His was the holiday mood, too. He fell in with her extravagance, meeting it with banter.
"It"s only a lamp," he said, "just a lamp; and it"s hung there for the sole purpose of showing Sophy"s eyes. When she"s not there, they put it out--for what"s the use of it?"
"They put it out when I"m not there?"
"I"ve noticed it happen a dozen times of late."
"It lights up again when I come, Monseigneur?"
"Ah, then I forget to look!"
"You get very little sun anyhow, then!"
"I"ve something so much better."
It is pathetic to read--pathetic that she should have set it down as though every word of it were precious--set it down as minutely as she chronicled the details of the critical hours to which fate was soon to call her.
Yet, was she wrong? Days of idleness are not always the emptiest; life may justify its halts; our spirits may mount to their sublimest pitch in hours of play. At least, the temper of that holiday, and her eager prizing and recording of it, show well the manner of woman that she was--her pa.s.sionate love of beauty, her eager stretching out to all that makes life beautiful, her spirit, sensitive to all around, taking color from this and that, reflecting back every ray which the bounty of nature or of man poured upon it, her great faculty of living. She wasted no days or hours. Ever receiving, ever giving, she spent her sojourn in a world that for her did much, yet never could do enough, to which she gave a great love, yet never seemed to herself to be able to give enough. Perhaps she was not wrong when she called herself a pagan. She was of the religion of joy; her kindest thought of the grave was that haply through some c.h.i.n.k in its dark walls there might creep one tiny sunbeam of memory.
They rode home together as the sun was setting--a sun of ruddy gold, behind it one bright, purple cloud, the sky beyond blue, deepening almost into black. When Praslok came in sight, she laid her hand on his with a long-drawn sigh.
"We have been together to-day," she said. "That will be there always.
Yes, the sun and the world were made for us this day--and we have been worthy."
He pressed her hand. "You were sent to teach me what joy is--the worth of the world to men who live in it. You"re the angel of joy, Sophy.
Before you came, I had missed that lesson."
"I"m very glad"--thus she ends her own record of this day of glory--"that I"ve brought joy to Monseigneur. He faces his fight joyful of heart." And then, with one of her absurd, deplorable, irresistible lapses into the merest ordinary feminine, she adds: "That red badge is just the touch my sheepskin cap wanted!"
Oh, Sophy, Sophy, what of that for a final reflection on the eve of Monseigneur"s fight?
XIII
A DELICATE DUTY
There was a stir in Slavna; excitement was gradually growing, not unmixed with uneasiness; gossip was busy at the Hotel de Paris and at the Golden Lion. Men cl.u.s.tered in groups and talked, while their wives said that they would be better at home, minding their business and letting politics alone. Knowledge was far to seek; rumors were plentiful. Dr. Natcheff might be as rea.s.suring as he pleased--but he had spent the night at the Palace! All was quiet in the city, but news came of the force that was being raised in Volseni, and the size of the force lost nothing as the report pa.s.sed from mouth to mouth. Little as Slavna loved the Prince, it was not eager to fight him. A certain reaction in his favor set in. If they did not love him, they held him in sincere respect; if he meant to fight, then they were not sure that they did!
Baroness Dobrava"s name, too, was much on men"s lips; stories about Sophy were bandied to and fro; people began to remember that they had from the beginning thought her very remarkable--a force to be reckoned with. The superst.i.tious ideas about her made their first definite appearance now. She had bewitched the Prince, they said, and the men of the hills, too; the whole mountain country would rise at her bidding and sweep down on Slavna in rude warfare and mad bravery. The Sheepskins would come, following the Red Star!
The citizens of Slavna did not relish the prospect; at the best it would be very bad for trade; at the worst it would mean blood and death let loose in the streets. A stern ruler was better than civil war. The troops of the garrison were no longer such favorites as they had been; even Captain Hercules subdued his demeanor (which, indeed, had never quite recovered from the chastis.e.m.e.nt of the Prince"s sword) to a self-effacing discretion. He, too, in his heart, and in his heavy, primitive brain, had an uneasy feeling about the witch with the Red Star; had she not been the beginning of trouble? But for her, Sterkoff"s long knife would have set an end to the whole chapter long ago!
The time was short and the omens doubtful. It was the moment for a bold stroke, for a forcing game. The waverers must be shown where power lay, whose was the winning side.
Captain Markart arrived at Slavna at one o"clock. Zerkovitch had used his start well and reached the city nearly three hours earlier. When Markart told Stenovics (he reported himself at once to the General) how he had been outwitted, Stenovics smiled, saying: "I know, and I know what he has done since he got here. They stole a march on you, but not on me, Captain. And now--your story!" He listened to Markart"s tale with a frowning brow, and then dismissed him, saying: "You will meet me at the Palace. We meet the King in conference at four o"clock." But the General himself went to the Palace long before four, and he and Stafnitz were closeted with Countess Ellenburg. Lepage, returning from a walk to the city at two o"clock, saw the General arrive on horseback.
Lieutenant Rastatz saw Lepage arrive--ay, and had seen him set out, and marked all his goings; but of this Lepage was unconscious. The little lieutenant was not much of a soldier, but he was an excellent spy.
Lepage had been with Zerkovitch.
The King was confined to his apartments, a suite of six rooms on the first floor, facing the river. Here he had his own sitting-room, dressing, and bedrooms. Besides these there were the little cupboard Lepage slept in, and a spare room, which at present accommodated Dr.
Natcheff. The sixth room was occupied by odds and ends, including the tackle, rods, and other implements of his Majesty"s favorite pastime.
The council was held in the sitting-room. Natcheff and Lepage were not present, but each was in his own room, ready for any possible call on his services. Markart was there, first to tell his story and deliver his letter, secondly in his capacity as secretary to General Stenovics. The Countess and Stafnitz completed the party.
The King was anxious, worried, obviously unwell; his voice trembled as he read aloud his son"s letter. It was brief but dutiful, and even affectionate. After a slight reproach that he should have been kept in ignorance of the apprehensions entertained about the King"s health, the Prince requested an audience within the next two days; he had considerations which it was his duty to lay before his Majesty, and he firmly but respectfully claimed the right of confidential communication with his father; that was essential to his Majesty"s obtaining a true appreciation of his views. The hit at Stenovics was plain enough, and the Prince did not labor it. The letter ended there, with an expression of earnest concern for the King"s health. There was no word in it about starting on his journey.
Then Markart told his story--not that he had much to tell. In essence he added only that the Prince proposed to await the King"s answer at Praslok. Neither to him had the Prince said a word about starting on his journey.
On this point Stenovics seized, pursuant, no doubt, to the plan devised in that preliminary discussion with the other two members of the little _coterie_.
"It is remarkable, sir--even more than remarkable--that his Royal Highness makes no reference at all to the direct command which your Majesty was pleased to issue to him," he observed.
The King listened, puzzled and rather distressed. "Yes, it isn"t proper, it isn"t respectful. But now that my son knows of the state of my health, I think I must see him. It seems unnatural to refuse. After all, it may be the last time--since he"s going on this journey."
"But is the Prince going on his journey, sir?" asked Stenovics. "Does the studied silence of his letter augur well for his obedience? Doesn"t he seek an interview in order to persuade your Majesty against your better judgment? I must be pardoned freedom of speech. Great interests are at stake." The last words were true enough, though not in the sense in which the King was meant to understand them.
"My son knows how near this matter is to my heart. I shall be able to persuade him to do his duty," said the King.
The first round of the fight was going against the _coterie_. They did not want the King to see his son. Danger lay there. The Prince"s was the stronger character; it might well prevail; and they were no longer certain that the Prince knew or guessed nothing of their hopes and intentions; how much news had Zerkovitch carried to Praslok the night before? Stenovics addressed the King again.
"Captain Markart gathered that the Prince was reluctant to interrupt the military training on which he is engaged at Volseni, sir."
"A very excellent thing, that; but the other matter is more urgent. I shouldn"t change my mind on account of that."
"A personal interview might be trying to your Majesty."
The King looked annoyed, possibly a little suspicious. "You"ve no other objection than that to urge, General Stenovics?"
Stenovics had none other which he could produce. "No, sir," he said.
"While I"m here I must do my duty--and I shall induce my son to do his.
I"ll receive the Prince of Slavna in private audience to-morrow or next day. I"ll fix the precise time later, and I"ll write the letter myself."
The decision was final--and it was defeat so far. There was a moment"s silence. Markart saw Colonel Stafnitz nod his head, almost imperceptibly, towards Countess Ellenburg. The need and the moment for reinforcements had come; the Colonel was calling them up. The order of battle had been well considered in Countess Ellenburg"s apartments! The second line came into action. The Countess began with a question, put with a sneer:
"Did no other reason for the Prince"s unwillingness to set out on his journey suggest itself to Captain Markart from what he saw at Praslok?"
The King turned sharply round to her, then to Markart. "Well?" he asked the latter.
Markart was sadly embarra.s.sed.
"Who was at Praslok?" asked the Countess.
"Madame Zerkovitch, and her husband for one night, and Baroness Dobrava."
"Yes, Baroness Dobrava!"