Читать книгу A Crowned Queen - Sydney C. Grier - Страница 9

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For some time after these exciting events, there was peace in the Palace at Bellaviste, until the near approach of the date fixed for the Princess of Weldart’s departure for the South of France brought about another difference of opinion between the Regent and her Ministers. The breach caused by the Queen’s discovery of the part her mother had played with reference to the letter to the Emperor had soon been bridged over, for the young widow in her loneliness could not keep up a quarrel with the only person in whom her position and circumstances permitted her to confide. Indeed, it was the friendly relations existing between the mother and daughter which led to the fresh difficulty already mentioned, for Queen Ernestine, dreading the solitude of the long winter, and finding her life very monotonous and the cares of State uncomfortably heavy, conceived a desire that she and the little King should accompany the Princess to the Riviera. Full of enthusiasm for her new idea, she broached the subject to M. Drakovics and Cyril one morning, when the business on which they had come to consult her was ended. To her surprise and annoyance, the Premier showed no disposition to further her wishes.

“It is impossible, madame,” he said bluntly.

“Impossible? But I wish it!” she exclaimed, with the childishness which occasionally made Cyril long to put her in the corner.

“Impossible, madame,” repeated M. Drakovics, “if only from the point of view of propriety. To leave your kingdom, so lately bereaved of its head, for the gaieties of the Riviera, would be an unheard-of slight to the memory of your husband, and produce a most deplorable impression in the country.”

“That may be perfectly true,” thought Cyril, “but it was not your business to say it, at any rate in that way.” The Queen turned crimson, and cast a fiery glance at the Premier.

“I can assure your Excellency that the memory of my husband is quite safe in my hands. You are evidently unaware that my mother’s villa is situated in a most secluded spot, and that she sees no society, with the exception of members of her own family. Your Excellency’s insinuation is unpardonable.”

“I think, madame,” Cyril ventured to say, “that the Premier has not stated the chief objection to the journey your Majesty was proposing, but I am sure it is in his mind. In the present state of public affairs, it would be highly inexpedient, if not positively dangerous, for your Majesty and the King to be both absent from Thracia at the same time. His Excellency was unwilling to suggest the possibility of your accompanying her Royal Highness and leaving his Majesty behind, but that is the only alternative.”

“Ah yes, it is likely that I shall leave my child, is it not?” she asked with superb scorn, while her fingers beat a tattoo on the table with the inlaid paperknife. “One would have thought it would be perfectly clear to you, gentlemen, that it is on account of the King’s health I am anxious not to spend the winter at Bellaviste.”

“I trust, madame, that you have no reason for anxiety on his Majesty’s behalf? The Court physician’s reports are most reassuring.”

“Oh, naturally—there is nothing absolutely the matter with him, but he is growing too fast and becoming thin and pale. It is the fault of this town air, and the confined life here at the Palace. I want him to be in the country, where he can live simply and play with other children, and be merely a boy among boys.”

“The plan is an excellent one, madame,” said M. Drakovics, finding his tongue for the first time since the severe rebuke he had received; “but I must agree with Count Mortimer that it would be in the highest degree unwise for your Majesty and the King to quit the country at present.” The Queen frowned, but he went on valiantly, “What does your Majesty think of Praka as a winter residence? The climate is extraordinarily mild, and the combination of sea air and rural life would be excellent for his Majesty.”

“I don’t care for Praka,” returned the Queen shortly. “If we must remain in Thracia as state prisoners, I prefer to go to Tatarjé. The Villa Alexova, among the pine-woods, is an ideally lovely spot.”

“But, pardon me, madame—Tatarjé is a whole day’s journey from Bellaviste, even by rail. It is most important that your Majesty should not be far from the capital, in case of any sudden emergency.”

“You seem determined to oppose everything I suggest!” cried the Queen petulantly. “I detest Praka. If I am satisfied to leave your Excellency in charge of affairs, and merely to be informed by telegraph of what happens, surely there is nothing wrong in that?”

“I could not consent to undertake such a responsibility, madame.”

“But you are content to accept the responsibility of undermining the King’s health? Pray say no more, messieurs. We will discuss this matter again. As for me, I am weary of it,” and she swept out of the room, and sought refuge with her mother.

“They wish us to go to Praka,” she said, entering the morning-room.

“What did I tell you?” responded the Princess quickly. “Of course they choose Praka. No doubt they have settled it together long ago.”

“It would not surprise me,” the Queen agreed. “They seem to work together as though they had only one mind between them.”

“We must separate them. So long as they are united, we are powerless. I wish I could see a little more practical wisdom in you, Ernestine. It is all very well to pay the most exaggerated deference to these two men one day, and quarrel with them the next; but it merely cements their alliance instead of breaking it.”

“Why, what would you have me do?” asked the Queen listlessly.

“I would have you work on a definite plan. What is the use of your alternate sweetness and petulance if it all leads to nothing?”

“How can it lead to anything? I am pleasant to them if things are happening as I like, and I suppose I am petulant if I feel cross. One cannot act on a plan when one is angry.”

“That’s the very thing. You should never exhibit anger or pleasure unless to serve a purpose. You must learn to conceal your feelings.”

“I have never been able to do that hitherto. But what is the purpose which this concealment is to serve?”

“The estrangement of Count Mortimer from M. Drakovics. It is a very simple matter, and I really feel quite impatient when I see you wasting without any result quarrels and reconciliations which might effect so much.”

“One might think that I was in love with either or both of these gentlemen,” said the Queen lightly. Her mother frowned.

“Remember your position, Ernestine, pray. I should be afraid to engage you in any diplomatic intrigue worthy of the name; you are so absurdly susceptible to outside influence, and so unable to conceal its effect on you. Is it possible that you don’t see who is to blame for the way in which these men continue to act together?”

“No, indeed—unless you mean the men themselves?”

“I mean you. You have persisted in treating the two Ministers as though they were a double-faced automaton, working merely as a whole, when the slightest glimmering of common-sense should have led you to see that your only hope lay in considering them separately.”

“But what ought I to have done?”

“You should have treated them with the most even and impartial courtesy when they were together, reserving all your fluctuations of temper or spirits for the occasions on which you received either of them alone. Suppose Count Mortimer had requested an audience—you should have treated him with friendly kindness, deferred to his opinion, and taken the opportunity of lamenting that M. Drakovics never sympathised with your difficult position, nor understood your troubles. When you received M. Drakovics, you would have used similar measures, and complained of Count Mortimer, intimating, of course, that he himself was the only friend you possessed in Thracia. In this way each man, without the other’s knowing it, would grow to imagine himself to be high in your favour and confidence, and would look on his rival with a jealous eye, until they began to quarrel about the right of private audience. You would remain unobservant all this time, except when you interfered to heighten the agony a little. Jealousy would end by leading to a quarrel in your presence, when you could at once get rid of them both.”

“It all sounds very wicked and very mysterious,” said the Queen, stifling a yawn; “but I could never succeed in that kind of thing. I haven’t the brains or the tact for politics, mamma. And even if one could deceive M. Drakovics—I can quite believe that his vanity would lend itself to such a course—I don’t think I should be successful with Count Mortimer. He seems to be able to see through things. I did try to win him over once—it was about Sophie von Staubach’s appointment—but he saw it immediately, and it made me feel so dreadfully uncomfortable, though he did take my side.”

“Then with him you must act differently. Some men prefer to be approached without disguise, and you can flatter his weaknesses openly.”

“But he has none. The King used to say, ‘Mortimer has no vices except ambition, no pleasures even—except power.’”

“Except ambition and power! But that is everything, for the love of power can ruin a man just as surely as any other vice. This makes me hopeful, Ernestine, for your husband was a shrewd observer of character. We must approach Count Mortimer on his weak side. It might be as well occasionally to hint at the possibility of his superseding M. Drakovics as Premier. That will put his own thoughts into words. Then, in the meantime, there are other ways. Money confers power. One might assist him to marry an heiress. He ought to marry; but no doubt his poverty has prevented him hitherto.”

“But, dear mamma, I have not an unlimited choice of heiresses at hand to offer him.”

“You have one, which is quite enough. There is your maid of honour, Anna Mirkovics—her father fully expects you to select a husband for her, and she will be the richest woman in Thracia at her mother’s death. It would be an excellent match.”

“But Anna is terribly plain, and has no education, according to our ideas. Besides, even if Count Mortimer married her, how would it detach him from M. Drakovics?”

“You are rather dense to-day, my dear child. Naturally, I do not propose that you should give Anna to the Count without exacting any conditions. You would, of course, agree with him that, in return for your help in arranging the marriage, he should support you in future against M. Drakovics. The girl is so absurdly devoted to you that her influence would all be cast in the same direction.”

“And Anna is to be sold to him as the price of his support! I thought it was only princesses who were treated in that way? At any rate, I don’t intend to sacrifice her to a husband who would only marry her for her money. Moreover, I am certain that Count Mortimer would not consent to the bargain.”

“Not consent!” The Princess of Weldart’s eyebrows rose until they nearly met her hair. “My dear Ernestine, only give him the chance!”

“I will,” said the Queen, unmoved. “If I were not so sure that he would refuse, I would not risk Anna’s happiness; but I know he will.”

“I have not the slightest doubt that he will seize upon the idea with avidity.”

“And I am sure that you misjudge him. You have scolded me so often for yielding to the King’s dying wish, and consenting to a reconciliation with this man, that I wish him to justify himself to you. I believe that he is a sincere friend to Michael and myself, although he makes himself extremely disagreeable in fulfilling the duties imposed by his friendship. Well, you will see.”

“We shall see,” echoed the Princess; and the Queen, piqued by the incredulity of her tone, sat down and dashed off a request to Cyril to come to her immediately, as she wished to consult him upon a point of importance.

“I will send it at once,” she said, ringing the bell. To the servant who answered the summons she gave the note, desiring him to deliver it instantly, and as soon as he was gone she turned again to her mother.

“You must sit behind the screen,” she said. “I don’t want you to be able to say that he posed as a disinterested ally because you were present. And you must not reveal yourself, of course. It would scarcely do to have a ‘screen scene’—an unforeseen dénoûment of a dramatic order—in this little comedy of ours. It is quite exciting, isn’t it? I wonder how you will feel as you sit concealed, and listen to Count Mortimer’s noble sentiments!”

She was full of interest and animation as she hastened to arrange the screen round the Princess as she sat beside the fire, and walked backwards and forwards from the door to the table to assure herself that there was no possibility of Cyril’s catching a glimpse of the concealed auditor. Just as his footsteps were heard without, she jumped up again to arrange one side of the screen more easily, so that it might not look as though there was anything to hide, and only returned to her chair as the footman opened the door.

“You were pleased to send for me, madame?” said Cyril, as he entered.

“Yes; I wanted to talk about this plan of wintering in the country. Surely you can induce M. Drakovics to withdraw his opposition to our going to Tatarjé? The King and I are the persons chiefly concerned, after all.”

“The kingdom is also concerned, madame.”

“Oh, of course; but then—— Come, Count, I wish to go to the Villa Alexova; is not that enough? It is a lady’s reason, you know.”

“It is enough for a lady’s reason, madame; but not for a Queen’s reason.”

Queen Ernestine shrugged her shoulders. “Your definitions are too subtle for me, Count. I think you will use your influence with M. Drakovics, since I ask it?”

“Madame, I dare not use my influence to the injury of the kingdom.”

“The injury of the kingdom!” she cried indignantly. “You know as well as I do that the reason why M. Drakovics wants us to winter at Praka is that he has property there, and thinks that it will increase in value if the place becomes fashionable.”

“Your Majesty has the power of divining motives. My abilities are not of such a high order.”

“But surely it must make a difference when you know that?”

“I am afraid, madame, that it is not any part of my duty to inquire into the secret motives which may have prompted M. Drakovics in the advice he has thought fit to give your Majesty.”

“Duty, duty! All that you consider is your duty to M. Drakovics. Have you no duty to the King and to me?”

“Undoubtedly, madame. In this instance the duties coincide.”

“Why do you trifle with me in this way, Count? You promised my husband that you would befriend us—now I call upon you to fulfil your promise. We need a new party in Thracia, such a party as supported your English George III., the party of the King’s Friends, and you are the man to lead them.”

“I did not know that your Majesty was ambitious of becoming a power in politics,” returned Cyril, desperately puzzled as to her meaning. Surely she must have some object in talking in this apparently random way?

“What can I offer you to secure your allegiance, Count? We cannot expect to obtain support without paying for it, I know. Would you care to marry a rich wife? Prince Mirkovics’s daughter is in my charge, and with her fortune it would be very suitable for her to marry a Minister of State. Or would you prefer the reversion of the post which M. Drakovics holds? or both, perhaps?”

Cyril stood listening in astonishment as she ran on, half afraid to glance at his face, but determined to put him to the proof. “Madame——” he began, but she interrupted him.

“Or there is money, of course. We are not very rich in Weldart, but still, one can assist one’s friends occasionally. Would you——”

This time it was Cyril’s turn to interrupt. “Be good enough, madame,” he said fiercely, “to leave your sentence unfinished. I can forgive much in consideration of your youth; but it is impossible that you can be so childish as not to appreciate the insult you have thought fit to offer me.”

The Queen sat gazing at him helplessly, too much frightened to resent his words. “I am very sorry——” she murmured feebly; “I never thought—— I did not mean——”

“It is a pity that I promised your husband to remain in Thracia and do my best for you and his son, madame,” he went on, “for otherwise your Majesty would have succeeded by this time in driving me from your service, as you desire to do.”

“I don’t desire it——” began the Queen, gazing at his angry face as though the sight fascinated her; but she was interrupted suddenly.

“Que vous jouez à merveille votre rôle, M. le Comte!” cried the Princess’s voice from her hiding-place, and she emerged from behind the screen. Cyril turned upon Queen Ernestine.

“Is it possible, madame, that you have ventured to make this infamous proposition to me in the presence of a third person? Perhaps I shall discover that I have had the honour of furnishing a little entertainment to the whole of your Majesty’s Court?”

“No, no; indeed you are unjust, Count.”

“Is it so, madame? At any rate your Majesty has the satisfaction of realising that it is for the last time.”

“No, you are unjust still; you must let me speak. It was a trick, Count—a foolish jest. My m—— some one pretended to doubt you, and I assured them of your honour, and offered to test it in this way. I was wrong to do it, but I felt certain of your answer.”

“As I am no longer in your Majesty’s service, it may perhaps be permitted me to entreat you to remember your own position, madame, if you have no care for mine.”

“Count, you must not allow this foolishness of mine to deprive my son and Thracia of your services. I forbid it—I, your Queen.”

“There are certain insults, madame, which are so deadly as to absolve a subject from his allegiance.”

“Nothing can absolve you from your promise to my husband. You cannot desert my son and me when he confided us to your care.”

“Your Majesty asks too much. My friend the King would have been the last person to wish that my promise to him should bind me to remain exposed to such insults without having the right to resent them. To borrow your own words to the Premier, madame, your conduct has been unpardonable.”

“Not unpardonable, when you have been assured that the suggestion was made only in jest, and as a means of proving your fidelity in the eyes of others. Your Queen entreats you to retain your post, Count. Is not that enough? Must I fetch my son to join his entreaties with mine?”

“Be quiet, you little fool!” hissed the Princess into her daughter’s ear. Cyril caught the whisper, and it changed the current of his thoughts in a moment. He saw the whole plot now; and where the Queen’s pleading had failed to move him, a determination that the Princess should not be able to boast of having effected his removal from the Thracian scene succeeded. He turned again to Ernestine.

“I accept your explanation, madame,” he said; “but I can only beg you to remember that others might not be so complaisant.”

“And we will go to Praka,” she cried, as he prepared to depart.

“I will convey your Majesty’s message to the Premier,” he replied, still in the same frigid tone, with his hand on the door. It was not his intention to let the Queen down too easily this time. She had committed a faux pas, which might have been a fatal one, and she must be made aware of the fact. Suppose she had made her offer of a bribe to a man who had accepted it, or who, while refusing it, had done so with the intention of publishing the matter abroad? Cyril took a good deal of credit to himself for the tone he had maintained, and resolved to teach his young sovereign a lesson. It was quite evident that she had failed to realise the gravity of the insult she offered; but she could not always expect her inexperience to procure her immunity from the consequences of her foolish acts. The stars in their courses cannot be relied upon to fight invariably for the same person, even though she is young and beautiful and a Queen. Cyril had been too forbearing hitherto, and this was his reward. Queen Ernestine must now be made to understand that practical jokes and wayward tempers were all very well in an irresponsible schoolgirl, but might prove dangerous to the Regent of Thracia.

During the next few days Cyril never saw the Queen alone, and only rarely in company with M. Drakovics. Whenever he entered her presence, he knew that she was searching his face to see whether he had forgiven her, and the fact gave him a keen sense of pleasure, which he was careful to conceal, returning to the coldly deferential manner which he had preserved towards her in her husband’s lifetime, and which he succeeded in resuming with some difficulty, after the comparatively friendly intercourse of the past few weeks. It was the Queen herself who broke the ice at last, for it was not in her nature to remain passive in face of what she chose to consider injustice. She found her opportunity on the occasion of an official reception at the Palace, which the Ministers and their wives were expected to attend, on the anniversary of the declaration of Thracian independence. Cyril was standing a little apart from the other officials when she passed round the circle, addressing a few words to each person, and she spoke to him in English, which scarcely any one else understood.

“I see that you have not yet forgiven me, Count?”

“There are some things, madame, which may be forgiven, but never forgotten.”

“But surely that is a very undignified attitude of mind? If my little son adopted it, I should tell him he was sulky.”

“I know now by sad experience, madame, that no considerations will prevent you from treating me with the same frankness as his Majesty.”

“If that is the case, I will say at once that this change in your manner is extremely displeasing to me, Count. I do not choose to be reminded perpetually that I am in disgrace.”

Cyril groaned within himself. Would nothing teach this girl the most ordinary prudence or reserve? Her delicate and responsible position appeared to her only as a means of escaping from the shackles of conventionality. That she was Queen-Regent of Thracia was merely another reason for doing and saying what she chose. “Nothing could be further from my mind than to produce such an impression, madame,” he answered. “Your Majesty cannot doubt that?”

“Nor the impression that with respect to our wintering at Praka, you have gained a victory over me?”

“I was of opinion that I was going to Praka to make inquiries and arrangements on your behalf, madame, and at your wish.”

“Oh yes, you may go to Praka; but remember, Count, that when it is a question of bearing malice or a grudge, other people can do that as well as yourself.”

She passed on, leaving him to wonder what was meant by the implied threat contained in her last speech. He took an early opportunity of sounding Baroness von Hilfenstein on the subject, and found that the mistress of the robes also entertained misgivings.

“I feel almost certain that the Queen has some plan in her head,” she said; “but she has not communicated it to me. I fancy that she may intend to order a sudden move to Praka before your arrangements are complete, in order to catch you unprepared. At any rate, she has ordered me to warn all the ladies to have their dresses for the winter made in good time, and to be ready to travel at two hours’ notice. I hoped we should get on better when the Princess’s influence was removed, but she has left her tool behind. Fräulein von Staubach is not a friend of yours, Count.”

“I fear not, although I am not aware of having injured her.”

“It is not that, but she distrusts you. She is a good woman—an excellent, kind-hearted creature, full of sentiment—and she sees, as she thinks, the warm heart of the young Queen chilled, and its best impulses thwarted, by your statesmanship. Then the Princess has filled her with doubts as to your motives, and quite unconsciously she influences the Queen against you. She has no intention of interfering in affairs of state, but she cannot help regarding with suspicion any suggestion that comes from you.”

This was scarcely reassuring, and Cyril departed on his journey to Praka in no very cheerful frame of mind. He found a travelling companion in M. Drakovics, who was obliged to visit his Praka estate on business, and they agreed to journey back to Bellaviste together the next day. Cyril’s duty was merely to discover whether it was possible to provide sufficient accommodation for the Queen and her suite in the little village, now almost deserted for the winter, which formed the favourite marine resort of the wealthier Thracians, but in spite of the limited scope of the inquiry, his task was a difficult one. M. Drakovics had not built a house on his property, an omission which he now regretted, since it prevented his putting the Queen under an obligation by offering to lend her his villa; but he represented that it would be possible to accommodate one or two of the suite in the small farmhouse occupied by his bailiff, and by taking advantage of this offer, Cyril calculated that he should be able to find room for the whole of the Court. To live in tents, after the manner of the majority of the summer residents, would naturally be impossible in the winter.

Praka was not by any means a lively place, and its natural attractions, at any rate in the autumn, were soon exhausted, so that Cyril found himself ready and eager to quit it as soon as his business was done. The cooking at the little inn was bad, and the beds worse, facts which did not tempt him to linger, and he was waiting at the station some time before it was likely that M. Drakovics would arrive. As he walked up and down the rickety platform, while in the background Dietrich mounted guard over his bag, a telegram was handed to him. It was from the Baroness von Hilfenstein, and bore the date of the previous evening:—

“Her Majesty has just announced that the Court leaves for the Villa Alexova early to-morrow. I fear this will not reach you in time for you to prevent the move, but pray follow as soon as possible. It appears that the Queen sent Batzen to Tatarjé two days ago to make preparations; but he cannot have been able to do much in such a short time. Everything will be in confusion. I depend upon you.”

“Excellent old woman!” was Cyril’s first thought as he read the missive. “If I have the pleasure of spoiling the Queen’s pretty little plot for making a fool of me, it is all thanks to you. So that is what old Batzen’s mysterious mission comes to, is it? I might have guessed; but the idea of employing the poor old parson on such an errand!”

The Herr Hofprediger Batzen was a venerable Lutheran clergyman to whom the charge of the little King’s moral and religious education was supposed to be intrusted; but as his Majesty was still rather young to receive regular instruction, his tutor’s time was more or less at the Queen’s disposal. Hence it was that his sudden departure from Court on one of her errands had excited no surprise, and people had considered the secrecy which enshrouded his destination as due to the desire for importance of the good pastor himself Cyril was wiser now, and could almost have laughed, in spite of his chagrin, when he thought of the tutor’s unfitness for his present task, and the pitiful muddle which would be the probable result of his attempt at housekeeping. But this was not the time for laughing, but for action, and Cyril hurried out to meet M. Drakovics as the Premier rode up to the station on his rough country horse.

“Would you like to hear what is our gracious sovereign lady’s last little game?” was the irreverent question with which the younger Minister greeted the elder. M. Drakovics raised his eyebrows.

“If you could assure me that she had eloped to join the ex-secretary Christophle, and had married him, I should not be heart-broken,” was his answer, as he dismounted.

“No, no, my friend; you are not to be Regent just at present. Her Majesty and the Court remove to-day to Tatarjé, and take up their abode at the Villa Alexova.”

“Mille tonnerres!” cried M. Drakovics, stamping furiously about the platform. “This woman will ruin in a day the kingdom I have been building up for nine years. I ask you, is it to be endured?”

“I’m afraid it must be so, since you can scarcely propose to cure it by superseding the Queen in the regency. But the news is certainly most serious. It would be better if you had told the Queen the real reasons for her not going to Tatarjé, as I advised at the time, instead of simply making out that it was too far away.”

“Would you have had me tell her that the Villa is within a drive of the country residence of her cousin the Princess of Dardania, and that that woman’s Court is a perfect hotbed of intrigues of all kinds?”

“I would not have had you do anything so foolish. Our old acquaintance, the Princess Ottilie, will no doubt do her best to entangle her Majesty in some of her schemes for the advancement of her husband’s dynasty; but she is not by any means the most dangerous person in the neighbourhood of Tatarjé. That bad pre-eminence is reserved for Colonel O’Malachy.”

“Oh, that old dotard!” said M. Drakovics contemptuously.

“Dotard if you like, but what is he doing where he is? You know that the air of Tatarjé seems to breed rebellion; that in my brother’s time the garrison supported the insurrection in favour of the house of Franza; and that Otto Georg had more trouble with the town and district than with all the rest of the kingdom.”

“It is all Bishop Philaret’s fault. He is stronger even than the Metropolitan in his pro-Scythian sympathies. You know they say that he threatened to get the Synod to excommunicate him for accepting a pardon from a non-Orthodox King?”

“I know. Well, that is the kind of danger the Queen would have recognised and appreciated. Anything that threatened her son’s faith or throne would have put her on her guard at once; but you would not tell her. And now, besides the Princess of Dardania, who is likely to be troublesome, but scarcely dangerous, we have the Bishop actively hostile, and Colonel O’Malachy biding his chance to reap a harvest for Scythia.”

“You remarked to me once,” cried M. Drakovics, turning savagely upon his supporter, “that in moments of crisis it was well to act, instead of wasting time in mutual recrimination. If I concealed from the Queen my true reasons for not wishing her to take the King to Tatarjé, it was because I knew that she would tell them to her mother, and that through her it would become known all over Europe that there was disaffection in Thracia. I took what seemed to me the wisest course; but no man’s wisdom can provide against a woman’s folly. I ask you now what you propose to do?”

“I propose to reach Tatarjé to-night, and resume my duties in connection with the Court.”

“To-night? but it will take us until mid-day to get back to Bellaviste, and Tatarjé is twelve hours’ journey farther on.”

“You don’t imagine that I intend to follow the Court meekly at a distance, giving them a twelve hours’ start, and to turn up the day after the fair in that way? No; I shall take the cross-country route, and so get there about midnight.”

“But the railway is not yet open all the way.”

“No; but it is sufficiently near completion to allow of the passing of ballast-trains. Milénovics was telling me so only yesterday. My man and I must find accommodation on the engine of one of those trains, and my things can be sent on to me from Bellaviste.”

The Premier’s eyes glistened, but he restrained himself. “You are the man for the present state of affairs,” he said; “for you know better than any of us how to spoil the success of a woman’s tricks. Mind, I rely upon you wholly as regards Tatarjé. I must get on as best I can at the capital; but the safety of the King, and therefore of Thracia, rests on your discretion. I may run down occasionally, of course; but you will be obliged to act on your own judgment if any difficulty arises. You can trust me to support you.”

A little further conversation on various important points followed, and the two Ministers separated to seek their respective trains. The first part of Cyril’s journey passed without discomfort, as the line had been in use some time; but when the section still in process of construction was reached, matters were very different. When the passengers were all obliged to quit the train, which went no farther, the disclosure of Cyril’s identity secured permission for himself and Dietrich to travel in the cab of the engine attached to a line of ballast-trucks which were just about to start; but so rough did the way in front appear that at first even the stolid German hesitated to follow his master. But there was no time for delay, and in response to Cyril’s “Be quick, Dietrich; either come or stay behind!” the valet shut his eyes, metaphorically speaking, and took the plunge. The journey was like a peculiarly realistic nightmare, owing to the swaying and jolting and clanking and leaping of the train, which varied matters occasionally by running off the rails and regaining them in some miraculous manner. It was an experience no one would wish to repeat; but as Cyril stood at eight o’clock that evening, bruised, dusty, and exhausted, on the platform of the country station at which the farther end of the new line joined that running to Tatarjé, he rejoiced. Three hours’ journey would bring him to his goal, and deprive the Queen of her anticipated triumph over her Ministers. His calculations were not mistaken. By midnight he had reached Tatarjé, only an hour or so later than the Court, and selected his quarters in the Villa, giving strict orders that the Queen was not to be informed of his arrival. In the distracted state of affairs consequent on Herr Batzen’s mission of preparation, the order was easy of fulfilment, and Cyril took a good night’s rest, and bided his time.

His time was not long in coming. In the morning the Queen and Baroness von Hilfenstein found themselves beset by a throng of tearful ladies and loudly complaining maids, who all expatiated upon the discomforts of the night, and the absolute lack of furniture and even food which prevailed in all parts of the house. Finding the Queen quite at a loss, the Baroness made the practical suggestion that Count Mortimer should be summoned, and matters given into his hands.

“Count Mortimer!” cried the Queen in astonishment. “But he is at Praka, or at any rate no nearer than Bellaviste.”

“Pardon me, madame; but I am almost certain I caught a glimpse of him coming to the Villa this morning.”

The Queen turned in bewilderment to the other ladies, one of whom hastened to assure her that she had found Count Mortimer established in an office on the ground-floor, and had complained to him of the state of affairs, when he had replied that he would do his best to remedy it as soon as he had the Queen’s authority. It was evident that the only thing to do was to send for him, and this the Queen did.

“When did you arrive, Count?” she asked, when he appeared.

“Last night, madame,” with a look of surprise.

“But how—how did you succeed in getting here?”

“It is my duty to accompany the Court, madame.”

“Yes; but—I thought you were at Praka?”

“On the contrary, madame, I am here, and ready to serve you.”

The Queen gave up the riddle with a sigh, and Cyril remained master of the situation. He knew that she would have given anything to ask for an explanation, which her dignity would not allow her to do, and he enjoyed his triumph in the intervals of his multifarious labours all day.