Читать книгу A Dash for a Throne - Arthur W. Marchmont - Страница 7

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My chief feeling as I rose to receive the Prince's daughter was a sort of shamefaced regret that I had allowed myself to be hurried into a position which made it necessary for me to mislead her. I meant her nothing but good. I had been brought to the castle all against my will. I had stayed there largely in order that I might be the means of saving her from danger; and everything I heard only served to increase that danger in my view. Yet the fact of the deception I was practising hampered and embarrassed me in her presence.

She was garbed now in the deepest black, was pale and hollow-eyed, and trembling under the stress of her new sudden sorrow; and she seemed so frail and fragile that my heart ached for her, while my senses were thrilled by her exquisite beauty and by a strange subtle influence which her presence exercised upon me. My pulses beat fast with a tumultuous desire to help her in her helplessness. Never, indeed, had woman moved me like this.

She paused a moment on the threshold, her hand on the arm of an elderly lady who accompanied her; and her large blue eyes rested on my face, searching, reading, and appealing, as I hastened across the room toward her. Her scrutiny appeared to give her confidence, for she withdrew her hand from her companion's arm and held it out to greet me.

"I felt I must come to bid you welcome, cousin," she said in a low, sweet voice that trembled. "You are welcome—very welcome."

I took the hand and raised it to my lips.

"You should not have distressed yourself to come; I should have understood," I answered.

"I felt that I must see you," she said, very graciously; and I, remembering what I had seen in the garden and all that von Krugen had told me, knew well enough the doubts and fears, anxieties and hopes, that might lie behind the words.

I racked my brain for some sentence that would convey some assurance of my wish to serve her; but I could find no words that pleased me; and after a pause, that to me was awkward enough, she added:

"You are now my only relative in the world except my dear aunt here, the Baroness Gratz."

The old lady made me a very stately and ceremonious bow, which I returned with such courtesy as I could command.

"A great heritage has come to you, sir, and a trust that must test to the utmost one so young in years," she said.

"My one life-purpose shall be to prove worthy of it," I answered earnestly; and I thought the girl's eyes lightened a little at the words.

"We were alarmed, sir, when we heard that you were unwilling to come," said the baroness.

"I am here, madam, to remove that alarm."

"The future fortunes of this noble house rest largely in your hands, as well as those of this sweet child. You know that?" she asked in reply.

"I know little as yet; but in all I shall strive earnestly to win the confidence of you both."

"You will have mine, cousin," said the girl, impulsively and almost eagerly, as it seemed to me. "And at the earliest moment I wish to tell you all that is in my thoughts and to ask your help."

"You will never ask that in vain, believe me," I returned, raising my eyes to hers, which had all the time been fixed on my face.

"I do believe you—I am sure of you," she cried, again impulsively; and I could have blessed her for the words. "And, oh, I am so glad you have come. There is so much to change and set right."

"Minna!" said the aunt in a gently warning tone.

"I am with friends, and I can speak freely. I feel it. I am sure we shall be friends, cousin. Shall we not? And you will be on my side?"

At this Captain von Krugen, who had remained at the other end of the room, took two or three steps forward as if to speak; but the baroness interposed, and after a warning glance at him whispered to the girl:

"We have not come for this now, child."

"The captain will be my friend, too, whatever happens, I am confident," said the girl, looking toward him; "even if I will not go forward with a scheme that must die——"

The word distressed her, and she caught her breath, and her lips faltered so that she could not finish the sentence. She sighed deeply and turned to lean on her companion's arm again.

"You must not distress yourself, Minna," said the baroness gently.

A rather long, trying pause followed, during which the Countess Minna appeared to be struggling to regain her self-composure. And at the close she said, sadly and listlessly, and yet with a great effort to speak firmly:

"I did not come to speak of these things now, but to ask you, cousin, to do all that has to be done at this time of—of sorrow. You are the head of the house now, and I trust you will use the authority."

"Until you desire otherwise," I answered. "You may depend upon me absolutely."

"That is my wish, cousin; and when I can trust myself, we will have a long conference."

She gave me her hand, and I was in the act of putting it once more to my lips when hurried steps approached, and the Count von Nauheim entered the room hastily. I felt the girl's fingers start, and involuntarily they closed on mine in a little trembling gesture of half agitation and fear. The touch thrilled me.

"I am surprised to find you here, Minna," he said bruskly. "I think, baroness, it would have been more seemly if Minna had kept in her apartments."

The old lady was more afraid of him than Minna herself, I could see, and she murmured some half-incoherent excuses.

"I see no wrong in coming here to welcome the head of the house," said the girl, trying to appear firm.

"Head of the house," he cried, with a sneer. "You are the head of the house, and, as your affianced husband, it is for me to say what is necessary in these matters of courtesy. I have already seen Herr von Fromberg to welcome him, as you say. Nothing more was necessary. Let me give you my arm to take you to my apartments. Come."

She hesitated an instant, and seemed as if about to refuse; but then changed and placed the tips of her fingers on his arm, and as she did so turned and bowed to me with a smile on her sweet, sad, pale face.

SHE TURNED AND BOWED TO ME WITH A SMILE.

"I shall see you, cousin Hans, soon, as I said just now. In the mean time I rely upon you to order all such arrangements as you think best—as your position here now requires."

"This gentleman need not trouble himself," said the man, frowning heavily and angrily. "I have given all necessary instructions."

"I will do what you wish," I said to her, ignoring him entirely.

I kept out of sight my rage at his conduct until the three had left the room, and then, forgetting that I was not alone, I vented it in a heavy, bitter oath, and turned to find von Krugen's keen dark eyes fixed upon me.

I was annoyed to have thus bared my feelings to his quick gaze. I did not wish him to know that I suspected, or even disliked, the count; but he had seen it already.

"He would try to overrule even the Prince himself in the latter time; and he takes interference very ill. He will ride roughshod over all of us if he can."

"Ah, you do not like him," I answered. "But there is no room for dissensions among ourselves. Let it go no farther."

"Have you any commands to give, your Highness? If I am to take them from him, I am to leave the castle."

This was intended to see if I should exercise my authority.

"You will not leave, Captain von Krugen," I replied promptly. "Heaven knows there is too much need of a faithful friend at such a juncture." He bowed, and his eyes lighted with pleasure at my words. "And now," I added, "we will discuss together what has to be done, and try to settle the arrangements."

There were, of course, many arrangements to be made, and the consultation occupied a long time. As a result I issued a number of directions such as seemed best, including those for the funeral, which I fixed for three days later.

Then I had to consider my own matters, and to mature a plan which I had formed after my interview with the Countess Minna. I felt that I could not continue the deception in regard to myself; and I resolved that I would use the interval before the funeral to try and find the real von Fromberg, and bring him to the castle to take his own position. I would come with him, and, by using the knowledge I possessed, help him in a task which, if he had a spark of honor in his nature, he could not but undertake.

The next day I took the captain so far into my confidence as to tell him there was an urgent private matter to which I was compelled to attend, and that I must return to Hamnel for that purpose. I told him to keep the fact of my absence as secret as possible, saying merely that I was out riding or walking, and that I would return soon. If the countess asked for me, he was in confidence to tell her the truth, and to assure her that, in any event, I should be back before the day of the funeral. Moreover, he was to keep a most vigilant watch over everything and everybody, and if my presence was urgently needed to telegraph to me to Hamnel. But to no one was he to give that address.

I started early, and the same evening arrived at Hamnel, but failed to find von Fromberg either in his own name or in mine; and theft I hurried on to Charmes. There I caught him at the house of the Compte de Charmes, whose daughter, Angele, he was to marry.

At first he was like an emotional girl. He rushed into the room, and would have embraced me had I not prevented him, while he loaded me with thanks and praise for having helped him to get free from his uncle by not declaring myself; while, with all this, he was profuse and gushingly voluble with his apologies.

He acted like an hysterical fool, bubbling over with silly laughter one moment and shedding equally silly tears the next. He was ridiculously light-spirited and happy, until his fantastic hilarity angered me. He appeared to think that, as he had become a Frenchman, he ought to behave as a sort of feather-headed clown.

His one consuming wish was that I should see Angele—the girl was the one object in his mental outlook at that moment, and everything else was all out of perspective.

It was a long time before I could make him understand that a much more serious matter than his love-farce had brought me to Charmes; and even while I compelled him to listen to the position of affairs at the castle, and the plight of his cousin there, I could see that his thoughts were away out of the room with his Angele.

"I am sorry for her, poor soul. I am sure I would have every one happy at a time like this. But I suppose it will be all settled somehow and some day," he said at the close, in a tone which made me fully realize that he considered it no business of his.

"There is a train that starts from Charmes in an hour and a half," said I, thinking it best to assume that he would go back with me. "We can catch by that a fairly good connection at Strasburg, and can reach the castle to-morrow."

"You are going back, then?" he queried.

"I think I can be of help to you."

"How can you help me if you are going there?"

"You will wish, of course, to hasten to the castle to save the honor of your family and of your cousin?"

"My family is here. My home is France. I am no longer a German. I have made the declaration to become naturalized. Do you think I would leave Angele on almost the eve of my wedding-day? To-morrow we shall be man and wife. Shall I instead, then, go to look after the affairs of a dead old man who never worried himself the paring of a nail about me until he thought I could be of use to him? What do you suppose Angele's father would say? Pouf! I can hear him. 'Very well, monsieur, go away. Attend to these people—these Germans—leave my daughter. Show yourself more German than French, and give the lie to your protestations. Pretend to become a Frenchman one moment and the next recognize the claim of your Fatherland and your German blood and kinship. Go, by all means, but do not return. Never set eyes on Angele again!' Eh, do you think I could do that?" and he threw up his hands, shoulders, and eyebrows in a perfect ecstasy of repudiation of the mere idea.

"A helpless young girl, your only kin in the world, is waiting there dependent upon your assistance. You are now the head of that great family whose honor and future are now threatened; and the entire fortunes of your noble house are at a crisis which make it imperative in all honor that you should assume the responsibilities of the position."

"And is there not a helpless girl here who will be dependent upon me? Am I not here taking the headship of a noble family? With this difference—that here I was not forgotten and ignored until I became necessary as a prop for a tottering wall. Would honor, think you, have nothing to say against my desertion of this family in the way you suggest? No, no, my friend; these people have appealed to your sentimental side. My place is here, and here I stop."

From that resolve no pleas, reproaches, arguments, or goads could move him. Nothing should make him budge from Angele; and he viewed everything from that one new standpoint.

"If you are eager to free my family from the mess their affairs have got into, take my place, go back and do it. You may claim by right all there is to be got; for certainly I could not help if I would. If he who was all his life at this work could not keep his house from falling, his son from being killed, and his daughter from danger, what can I hope to do?—I, a student, who have lived three-quarters of my life in France, who loathe a military life, and know absolutely nothing of the intricacies of diplomatic intrigue? You say you could help me? I don't know how; but if you could, what is the gain for me? My uncle is dead and leaves me nothing but a mess of intrigue and danger. My cousin is engaged and therefore will marry—and what is her husband to me?"

"Surely you are not dead to the demands of honor?" I cried; but against the wall of his selfishness the sea would have broken itself in vain.

"How do I serve my honor by forsaking Angele? No, no. I tell you I have ceased to be a German; I have renounced my family, and shall live under a new name. I am a student. This is work for men like you. Go and do it. I am rendering that girl a far greater service by sending you than by going myself."

It was useless to argue with him. He was hopelessly callous; and I sat biting my lips in anxious thought.

"When they know I have become a Frenchman, do you think they will accept help at my hands? Will they welcome my French wife, or my new family? Should I wreck my own happiness to enable them to insult me, and all that are now dear to me? Am I a fool? I will do what I can, but not that. If my cousin should need a home, she shall have as comfortable a one as my means will provide. But they must not claim me as one of their own kin. That is all."

"They are not likely to make any claim of the kind on you," I said. And the bitter contempt I felt for him came out in my tone.

He winced and flushed, and for a moment was stung to anger; but it passed.

"You think poorly of me because I have decided matters thus. As you will. We shall not meet again. Probably I shall never again cross the frontier. To show you my decision is no mere whim, but a deliberately chosen course, here I have a duly drawn up declaration renouncing my heirship. I drew it, of course, before I knew of the Prince's death, and I declined absolutely his proposals, and announced my intention to change my name and become a Frenchman. I was going to have this attested before a notary, and then send it to my uncle; but you can take it as it is, if you like. I will make a sworn declaration at any time it is desired. Do just what you will. And this I swear to you: I will never breathe a word of what has passed unless you wish me to speak. I owe you that for having brought you into the mess."

I took the paper and rose to leave.

"I will take means to let you know what is done. Here, I suppose?"

I spoke curtly, for I felt strongly.

"I do not wish to hear anything. A letter here will find me, of course, but my name for the future will be Henri Frombe—Hans von Fromberg will have ceased to exist, unless you are he." So indifferent was he to the critical seriousness of the affair that he laughed as he said this, and added: "After all, then, you will not see Angele. I am grieved at that," and he held out his hand.

"I cannot take your hand, M. Frombe," I said sternly. "I remain a German. Your desertion of your family at such a juncture of need makes any friendly feeling toward you impossible on my part. You hold that any man can lightly renounce his family and country. I do not. I take the strongest view of your conduct. France profits little by her newest citizen, and the Fatherland gains by the loss of so self-satisfied a renegade. I trust that we shall not meet again."

He was a coward, and shrank and paled under the lash of my words; but he made no attempt to resent them, and I left him with a feeling of bitter contempt and disgust at his conduct.

During the whole of my long journey back to the castle I sat absorbed in close thought, mapping out my plans, recalling old memories, and rousing my wits and energies for the task which Fate had set me, and from which apparently I could not break away.