Carnavia is also disturbed over this disappearance.Some whisper of a beautiful peasant girl.Who can say?""Any political significance in this marriage?""Leopold expects to strengthen his throne by the alliance.But--"Johann's mouth closed and his tongue pushed out his cheek.
"There will be some fine doings in the good city of Bleiberg before the month is gone.The minister from the duchy has been given his passports.Every one concedes that trouble is likely to ensue.Baron von Rumpf--""Baron von Rumpf," repeated the Englishman thoughtfully.
"Yes; he is not a man to submit to accusations without ****** a disagreeable defense.""What does the duke say?"
"The duke?"
"Yes."
"His Highness has been dead these four years.""Dead four years? So much for man and his futile dreams.Dead four years," absently.
"What did you say, Herr?"
"I? Nothing.How did he die?"
"He was thrown from his horse and killed.But the duchess lives, and she is worthy of her sire.Eh, Herr, there is a woman for you! She should sit on this throne; it is hers by right.These Osians are aliens and were forced on us.""It seems to me, young man, that you are talking treason.""That is my business, Herr." Johann laughed."I am a socialist, and occasionally harangue for the reds.And sometimes, when I am in need of money, I find myself in the employ of the police."The muscles of the Englishman's jaws hardened, then they relaxed.
The expression on the face of his guide was free from anything but bonhomie.
"One must live," Johann added deprecatingly.
"Yes, one must live," replied the Englishman.
"O! but I could sell some fine secrets to the Osians had they money to pay.Ach! but what is the use? The king has no money;he is on the verge of bankruptcy, and this pretty bit of scenery is the cause of it.""So you are a socialist?" said the Englishman, passing over Johann's declamatory confidences.
"Yes, Herr.All men are brothers."
"Go to!" laughed the Englishman, "you aren't even a second cousin to me.But stay, what place is this we are passing?"indicating with his cane a red-brick mansion which was fronted by broad English lawns and protected from intrusion by a high iron fence.
"That is the British legation, Herr."
The Englishman stopped and stared, unconscious of the close scrutiny of the guide.His eyes traveled up the wide flags leading to the veranda, and he drew a picture of a square-shouldered old man tramping backward and forward, the wind tangling his thin white hair, his hands behind his back, his chin in his collar and at his heels a white bulldog.Rapidly another picture came.It was an English scene.And the echo of a voice fell on his ears."My way and the ******* of the house and the key to the purse; your way and a closed door while I live.
You can go, but you can not come back.You have decided? Yes?
Then good morning." Thirteen years, thirteen years! He had sacrificed the ******* of the house and the key to the purse, the kind eyes and the warm pressure of that old hand.And for what? Starvation in the deserts, plenty of scars and little of thanks, ingratitude and forgetfulness.
And now the kind eyes were closed and the warm hand cold.O, to recall the vanished face, the silent voice, the misspent years, the April days and their illusions! The Englishman took the monocle from his eye and looked at it, wondering what had caused the sudden blur.
"There was a fine old man there in the bygone days," said Johann.
"And who was he?"
"Lord Fitzgerald, the British minister.He and Leopold were close friends." Johann's investigating gaze went unrewarded.The Englishman's face had resumed its expression of mild curiosity.
"Ah; a compatriot of mine," he said.Inwardly he mused: "This guide is watching me; let him catch me if he can.His duchess? Iknow far too much of her!"
"He was a millionaire, too," went on Johann.
"Well, we can't all be rich.Come."
They crossed the Strasse and traversed the walk at the side of the palace enclosures.The Englishman aimlessly trailed his cane along the green pickets of the fence till they ended in a stone arch which rose high over the driveway.The gates were open, and coming toward the two wanderers as they stood at the curb rolled the royal barouche, on each side of which rode a mounted cuirassier, sashed and helmeted.The Englishman, however, had observed nothing; he was lost in some dream.
"Look, Herr!" cried Johann, rousing the other by a pull at the sleeve."Look!" Socialist though he claimed to be, Johann touched his cap.
In the barouche, leaning back among the black velvet cushions, her face mellowed by the shade of a small parasol, was a young woman of nineteen or twenty, as beautiful as a da Vinci freshly conceived.The Englishman saw a pair of grave dark eyes which, in the passing, met his and held them.He caught his breath.
"Who is that?" he asked.
"That is her Royal Highness the Crown Princess Alexia."Afterward the Englishman remembered seeing a white dog lying on the opposite seat.
