"Madame," said her Royal Highness, with a noble scorn, "what would you say if one desecrated your father's tomb while you were kneeling beside it? What would you say? In yonder room my father lies dead, and your presence here, in whatever role, is an insult.Are you, indeed, a woman? Have you no respect for death and sorrow? Was the bauble so precious to your sight that you could not wait till the last rites were paid to the dead? Is your heart of stone, your mind devoid of pity and of conscience?
Are you lacking in magnanimity, which is the disposition of great souls? Ah, Madame, you will never be great, for you have stooped to treachery and deceit.You, a princess! You have purchased with glittering promises that which in time would have been given to you.And you will not fulfill these promises, for honesty has no part in your affair.Shame on you, Madame.By dishonorable means you have gained this room.By dishonorable means you destroyed all those props on which my father leaned.
You knew that he had not long to live.Had you come to me as a woman; had you opened your heart to me and confided your desires--Ah, Madame, how gladly would I have listened.Whatever it signifies to you, this throne is nothing to me.Had you come then--but, no! you must come to demand your rights when I am defenseless.You must come with a sword when there is none to defend.Is it possible that in our veins there runs a kindred blood? And yet, Madame, I forgive you.Rule here, if you will;but remember, between you and your crown there will always be the shadow of disgrace.Monsieur," turning toward Fitzgerald, whose shame was so great that it engulfed him, "your father and mine were friends--I forgive you.Now, Madame, I pray you, go, and leave me with my dead."The girlhood of Princess Alexia was gone forever.
To Madame this rebuke was like hot iron on the flesh.It left her without answer.Her proud spirit writhed.Before those innocent eyes her soul lay bare, offering to the gaze an ineffaceable scar.For the first time she saw her schemes in their true light.Had any served her unselfishly? Aye, there was one.And strangely enough, the first thought which formed in her mind when chaos was passed, was of him.
How would this rebuke affect her in his eyes? What was he to her that she cared for his respect, his opinion, good or bad? What was the meaning of the secret dread? How she hated him for his honesty to her; for now perforce she must look up to him.She had stepped down from the pinnacle of her pride to which she might never again ascend.He had kissed her.How she hated him!
And yet...Ah, the wine was flat, tinctured with the bitterness of gall, and her own greed had forced the cup to her lips.She could not remain silent before this girl; she must reply; her shame was too deep to resolve itself into silence.
"Mademoiselle," she said, "I beg of you to accept my sympathies;but the fortunes of war--"
"Ah, Madame," interrupted the prelate, lifting his white, attenuated hand, "we will discuss the fortunes of war--later."Madame choked back the sudden gust of rage.She glanced covertly at the Englishman.But he, with wide-astonished eyes, was staring at the foot of the throne, from which gradually rose a terrible figure, covered with blood and caked with drying clay.
The figure leaned heavily on the hilt of a saber, and swayed unsteadily.He drew all eyes.
"Ha!" he said, with a prolonged, sardonic intonation, "is that you, Madame the duchess? You are talking of war? What! and you, my lord the Englishman? Ha! and war? Look at me, Madame; I have been in a battle, the only one fought to-day.Look at me! Here is the mark of that friend who watched over your interests.But where is he? Eh? Where? Did you pick him up on the way?....
He is dead.For all that he was a rascal, he died like a man...
..as presently I shall die! Princes and kings and thrones;the one die and the other crumble, but truth lives on.And you, Madame, have learned the truth.Shame on your mean and little souls! There was only one honest man among you, and you dishonored him.The Marshal...I do not see him.An honest man dies but once, but a traitor dies a thousand deaths.Kronau.
...is that your name? It was an honest one once.And the paltry ends you gain!....The grand duchess of Gerolstein !.
...What a comic opera! Not even music to go by! Eh, you,--you Englishman, has Madame made you a Lieutenant?--a Captain?--a General? What a farce! Nobles, you? I laugh at you all for a pack of thieves, who are not content with the purse, but must add honor to the bag.A man is what he makes himself.Medals and clothes, medals and clothes; that is the sum of your nobility!"He laughed, but the laughter choked in his throat, and he staggered a few paces away from the throne.
"Seize him!" cried Madame.
When the men sprang forward to execute this command, Fitzgerald barred the way.
"No," he said doggedly; "you shall not touch him.""Stand aside, Monsieur," said Madame, determined to vent her rage on some one.
"Madame," said von Mitter, "I will shoot down the first man who lays a hand on Monsieur Carewe."The princess, her heart beating wildly at the sudden knowledge that lay written on the inner vision, a faintness stealing away her sight, leaned back against the prelate.
"He is dying," she whispered; "he is dying for me!"Maurice was now in the grasp of the final delirium."Come on!"he cried; "come on! I will show you how a brave man can die.
Come on, Messieurs Medals and Clothes! Aye, who will go out with me?" He raised the saber, and it caught the flickering light as it trailed a circle above his head.He stumbled toward them, sweeping the air with the blade.Suddenly there came a change.
He stopped.The wild expression faded from his face; a surprised look came instead.The saber slipped from his fingers and clanged on the floor.He turned and looked at the princess, and that glance conveyed to her the burden of his love.
"Mademoiselle...." His knees doubled, he sank, rolled face downward, and a dark stain appeared and widened on the marble floor.
"Go, Madame," said the prelate."This palace is indeed a tomb."He felt the princess grow limp on his arm."Go.""Maurice!" cried Fitzgerald, springing to the side of the fallen man."My God! Maurice!"
