick never be the wiser, nor care even if he were.â He laughed shortly. âThink you so, ma belle,âwell, believe me, I want not to be the one to try him.â The horn rang out again from the court-yard; the Duke crossed to a window. âGo on,â he called, âwe will follow presently;â and with a clatter and a shout, they spurred across the bridge and away. âWho leads?â she asked, going over and drawing herself up on the casement. He put his arm around her. âWhat matters,â he laughed, âsince we are here?â and bent his head to her cheek. âLet us go to Paris, dear,â she whispered, caressingly; âto the boulevards and the music, the life, and the color.â He shook his head. âYou donât know what you ask, little oneâonce I might have dared it, but not nowâno, not now.â She drew a bit nearer. âAnd would the penalty now be so very serious?â she asked. He looked at her a while uncertainly; and she smiled back persuasively. She knew that he was in disfavor because of his plots against the Archduke Armandâs honor and life; and that he had been sent hither in disgrace; but all along what had puzzled her was his calm acquiescence; his remaining in this desolation, with never a word of anger toward the King, nor disposition to slip away surreptitiously to haunts beyond the border. Why should he be so careful not to transgress even the spirit of the royal order?âhe who had not hesitated to play a false wife against the Archduke Armand, to try assassination, and to arrange deliberately to kill him in a duel. She remembered well that evening in her reception room, at the Hotel Metzen in Dornlitz, when Lotzenâs whole scheme had suddenly collapsed like a house of cards. She recalled the Kingâs very words of sentence when, at last, he had deigned to notice the Duke. âThe Court has no present need of plotters and will be the better for your absence,â he had said. âIt has been over long since you have visited your titular estates and they doubtless require your immediate attention. You are, therefore, permitted to depart to them forthwithâand to remain indefinitely.â Surely, it was very general and precluded only a return to Dornlitz. That the question of the succession was behind it all, she was very well persuaded; the family laws of the Dalbergs were secret, undisclosed to any but the ranking members of the House, but the Crown had always descended by male primogeniture. The advent of Armand, the eldest male descendant of Hugo Dalberg (who had been banished by his father, the Great Henry, when he had gone to America and taken service under Washington) had tangled matters, for Armand was senior in line to Lotzen. It was known that Henry, shortly before his death, had revoked the former decree and restored Hugo and his children to their rank and estates; and Frederick had proclaimed this decree to the Nation and had executed it in favor of Armand, making him an Archduke and Colonel of the Red Huzzars. But what no one knew was whether Lotzen had hereby been displaced as Heir Presumptive. How far did the Great Henryâs decree of restoration extend? How far had Frederick made it effective? In short, would the next King be Ferdinand, Duke of Lotzen, or Armand, Archduke of Valeria? And to Madeline Spencer the answer was of deep concern; and she had been manÅuvering to draw it from the Duke ever since she had come to the Castle. But every time she had led up to it, he had led away, and with evident deliberation. Plainly there was something in the Laws that made it well for him to drive the King no further; and what could it be but the power to remove him as Heir Presumptive. And as Lotzen knew the answer, she would know it, too. If he were not to be king, she had no notion to entangle herself further with him; he was then too small game for her bow; and there would be a very chill welcome for her in Dornlitz from Queen Dehra. But should he get the Crownâwell, there are worse positions than a kingâs favoriteâfor a few monthsâthe open-handed months. So she slipped an arm about his shoulders and let a whisp of perfumed hair flirt across his face. âTell me, dear,â she said, âwhy wonât you go to Paris?â He laughed and lightly pinched her cheek. âBecause Iâm surer of you here. Paris breeds too many rivals.â âYet I left them all to come here,â she answered. âBut now you would go back.â She smiled up at him. âYes, but with you, dearânot alone.â Her hand stole into his. âTell me, sweetheart, why you will not goâmight it cause Frederick to deprive you of the succession?â For a space the Duke made no answer, gazing the while steadily into the distance, with eyebrows slightly drawn. And she, having dared so far, dared further. âSurely, dear, he would not wrong you by making Armand king!â she exclaimed, as though the thought had but that moment come. He turned to her with quick sympathy, a look of warm appreciation in his eyes. The answer she had played for trembled on his lipsâthen died unspoken. He bent down and kissed her forehead. âWe of the Dalbergs still believe, my dear, that the King can do no wrong,â he said, and swung her to the floor. âCome, let us walk on the wall, and forget everything except that we are together, and that I love you.â She closed her eyes to hide the flash of angry disappointment, though her voice was calm and easy. âLove!â she laughed; âlove! what is it? The infatuation of the momentâthe pleasure of an hour.â âAnd hence this eagerness for Paris?â She gave him a quick glance. âMay be, my lord, to prolong our moment; to extend our hour.â He paused, his hand upon the door. âAnd otherwise are they ended?â he asked quietly. She let her eyes seek the door. âNoânot yet.â He slowly closed the door and leaned against it. âMy dear Madeline,â he said, âlet us deal frankly with each other. I am not so silly as to think you love me, though Iâm willing to admit I wish you did. You have fascinated meâever since that evening in the Hanging Garden when you made the play of being the Archduke Armandâs wife. Love may be what you style it: âthe infatuation of the moment; the pleasure of an hour.â If so, for you, my moment and my hour still linger. But with you, I know, there is a different motive; you may like me passing wellâI believe you doâyet it was not that which brought you here, away from Parisââthe boulevards and the music.â You came becauseâwell, what matters the because: you came; and for that I am very grateful; they have been pleasant days for meâââ She had been gazing through the window; now she looked him in the eyes. âAnd for me as well,â she said. âI am glad,â he answered gravelyââand it shall not be I that ends them. You wish to know if I am still the Heir Presumptive. You shall have your answer: I do not know. It rests with the King. He has the power to displace me in favor of Armand.â She smiled comprehendingly. It was as she had feared. âAnd the Princess Royal is betrothed to Armand,â she commented. Lotzen shrugged his shoulders. âJust so,â he said. âDo you wonder I may not go to Paris?â She went over to the fireplace, and sitting on the arm of a chair rested her slender feet on the fender, her silk clad ankles glistening in the fire-light. âI donât quite understand,â she said, âwhy, when the American was restored to Hugoâs rank, he did not, by that very fact, become also Heir Presumptiveâhis line is senior to yours.â There was room on the chair arm for another and he took it. âYou have touched the very point,â he said. âHenry the Third himself restored Hugo and his heirs to rank and estate; but it needs Frederickâs decree to make him eligible to the Crown.â âAnd has he made it?â He shook his head. âI do not knowâââ âBut, surely, it would be promulgated, if he had.â âVery probably; but not necessarily. All that is required is a line in the big book which for centuries has contained the Laws of the Dalbergs.â She studied the tip of her shoe, tapping it the while on the fender rod. âWhen will this marriage be solemnized?â she asked. He laughed rather curtly. âNever, I hope.â She gave him a quick look. âSoâthe wound still hurts. I beg your pardon; I did not mean to be unkind. I was only thinking that, if the decree were not yet made, the wedding would be sure to bring it.â He put his arm around her waist and drew her over until the black hair pressed his shoulder. âNay, Madeline, you are quite wrong,â he said. âThe Princess is nothing to me nowânothing but the Kingâs daughter and the Americanâs chief advocate. I meant what you did:âthat the marriage will lose me the Crown.â For a moment she suffered his embrace, watching him the while through half closed eyes; then she drew away. âI suppose there is no way to prevent the marriage,â she remarked, her gaze upon the fire. He arose and, crossing to the table, found a cigarette. âCan you suggest a way?â he asked, his back toward her, the match aflame, poised before his face. She had turned and was watching him with sharp interest, but she did not answer, and when he glanced around, in question, she was looking at the fire. âWant a cigarette?â he said. She nodded, and he took it to her and held the match for its lighting. âI asked you if you could suggest a way,â he remarked. She blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. âYes, go back to Dornlitz and kill the American.â âWill you go with me?â banteringly. âIndeed I wonât,â with a reminiscent smile; âI have quite too vivid a memory of my recent visit there.â âAnd the killingâshall I do it by proxy or in person?â âAny wayâso it is doneâthough oneâs best servant is oneâs self, you know.â He had thought her jesting, but now he leaned forward to see her face. âSurely, you do not mean it,â he said uncertainly. âWhy not?â she asked. âItâs true you have already tried both waysâand failed; but that is no assurance of the future. The second, or some other try may win.â A tolerant smile crossed his lips. âAnd meanwhile, of course, the American would wait patiently to be killed.â She shrugged her shoulders. âYou seem to have forgot that steel vests do not protect the head; and that several swords might penetrate a guard which one could not.â âSurely,â he exclaimed, âsurely, you must have loved this man!â She put his words aside with a wave of her hand. âMy advice is quite impersonal,â she saidââand it is only trite advice at that, as you know. You have yourself considered it already scores of times, and have been deterred only by the danger to yourself.â He laughed. âIâm glad you cannot go over to my enemies. You read my mind too accurately.â âNonsense,â she retorted; âArmand knows it quite as well as I, though possibly he may not yet have realized how timid you have grown.â âTimid!â She nodded. âYes, timid; you had plenty of nerve at first, when the American came; but it seems to have run to water.â âAnd I shall lose, you think?â She tossed the cigarette among the red ashes and arose. âWhy should you win, Ferdinand?â she askedâthen a sly smile touched her lipsââso far as I have observed, you havenât troubled even so much as to pray for success.â He leaned forward and drew her back to the place beside him. âPatience, Madeline, patience,â said he; âsome day Iâm going back to Dornlitz.â âTo see the Archduke Armand crowned?â she scoffed. He bent his head close to her ear. âI trust soâwith the diadem that never fades.â She laughed. âTrust and hope are the weapons of the apathetic. Why donât you, at least, deal in predictions; sometimes they inspire deeds.â âVery good,â he said smilingly. âI predict that there is another little game for you and me to play in Dornlitz, and that we shall be there before many days.â âYou are an absent-minded prophet,â she said; âI told you I would not go to Dornlitz.â âBut if I need you, Madeline?â She shook her head. âTransfer the game to Paris, or any place outside Valeria, and I will gladly be your partner.â He took her hand. âWill nothing persuade you?â She faced him instantly. âNothing, my lord, nothing, so long as Frederick is king.â The Duke lifted her hand and tapped it softly against his cheek. âTres bien ma chÃ¨re, tres bien,â he said; then frowned, as Mrs. Spencerâs maid entered. âPour Monsieur le Duc,â she curtsied. Lotzen took the card from the salver and turned it over. âI will see him at once,â he said; âhave him shown to my private cabinet.... It is Bigler,â he explained. âWhy not have him here?â He hesitated. âOh, very well; I thought you trusted me.â He struck the bell. âShow Count Bigler here,â he ordered. Then when the maid had gone: âThere, Madeline, that should satisfy you, for I have no idea what brings him.â She went quickly to him, and leaning over his shoulder lightly kissed his cheek. âI knew you trusted me, dear,â she said, âbut a woman likes to have it demonstrated, now and then.â He turned to catch her; but she sprang away. âNo, Ferdinand, no,â as he pursued her; âthe Count is comingâgo and sit down.ââShe tried to reach her boudoir, but with a laugh he headed her off, and slowly drove her into a corner. âSurrender,â he said; âIâll be merciful.â For answer there came the swish of high-held skirts, a vision of black silk stockings and white lace, and she was across a huge sofa, and, with flushed face and merry eyes, had turned and faced him. And as they stood so, Count Bigler was announced. âWelcome, my dear Bigler, welcome!â the Duke exclaimed, hurrying over to greet him; âyou are surely Heaven sent.... Madame Spencer, I think you know the Count.â She saw the look of sharp surprise that Bigler tried to hide by bowing very low, and she laughed gayly. âIndeed, you do come in good time, my lord,â she said; âwe were so put to for amusement we were reduced to playing tag around the roomâdonât be shocked; you will be playing it too, if you are here for long.â âIf it carry the usual penalty,â he answered, joining in her laugh, âI am very ready to play it now.â âDoubtless,â said the Duke dryly, motioning him to a chair. âBut first, tell us the gossip of the Capital; we have heard nothing for weeks. Whatâs my dear cousin Armand up toânot dying, I fear?â âDying! Not heânot while there are any honors handy, with a doting King to shower them on him, and a Princess waiting for wife.â The Dukeâs face, cold at best, went yet colder. âHas the wedding date been announced?â he asked. âNot formally, but I understand it has been fixed for the twenty-seventh.â Lotzen glanced at a calendar. âThree weeks from to-morrowâwell, much may happen in that time. Come,â he said good-naturedly, shaking off the irritation, âtell us all you knowâeverythingâfrom the newest dance at the opera to the tattle of the Clubs. I said you were Heaven sentânow prove it. But firstâwas it wise for you to come here? What will Frederick say?â The Count laughed. âOh, Iâm not here; Iâm in Paris, on two weeks leave.â âParis!â the Duke exclaimed. âSurely, this Paris fever is the very devil; are you off to-night or in the morning?â Bigler shot a quick glance at Mrs. Spencer, and understood. âIâm not to Paris at all,â he said, âunless you send me.â âHe wonât do that, Monsieur le Comte,â the lady laughed; and Lotzen, who had quite missed the hidden meaning in their words, nodded in affirmance. âCome,â he said, âyour budgetâout with it. Iâm athirst for news.â The Count drew out a cigar and, at Mrs. Spencerâs smile of permission, he lighted it, and began his tale. And it took time in the telling, for the Duke was constant in his questions, and a month is very long for such as he to be torn from his usual life and haunts. And, through it all, Mrs. Spencer lay back in sinuous indolence among the cushions on the couch before the fire, one hand behind her shapely head, her eyes, languidly indifferent, upon the two men, her thoughts seemingly far away. And while he talked, Count Bigler watched her curiously, but discreetly. This was the first time he had seen the famous âWoman in Blackâ so closely, and her striking beauty fairly stunned him. He knew his Paris and Vienna well, but her equal was not thereâno, nor elsewhere, he would swear. Truly, he had wasted his sympathy on Lotzenâhe needed none of it with such a companion for his exile. And she, unseeing, yet seeing all, read much of his thoughts; and presently, from behind her heavy lashes, she flashed a smile upon himâhalf challenge, half rebukeâthen turned her face from him, nor shifted it until the fading daylight wrapped her in its shadow. âThere, my tale is told,â the Count ended. âIâm empty as a broken bottleâand as dry,â and he poured himself a glass of wine from the decanter on a side table. âYou are a rare gossip, truly,â said the Duke; âbut you have most carefully avoided the one matter that interests me most:âwhat do they say of me in Dornlitz?â Bigler shrugged his shoulders. âWhy ask?â he said. âYou know quite well the Capital does not love you.â âAnd, therefore, no reason for me to be sensitive. Come, out with it. What do they say?â âVery well,â said Bigler, âif you want it, here it is:âthey have the notion that you are no longer the Heir Presumptive, and it seems to give them vast delight.â The Duke nodded. âAnd on what is the notion based?â âOriginally, on hope, I fancy; but lately it has become accepted that the King not only has the power to displace you, but has actually signed the decree.â âAnd Frederickâdoes he encourage the idea?â The Count shook his head. âNo, except by his open fondness for the American.â âIâve been urged to go to Dornlitz and kill the American,â Lotzen remarked, with a smile and a nod toward Mrs. Spencer. âIf you can kill him,â said Bigler instantly, âthe advice is excellent.â âExactly. And if I canât, itâs the end of meâand my friends.â âI think your friends would gladly try the hazard,â the Count answered. âIt is dull prospect and small hope for them, even now. And candidly, my lord, to my mind, itâs your only chance, if you wish the Crown; for, believe me, the Archduke Armand is fixed for the succession, and the day he weds the Princess Royal will see him formally proclaimed.â The Duke strode to the far end of the room and back again. âIs that your honest adviceâto go to Dornlitz?â he asked. The other arose and raised his hand in salute. âIt is, sir; and not mine alone, but Gimelsâ and Rosenâs and Whippenâs, and all the othersââthat is what brought me here.â âAnd have you any plan arranged?â The Count nodded ever so slightly, then looked the Duke steadily in the faceâand the latter understood. He turned to Madeline Spencer. âCome nearer, my dear,â he said, âwe may need your quick witâthere is plotting afoot.â She gave him a smile of appreciation, and came and took the chair he offered, and he motioned for Bigler to proceed. âBut, first, tell me,â he interjected, âam I to go to Dornlitz openly or in disguise? I donât fancy the latter.â âOpenly,â said the Count. âHaving been in exile a month, you can venture to return and throw yourself on Frederickâs mercy. We think he will receive you and permit you to remainâbut, at least, it will give you two days in Dornlitz, and, if our plan does not miscarry, that will be quite ample.â âVery good,â the Duke commented; âbut my going will depend upon how I like your plot; let us have itâand in it, I trust you have not overlooked my fiasco at the Vierle Masque and so hung it all on my single sword.â âYour sword may be very necessary, but, if so, it wonât be alone. We have several plansâthe one we hope toâââ A light tap on the door interrupted him, and a servant entered, with the bright pink envelope that, in Valeria, always contained a telegram. âMy recall to Court,â laughed the Duke, and drawing out the message glanced at it indifferently. But it seemed to take him unduly long to read it; and when, at length, he folded it, his face was very grave; and he sat silent, staring at the floor, creasing and recreasing the sheet with nervous fingers, and quite oblivious to the two who were watching him, and the servant standing stiffly at attention at his side. Suddenly, from without, arose a mad din of horsesâ hoofs and human voices, as the returning cavalcade dashed into the courtyard, women and men yelling like fiends possessed. And it roused the Duke. âYou may go,â to the footman; âthere is no answer now.â He waited until the door closed; then held up the telegram. âHis Majesty died, suddenly, this afternoon,â he said. Count Bigler sprang half out of his chair. âFrederick dead! the King dead!â he criedââthen, in Godâs name, who now is kingâyou or the American?â The Duke arose. âThat is what we are about to find out,â he said, very quietly. âCome, we will go to Dornlitz.â II TO-MORROW AND THE BOOK Frederick of Valeria had died as every strong man wants to die: suddenly and in the midst of his affairs, with the full vigor of life still upon him and no premonition of the end. It had been a sharp straightening in saddle, a catch of breath, a lift of hand toward heart, and then, with the great band of the Foot Guards thundering before him, and the regiment swinging by in review, he had sunk slowly over and into the arms of the Archduke Armand. And as he held him, there was a quick touch of surgeonâs fingers to pulse and breast, a shake of head, a word; and then, sorrowfully and in silence, they bore him away; while the regiment, wheeling sharply into line, spread across the parade and held back the populace. And presently, as the people lingered, wondering and fearful, and the Guards stood stolid in their ranks, the royal standard on the great tower of the Castle dropped slowly to half staff, and the mellow bell of the Cathedral began to toll, to all Valeria, the mournful message that her King was dead. And far out in the country the Princess Dehra heard it, but faintly; and drawing rein, she listened in growing trepidation for a louder note. Was it the Cathedral bell?âthe bell that tolled only when a Dalberg died! For a while she caught no stroke, and the fear was passing, when down the wind it came, clear and strongâand againâand yet again. And with blanched cheek and fluttering heart she was racing at top speed toward Dornlitz, staying neither for man nor beast, nor hill nor stream, the solemn clang smiting her ever harder and harder in the face. There were but two for whom it could be speaking, her father and her loverâfor she gave no thought to Lotzen or his brother, Charles. And now, which?âwhich?âwhich? Mile after mile went behind her in dust and flying stones, until six were passed, and then the outer guard post rose in front. âThe bell!â she cried, as the sentry sprang to attention, âthe bell, man, the bell?â The soldier grounded arms. âFor the King,â he said. But as the word was spoken she was goneâjoy and sorrow now fighting strangely in her heartâand as she dashed up the wide Avenue, the men uncovered and the women breathed a prayer; but she, herself, saw only the big, gray building with the drooping flag, and toward it she sped, the echo of the now silent bell still ringing in her ears. The Castle gates were closed, and before them with drawn swords, stern and impassive, sat two huge Cuirassiers of the Guard; they heard the nearing hoof beats, and, over the heads of the crowd that hung about the entrance, they saw and understood. âStand back!â they cried; âstand backâthe Princess comes!â And the gates swung open, and the big sorrel horse, reeking with sweat and flecked with foam and dust, flashed by, and on across the courtyard. And Colonel Moore, who was about to ride away, sprang down and swung her out of saddle. âTake me to him,â she said quietly, as he stood aside to let her pass. She swayed slightly at the first step, and her legs seemed strangely stiff and heavy, but she slipped her hand through his arm and drove herself along. And so he led her, calm and dry-eyed, down the long corridor and through the ante-room to the Kingâs chamber, and all who met them bowed head and drew back. At the threshold she halted. âDo you please bid all retire,â she said. âI would see my father alone.â And when he had done her will, he came and held open the door for her a little way, then stood at attention and raised his hand in salute; and the Princess went in to her dead. Meanwhile, the Archduke Armand was searching for the Princess. The moment he had seen the King at rest in the Castle, declining all escort, he had galloped away for the Summer Palace, first ordering that no information should be conveyed there by telephone. It was a message for him to deliver in person, though he shrank from it, as only a man can shrink from such a duty. But he knew nothing of the Cathedral bell and its tolling, and when, as he neared the Park, the first note broke upon him, he listened in surprise; then he grasped its meaning, and with an imprecation, spurred the faster, racing now with a brazen clapper as to which should tell the Princess first. And the sentry at the gate stared in wonder; but the officer on duty at the main entrance ran out to meet him, knowing instantly for whom the bell was tolling and for whom the Archduke came. âHer Highness is not here,â he cried. âShe rode away alone by the North Avenue a short while ago.â âMake report to the Castle the instant she returns,â Armand called, and was goneâto follow her, as he thought, on the old forge road. âYe Gods!â the officer exclaimed, âthat was the Kingâthe new King!â and mechanically he clicked his heels together and saluted. Nor did he imagine that all unwittingly he had sent his master far astray; for the Princess had gone but a little way by the North Avenue, and then had circled over to the South gate. And so Armand searched vainly, until at last, bearing around toward Dornlitz, he struck the main highway and learned that she had passed long since, making for the Capital as fast as horse could run. And he knew that the Bell had been the messenger, and that there was now naught for him to do but to return with all speed and give such comfort as he might. Though what to do or to say he had no ideaâfor never before had he been called upon to minister to a womanâs grief; and he pondered upon it with a misgiving that was at its deepest when, at length, he stood outside her door and heard her bid the servant to admit him. But if he looked for tears and trembling he was disappointed, for she met him as she had met those in the corridor and the ante-room, dry-eyed and calmly. And in silence he took her in his arms, and held her close, and stroked her shining hair. And presently she put his arms aside, and stepping back, she curtsied low and very gravely. âLife to Your Majesty!â she said; âlong live the King!â and kissed his hand. He raised her quickly. âNever bend knee to me, Dehra,â he said. âAnd believe me, I had quite forgot everything except that you had lost your father.â She went back to him. âAnd so had I, dear, until you came; but now, since he is gone, you are all I haveâis it very selfish, then, for me to think of you so soon?â He drew her to a chair and stood looking down at her. âIf it is,â he said, âI am surely not the one to judge you.â She shook her head sadly. âThere is no one to judge butâhim,â she answered; âand he, I know, would give me full approval.â She was silent for a while, her thoughts in the darkened room across the court, where the tapers burned dimly, and a Captain of the Guard kept watch. And her heart sobbed afresh, though her lips were mute and her eyes undimmed. At last she spoke. âIs the Book of Laws at the Summer Palace or here?â she asked. âI do not know,â said Armand, âI have never seen it except the day that the King read old Henryâs decree and offered me Hugoâs titles and estates.â âWell, at least, he spoke of it to you to-day.â Armand shook his head. âNever a word; neither to-day nor for many days.â A faint frown showed between her eyes. âDidnât he mention to you, this afternoon, the matter of the Succession?â âNo.â She sat up sharply. âIt canât be he didnâtâââ The Archduke dropped on the floor at her feet and took her hand. âI assure you, Dehra, the King didnât speak a single word to me on such a matter.â âNo, no,â she said, âyou donât understand. I mean it can not be he didnât make the decree.â âThe decree!â Armand exclaimed, though he knew well there was but one she would refer to; and his pulse bounded fiercely and his face grew very hot. âYes, dearâthe decreeâthat would have made you Heir Presumptiveâand now King.â âAnd you think it was drawn?â âI am sure of it.â âThe King told you so?â âNot directly, but by inference. I came upon him late last night in his library, with the Laws open before him and a pen in his hand; and when I ventured to voice my curiosity, he smiled and closed the book, saying, âYou may see it to-morrow, child; after I have told Armand.ââ âDoubtless he intended to tell me after the review.â The Princess leaned over and put her arm around his neck. âAnd now you are the King, dear; as he had always intended you should be,â she whispered. âThank God, the decree was made in time.â For a while Armand toyed with her slender fingers, and did not answer. Of course, she was right:âit was the decree they both had been hoping for so earnestly, but which neither had dared mention to the King. And now, when it had come, and in such fashion, was it really worth the while. Worth the turmoil and the trouble, and, may be, the fighting, that was sure to follow his assumption of the royal dignity. Had Frederick lived to proclaim the decree and to school the Nation into accepting him as his successor, the way would have been easy and well assured. But it was vastly different nowâwith Frederick dead, the decree yet to be announced, and few, doubtless, of those in authority around him, to be depended on to aid him hold the throne. Dalberg though he was, and now, by birth, the Head of the House, yet he was a foreigner, and no people take kindly to a foreign King. Frederick had died too soonâanother yearââ And Dehra, bending down questioning his abstraction, read his face and understood his thoughts. âCome, dear,â she said, âthe crisis is here, and we must face it. Dismiss the idea that youâre a foreigner. Only you and Lotzen and I are familiar with our Laws. You forget that the people do not know it required a special decree to make you eligible for the Crown; and to them you have been the next King ever since you were proclaimed as Hugoâs heir. And surely they have shown you a rare good will, and an amazing preference over the Duke. He has spent his whole life in cultivating their dislike; do you fancy it wonât bring its harvest now?â He had turned and was watching her with an indulgent smile. It was sweet to hear her argue so; to see her intense devotion to his cause; her passionate desire that he should sit in her fatherâs place and rule the ancient monarchy. And at her first words, and the sight of her loving eyes and flushed cheeks, his doubts had vanished, and his decision had been made. Yet, because he liked to see her so, he led her on. âBut what of the Nobility,â he objected; âin Valeria they still lead the people.â âTrue,â she answered instantly, âtrue; but you forget again that the Nobles are sworn to maintain the Laws of the Dalbergs; and that for centuries none has ever broken faith. No, no, Armand, they will be true to their oaths; they will uphold the decree.â âDonât you think, dear,â he smiled, âyou are making it rather too assured? If the people are for me (or at least are not for Lotzen) and the Nobles will abide by the Laws, nothing remains but to mount the Throne and seize the sceptre.â âJust about that, I fancy,â she replied. âAnd, meanwhile, what will Lotzen be doing?â She frowned. âWhatever the Head of his House orders him to do. As a Dalberg he is bound to obey.â âAnd you think he will obey?â âI surely do. I cannot imagine a Dalberg dishonoring the Book of Laws.â âI fear you do not know Ferdinand of Lotzen,â said Armand seriously. âHe intends to dispute the Succession. I have never told you how, long ago, he warned me what to expect if I undertook to âfilch the Crown,â as he put it. It was the afternoon he insulted me at headquartersâthe Vierle Masque was in the evening.â The Princess nodded eagerly. âYes,â said she, âyesâI knowâthe time he wanted you to toss up a coin for me. What did he say?â The Archduke reflected a moment. âI can give you his exact words: âDo you think,â he said, âthat I, who have been the Heir Presumptive since the instant of my birth, almost, will calmly step aside and permit you to take my place? Do you fancy for an instant that the people of Valeria would have a foreigner for King? And even if old Frederick were to become so infatuated with you that he would restore you to Hugoâs place in the line of Succession, do you imagine that the House of Nobles would hesitate to annul it the instant he died?ââ When he had finished, Dehraâs fingers were beating a tattoo on the chairâs arm, and her eyes were snappingâas once or twice he had seen Frederickâs snap. âAnd I suppose you never told the King?â she exclaimed. âNaturally not.â âOf course, of course,â with a toss of the handsome head. âThatâs a manâs wayâhis silly, senseless wayânever tell tales about a rival. And as a result, see what a mess you have made. Had you informed the King, he instantly would have proclaimed you as his heir, and then disgraced Lotzen publicly and sent him into exile. And you would now be his successor, without a shadow of opposition.â Armand subdued a smile. âYou donât understand, Dehraâââ he began. âQuite right,â she cut in; âquite right; I donât. Why didnât you tell me? I would have told the King, you may be sure.â âOf course you would, little woman; thatâs just the reason I didnât tell you.â She shrugged her shoulders, and the tattoo began afresh. âIâve no patience with such nonsense,â she declared; âLotzen deserved no gentlemanly consideration; he would have shown none to you; and besides, it was your duty to your King and your House to uphold the Laws of the Dalbergs and to prevent any attempt to violate them.â âI am very much afraid that lately, between Lotzen and myself, the Laws of the Dalbergs have been sadly slighted.â His bantering jarred upon her. âTo me, Armand,â she answered gravely, âour Laws are holy. For almost a thousand years they have been our unchallenged rule of governance. I can understand why, to you, they have no sacredness and no sentiment; but Lotzen has been born and bred under them, and should honor them with his lifeâand more especially as they alone made him the Heir Presumptive. But for the decree of the first Dalberg King, four hundred years ago, I would be the Queen-Regent of Valeria.â âItâs a pity, a crying pity!â he exclaimed. She looked down at him with shining eyes. âNo, dear, it isnât; once I thought it was; but now Iâm quite content to be Queen-consort.â He took both her hands and held them between his own. âThat, dear, is what makes it possible, and worth the struggle; and if Valeria does accept me as its King, it will be solely for love of you, and to get you for its Queen.â A smile of satisfaction crossed her face. âI hope the people do love me,â she said. âI would like to feel I may have helped you, even a little.â âA little! but for you, my princess, Iâd go back to America and leave the way clear for Lotzen.â She laughed softly. âNo, no, Armand, you would do nothing of the sort. A Dalberg never ran from dutyâand least of all the Dalberg whom God has made in the image of the greatest of them all.â He glanced in the tall mirror across the room. He was wearing the dress uniform of the Red Huzzars (who had been inspected immediately before the Foot Guards; and he, as titular Colonel, had led them in the march by), and there was no denying he made a handsome figure, in the brilliant tunic and black, fur-bound dohlman, his Orders sparkling, his sword across his knees. She put her head close beside his and smiled at him in the mirror. âHenry the Great was not at all bad looking,â she said. He smiled back at her. âBut with a beastly bad temper, at times, Iâm told.â âIâm not afraidâI mean his wife wasnât afraid; tradition is, she managed him very skilfully.â âDoubtless,â he agreed; âany clever woman can manage a man if she take the trouble to try.â âAnd shall I try, Armand?â âTry!â he chuckled; âyou couldnât help trying; man taming is your natural avocation. By all means, manage meâonly, donât let me know it.â âIâll not,â she laughedââthe King neverâââ and she straightened sharply. âI forgot, dear, I forgot!â And she got up suddenly, and went over to the window. Nor did he follow her; but waited silently, knowing well it was no time for him even to intrude. After a while she came slowly back to him, a wistfully sad look in her eyes. And as he met her she gave him both her hands. âI shall never be anything but a thoughtless child, Armand,â she said, with a wan, little smile. âSo be kind to me, dearâand donât forget.â He drew her arms about his neck. âLet us always be children to each other,â he answered, âforgetting, when together, everything but the joy of living, the pleasures of to-day, the anticipations of to-morrow.â She shook her head. âA woman is always a child in love,â she said; âitâs the man who grows into maturity, and sobers with age.â He knew quite well she was right, and for the moment he had no words to answer; and she understood and helped him. âBut this is no time for either of us to be children,â she went on; âthere is work to do and plans to be arranged.â She drew a chair close to the table and, resting both arms upon it, looked up at the Archduke expectantly. âWhat is first?â He hesitated. âCome, dear,â she said; âFrederick was my father and my dearest friend, but there remains for him now only the last sad offices the living do the dead; we will do them; but we will also do what he has decreed. We will seat you in his place, and confound Lotzen and his satellites.â He took her hand and gravely raised it to his lips. âYou are a rare woman, Dehra,â he said, âa rare woman. No man can reach your level, nor understand the beauty of your faith, the meaning of your love. Yet, at least, will I try to do you honor and to give you truth.â She drew him down and kissed him lightly on the cheek. âYou do not know the Dalberg women, dear,â she saidââto them the King is next to Godâand the line that separates is very narrow.â âBut Iâm not yet the King,â he protested. âYouâve been king, in fact, since the momentâFrederick died. With us, the tenet still obtains in all its ancient strength; the throne is never vacant.â âSo itâs Lotzen or I, and to-morrow the Book will decide.â âYes,â she agreed; âto-morrow the Book will decide for the Nation; but we know it will be you.â âNot exactly,â he smiled; âwe think we know; we canât be sure until we see the decree.â âI have no doubt,â she averred, âmy fatherâs words can bear but one construction.â âIt would seem soâyet Iâve long learned that, in this life, itâs the certain things that usually are lost.â She sprang up. âWhy not settle it at onceâlet us send for the Book; of course it is at the Palaceâit was there last night.â He shook his head decisively. âNo, dear, no; believe me it is not wise now for either of us to touch the Book. It were best that it be opened only by the Prime Minister in presence of the Royal Council. We must give Lotzen no reason to cry forgery.â She shrugged her shoulders. âSmall good would it do him, as against Frederickâs writing and my testimony. However, we can waitâthe Council meets in the morning, I assume?â âYes; at ten oâclock, at the Palace.â She looked up quickly. âThe key?â she asked; âit was always on his watch chainâhave you got it?â âNo,â said he; âI never thought of it.â She rang the bell and sent for the Chamberlain. âBring me King Frederickâs watch, and the Orders he was wearing,â she said. When they came she handed the Orders to Armand. âThey are yours now, dear,â she said. She took the watch and held up the chain, from the end of which hung the small, antique key of the brass bound box, in which the Book of Laws had been kept for centuries that now reached back to tradition. She contemplated, for a moment, the swaying bit of gold and bronze, then loosed it from the ring. âThis also is yours, Sire,â she said, and proffered it to him. But he declined. âTo-morrow,â he said. âAnd in the meantime?â
{'title': 'The Princess Dehra by John Reed Scott', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}