Kitabı oku: «The Princess Dehra», sayfa 10
XIV
AN ENTICING RENDEZVOUS
The failure of Colonel Moore to keep promptly his appointment with Mlle. d’Essoldé to meet her that morning in the japonica walk was due to a letter that had come to him in the early post, and which had sent him, without a moment’s delay, straight to Dornlitz and Headquarters; nor did he even stop to telephone the Archduke, but left it for one of the young officers in the outer office to do.
The Military Governor received him at once, and with a look of questioning concern.
“Anything wrong at the Palace?” he asked.
“Nothing, Your Highness,” said Moore, with his graceful salute – so unlike Bernheim’s stiff motion – “nothing; I brought this letter; it is for you, though sent to me.”
The Archduke took it, without comment – he knew it must be of peculiar importance to bring Moore in person at that hour. When he had read it, he looked carefully at the envelope, and turning on his desk lamp, he spread the letter under it and examined it very slowly and critically; finally he re-read it aloud: —
“‘If His Royal Highness the Archduke Armand wish to know the whereabouts of a certain Book, let him be at the Inn of the Twisted Pines at four o’clock this afternoon. No harm is intended; and as a proof he is privileged to bring as large an escort as he desires. If he accept, let him stand in a window of his private office, overlooking the Avenue, for five minutes at exactly noon to-day. This is his only chance; there will be no second letter.
“‘One Who Knows.’”
“Well,” said he, “the writer at least knows how to put up a very enticing bait – ‘privileged to bring as large an escort as he desires – at four o’clock this afternoon – at the Inn of the Twisted Pines’ – surely, there is nothing in them to suggest danger, daggers or death… I think we shall accept, Colonel; what’s your notion about it?”
“If it is a plant,” he said, “it’s a very clever one – and hence spells Lotzen; but, for my part, I’ll be charmed to go with you, whatever it is.”
The Archduke smiled. “Of course you will, you peaceful citizen, and be sadly disappointed if there isn’t a head for you to hit. It’s just as well I gave you to the Regent, you would be leading me into all sorts of danger.”
“And Your Highness has established such a splendid reputation for avoiding danger,” Moore laughed.
“How so?”
“Did it never occur to you, sir, that the man who would deliberately force a sword fight with the Duke of Lotzen, has won a name for reckless courage that he can never live down?”
“But I disarmed him, thanks to your defense to his coup.”
“Small good would my defense have been to one who hadn’t the nerve and skill to use it; to fail means death, as you, of course, appreciated.”
The Archduke nodded. “But the public knew nothing of all that.”
“Just so, sir – all they know is that you, in sheer deviltry, took your chances against one of the two best swordsmen in Valeria; that you won, demonstrated your skill, but it didn’t disprove the recklessness.”
“I did not intend it that way, Moore; I assure you I had no idea of bringing on a fight that night at the Vierle Masque, when I went over to him and the Spencer woman.”
A broad grin overspread the Irishman’s handsome face.
“You couldn’t make a single officer believe it,” he said; “and seriously, sir. I wouldn’t try. It is just such a thing as your great ancestor would have done, and it has caught the youngsters as nothing else ever could; they swear by you – only last night, I heard a dozen of them toast you uproariously as the next king.”
“Which brings us back to the Book and this letter,” Armand remarked; “shall we take an escort?”
“I’m a rather incompetent adviser, you think; but the very provision that you need not go alone, may be a trap to lull suspicion and bring you there with only an Aide or an orderly. If the letter is honest, it will be no harm to go well attended; if it isn’t honest, you will lose nothing, and the escort may be very useful.”
“You are becoming a very Fabius in discretion,” the Archduke smiled; “and we will take the escort.” He considered a moment. “Or, rather, we will have it on hand for need. I’ll see to it that a troop of Lancers shall be passing the Inn a little before four o’clock, and halt there, while their captain discusses the weather with the landlord. And we will ride up with a great show of confidence or contempt, whichever way the One Who Knows may view it.”
“Shall I tell Her Highness of the letter, and your purpose?” Moore asked.
“Not on your life, man! She would send a Brigade with us, even if she didn’t forbid our going. I’ll get you leave for the afternoon – and not a word to Bernheim, either; he would have nervous prostration, and load me down with a suit of plate-mail and a battle-axe. You and I will just have this little adventure on the side.” He got up. “I tell you what it is, Moore, the pair of us could make a brisk fight of it if we had to – hey, man?”
The Irishman laughed joyously.
“And may we have to, sir!” he cried; “may we have to!” – and made as though he were sending home a finishing thrust.
The Archduke shook his head. “There can’t be any doubt of it; you would have a most dangerous influence over me; it is well you’re with the Regent. But for this afternoon, I suggest that you select your favorite sword, and see that it doesn’t drag in the scabbard – and half-after-two at the Titian gate.”
Moore paused at the door.
“Of course,” said he, “Your Highness will wear the steel vest.”
“I’ll wear it,” was the answer; and the Colonel went out, wondering at the ready acquiescence, where he had anticipated a curt refusal. Before he had crossed the ante-room, the Archduke called him.
“I saw you were surprised,” said he. “I had a little adventure the other night that you don’t know about. Sit down a minute, and I’ll tell you of Bernheim’s and my visit to the De Saure house at two in the morning.”…
“I always said Bernheim was the man for a close pinch,” Moore remarked, at the end, “but he is even better than I imagined. The chest is simply delicious.” He paused, in sudden thought. “And, now, I reckon I understand why Count Bigler has his ear done up in surgeon’s plaster. I noticed it at the Club yesterday, and heard him explain it as a ‘sore.’ To-morrow, I’ll ask him if he caught the ‘sore’ in the De Saure house.”
“And don’t tell Bernheim,” said Armand; “if he knows he had such a good chance at Bigler, and then missed him, it will make him miserable for days.”
“Days! It will sour him for life. Next to the Duke of Lotzen, the Colonel hates Bigler most.”
When Moore had gone, the Archduke took up the letter and envelope and again examined them; looked for a water mark – there was none; went over the writing – man’s or woman’s he could not decide; postmarked at the main office in Dornlitz at ten P.M. of yesterday; not a scintilla any place to indicate the origin. Well, it did not matter; he would accept the offer; and there was an end of it, now – the solution could come this afternoon at four. So he put up the letter, and pushed the button for his secretary, quite forgetting to telephone the Princess as to borrowing her Adjutant. Then, after a while, she, herself, called him; and as they finished their talk, the bell sounded the first stroke of noon.
He arose, and hooking the frogs of his dark green jacket, the gold braid of his marshal’s insignia heavy on the sleeve, he went over to the large window, and raising the sash stood in full view of the avenue.
It was the hour when it was busiest; on the sidewalks a pushing, hurrying, good-natured crowd, at their mid-day recreation; in the road-way, a tangled mass of vehicles – not of the society folk, they came three hours later, but the wagons, and drays and vans of trade and traffic. He recognized an occasional face in the throng, usually some officer hurrying to Headquarters for the reception he always held for half an hour at noon. To-day it would have to start five minutes late.
Presently some one caught sight of him, and saluted with raised hat; others looked up, and did the same; and in a moment the crowd was passing in review, the men uncovering, the women greeting him with smiles. He answered with bows and hand-waves; and if a bit of satisfied pride stirred his heart and warmed his face, small wonder. He was still new in his royalty; and even if he were not, at this critical period, such demonstration of esteem by the general populace would have been very gratifying and particularly welcome. And he stayed a trifle longer than the required time; then, with a last bow and a wave of especial graciousness, he turned away, and rang for the doors to be opened.
It was the Archduke’s rule that entire informality should be observed at these affairs, and he emphasized it by sauntering around, speaking to everyone, and not obliging them to go up to him, for a stiff bow and a word. He laughed with this group, joked with another, argued with a third, until not a man but had come under his eye, at least for an instant, and he under theirs. He had begun the receptions soon after he became Governor of Dornlitz, more particularly for the purpose of getting acquainted with the officers on duty under him; but it was not limited to them – any one was welcome – and the result had been rather more satisfactory than even he had hoped for. There was not an official in his district to whom he had not given a hearty hand-shake and a pleasant word; and as he happened to have a truly royal knack of remembering faces, and the names that went with them, many a young lieutenant – and indeed, not a few higher in rank – had gone away with a flattered heart and an ardent enthusiasm, openly proclaimed, for the Marshal-Prince who would condescend to remember an unimportant subordinate, and seem glad to see him again, and to tell him so. And the contrast it offered to the Duke of Lotzen’s ungracious and domineering ways was little to the latter’s advantage; and the fruit of it had been ripening fast, within these last few weeks.
So, to-day, the room was crowded, and the welcome the Archduke received was such as might have made even Lotzen pause and think, had he seen it. And this thought occurred to Armand; and he ran his eyes over the many faces, wondering which of them belonged, to-day, to the Duke’s spy; for that there usually was one present he had no doubt.
And presently he found him; and, catching his eye, motioned for him to approach.
“I am glad to see you, Monsieur le Comte,” he said, relieving himself from offering his hand by readjusting his sword. “When was it I saw you last?”
Count Bigler’s lips twitched with suppressed amusement.
“Here, Your Highness?” he answered, “I am ashamed to confess I haven’t been here for many weeks.”
“Yet, surely, Count, I’ve seen you somewhere since then, and very recently, too – where was it?”
Bigler feigned to think. – “One sees Your Highness so many times, it is difficult to remember the last … on the Field of Mars, last Monday, wasn’t it?”
The Archduke shook his head. “No,” he said, “no; it was in the evening – I recall that very distinctly.” Then he looked with deliberate inference at the bandaged ear – “oh, I have it: it was at the De Saure’s; you were there when I came, and you left first and – rather hurriedly. It all comes back to me now. Surely, Count, you can’t have forgot such a pleasant evening!”
Bigler assumed a look of guileless innocence.
“It is not permitted to contradict Your Highness,” he answered, “but I may, I think, at least venture the truism: – what one has not remembered, one cannot forget.”
“Or restated, my dear Count, to be quite in point: – what is inconvenient to remember, is best denied.”
“Just as Your Highness will have it,” Bigler grinned, and impudently fingered his ear.
“And confidentially, Count,” said Armand smilingly, “while we are dealing in truisms, I give you these two: – ‘every man’s patience has its limit,’ and, ‘who plays with fire gets burnt’ – fatally.”
Bigler’s grin broadened.
“Is Your Highness the man with the patience or the man with the fire?” he asked.
“Study it out, sir,” said the Archduke, as he passed on; “and let your master help you; the answer may concern you both.”
The last thing before leaving his office, that afternoon, he wrote a note to the American Ambassador, enclosing the anonymous letter, and telling him his intention in reference to it; and adding that if Courtney had not heard from him by morning he should do whatever he thought best. This he dispatched by an orderly; and then, choosing a long, light sword, he rang for his horse.
Just outside his door, he met General Durand and stopped for a word with him; as they separated he saw Ferdinand of Lotzen coming down the corridor.
Between them it had long been a salute given and acknowledged, but now the Duke halted, fingers at visor.
“May I have a word with Your Highness?” he said.
Armand’s hand dropped slowly, and he only half paused in his walk.
“I’m in a particular hurry, cousin,” he replied, “won’t to-morrow do as well?”
Lotzen’s eye-brows went up.
“Isn’t to-morrow rather uncertain for – both of us?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the Archduke instantly, “yes, it is; and hence what need of talk between us, at least so late in the day. Wait until we have a to-morrow.”
“What I wish to say has nothing to do with futures, cousin, only with the past, with the De Saure house – oh! that surprises you, does it?”
“Not half as much as the amazing mess you made of it,” said Armand.
“That, my dear cousin, is just what I came to explain,” said Lotzen quickly. “I had nothing whatever to do with the silly affair; it was a clever idea, but sadly bungled; I heard of it only the next day, and I want to assure you it was not my work – though, as I say, it was a clever idea – too clever, indeed, to be wasted so fruitlessly.”
The Archduke regarded him in speculative silence; – just what manner of man was this; and what could be his ulterior purpose in such an astonishing avowal!
“Will you tell me, cousin,” he asked, “why you should trouble to disclaim participation in an outrage, whose only offense, in your eyes, was its failure?”
Again Lotzen’s eye-brows went up. “I thought you would understand that it is in justice to myself; I would not have you think me guilty of so stupid a piece of work.”
“Doubtless, then, it will gratify you, monsieur, that I never doubted your complicity, however much I may have marvelled at the unskilled execution – you would have arranged it rather differently. Indeed, I was sorry that you, yourself, were not in command. I left a message, both upstairs and down, that I thought you might understand.”
Lotzen smiled, rather warmly for him.
“I understood,” he said; “your writing was exceedingly legible.”
“And I sent you another message, a little while ago, by the man with the wounded ear,” said the Archduke, his eyes upon the other’s bandaged hand. “I suppose you got it?”
The Duke laughed and held up his hand, the back and palm covered with plaster.
“This wasn’t made by a bullet, cousin;” he replied; “I got it this morning from a new pet I was trying to train. – No, I didn’t get your last message.”
“Better get it to-day, cousin,” said the Archduke, as he turned away; “to-morrow is rather uncertain.”
XV
FOUR O’CLOCK AT THE INN
Ten miles out, on the Titian Road, is the Inn of the Twisted Pines. Something more than two centuries of storms and sunshine have left its logs and plaster wrinkled and weather-beaten, yet the house stands as stanch and strong as the day the last pin was driven, and the painted sign and the bunch of furze hung above the entrance.
The old soldier who built it had lived long enough to marry a young wife, and leave it to her and a sturdy boy; and, thereafter, there was always a son to take the father’s place; and with the heirship seemed to go the inherited obligation to maintain the house exactly as received. No modernity showed itself within or without; the cooking alone varied, as it reflected the skill or whim of the particular mistress; and it chanced that the present one was of unusual ability in that particular; and the knowledge of it coming to the Capital, had brought not a little trade of riding parties and the officers of the garrison.
And so Captain Hertz, of the Third Lancers, had not done quite the usual growl, when he got the order to march at once with his troop, selecting such a route as would bring him to the Inn a few minutes before four o’clock, taking care to approach it from the West; and to halt there and await further instructions.
He had confided to his subaltern that it was a crazy sort of proceeding to be manœuvring against old Scartman’s Inn; but if it had to be done, it was at least considerate to choose as the objective point, a place where they could have a good meal to eat, and the keeper’s pretty daughters to philander.
And between thinking of the victuals and the damsels, the Captain so hurried the march that they reached the Inn unnecessarily early; yet they had no reason to regret it, for the tap-room was cool and pleasant, the food to their taste, and the girls’ cheeks prettier and softer than ever – though it would seem that, lately, the last were becoming much more difficult to taste.
“What’s got into the hussies?” Hertz demanded, rubbing his face, as the Lieutenant and he went out into the courtyard; “They used to be mild enough.”
“You’ve been falling off in looks the last year, my dear fellow,” Purkitz laughed – “can’t say I much blame the girl – I’ve no finger marks on my cheek, you see!”
“Huh!” grunted Hertz, “solid brass; wouldn’t show the kick of a mule. – What in Heaven’s name are we sent here for any way! – ‘await further orders’ – that may mean a week.”
“And why not,” the Lieutenant laughed; “the victuals are delicious, and the girls – ”
“Oh, go to the devil!”
“And even father, himself, will do for company in a pinch.”
The Captain laughed, too. “Not if I can get away – did you ever see such a countenance? It positively makes me ill.”
“Poor old Scartman,” said Purkitz; “he’s a good man, but there is no denying that ‘the Lord made him as ugly as He could and then hit him in the face.’”
From the eastward, came the sound of a galloping horse.
“Our orders, I hope,” Hertz exclaimed. He glanced at his watch. “A quarter of four – I wonder what silly business we’re to be sent on, now.”
The hoof-beats drew swiftly nearer, but from where the two officers were standing, the high wall of the courtyard obscured the road, and they sauntered slowly across toward the gateway. As they reached it, a big black horse swept around the corner and was upon them before the rider could draw rein.
Hertz gave a cry of warning and sprang aside, tripped on his spur, and sprawled in the deep dust; while Purkitz’s wild jump landed him with both feet on his superior’s back, whence he slid off and brought up on Hertz’s head, thereby materially augmenting the fine flow of super-heated language that was bubbling from the Captain’s dirt-filled mouth – nor did the loud guffaw and the shrieks of feminine laughter, that came from the house, serve to reduce either the temperature or the volume.
Meanwhile, the cause of it all – a slender, sinuous woman, black gowned and black veiled – sat the big horse motionless and silent, waiting for the human tangle to unloose itself.
Coated with dust – his uniform unrecognizable, his face smeared and dirty – Hertz scrambled up.
“What in hell do you – a woman!” he ended, and stood staring.
“Yes, my man, a woman,” said she, “and one very sorry for your fall – you are the landlord, I presume.”
Lieutenant Purkitz gave a shout, and leaned against the gate.
“Landlord!” he gasped, “landlord! – that face – oh, that face!” and went off into a fit of suppressed mirth.
The woman looked at him and then at Hertz, and though the thick veil hid her features completely, there was no doubt of her irritation.
The Captain bowed. “Madame will pardon the ill manners of my clownish servant,” he said, indicating Purkitz; “I am Captain Hertz, of Her Highness’ Third Lancers. Yonder is the landlord; permit me to call him.”
She leaned down and offered him her hand.
“A thousand apologies, my dear Captain, for my reckless riding and my awkward tongue – there is small excuse for the former, I admit, but my veil may explain the latter. – You are not hurt?”
A voice so soft and sweet must have a face to match it, and Hertz went a step nearer.
“Madame can cure everything but my heart, if she but raise the veil,” he said.
The voice laughed softly.
“Then, sir, I am afraid to raise it – your heart would not survive the shock. Good-bye, and thank you,” and she spurred across to where old Scartman was standing near the stables.
“I am to meet some one here at four o’clock,” she said; “has my party come?”
Boniface’s shrewd little eyes had taken her in at a single glance.
“Gentleman, I suppose?” he asked. – “None of them?” jerking his thumb toward the two lancers. – “No? then he’s not here yet.”
She glided gracefully out of saddle, and hooked up her skirt.
“Put my horse in the stall nearest the door,” she ordered; and herself saw it done. “Now, I want a room – the big one on the lower floor – for an hour or so.”
The inn-keeper bowed.
“Certainly, madame – and the gentleman?”
She considered… “He is one high in rank, very high – indeed, no one in Valeria is higher – tell him I’m here; and admit him instantly; but don’t, do you hear me, don’t tell him I’m a woman.”
Old Scartman coughed and hesitated.
“But please you, madame,” he ventured, “if I’m to tell him you’re here, but not to tell him you’re a woman, how’s he to be sure you are you?”
“True, O patron of rendezvous!” she laughed. “If he ask for proof, you may tell him I’m the one who knows.”
“Now, that’s more to rule,” he said, with a nod and a chuckle.
They went into the house, and he opened the door into the big room.
“This is what madame wishes?”
“Yes,” said she – “and remember, no interruptions, now nor later – understand?”
He bowed with rather unusual grace, for one of his appearance and calling.
“Perfectly, madame – does madame think I look so like a fool?”
She surveyed him an instant.
“No, my good man, I don’t,” and closed the door; “but I wouldn’t care to tell you what you do look like,” she ended.
Going over to the window, she fixed the curtain so as to permit her to see in front of the house, and then, removing her veil, she drew out a tiny mirror and deftly touched to place the hair that was disarranged. As she finished, she heard horses approaching, and she saw, through the open gateway, a sudden commotion among the Lancers who were lounging at ease by the roadside, their mounts picketed under the trees. She knew that her man was coming.
A sergeant ran in and said a word to Hertz who, free now of his dust and anger, was sitting on the steps with Purkitz, hoping to get a glimpse of the face behind the veil, and staring at the windows with calm persistency.
“My God!” she heard Hertz exclaim, as both sprang up, and, frantically buttoning tunics and drawing on gloves, ran out into the road and swung to horse. There was a snap of commands, a stamping of hoofs, and the lances rose high above the wall in a line of fluttering pennons; they dipped, and the next moment the Archduke and the Regent’s Adjutant drew up before the gate.
The former raised his hand, and Hertz rode forward and saluted.
“How long have you been here, Captain Hertz?” he asked.
“Since a few minutes after three, sir.”
“Has any one come to the Inn in that time?”
Hertz’s spine went cold, and his voice trembled —she was the Archduke’s, and he had dared to ogle her.
“No one, Your Highness,” he answered – “no one but a woman – only a few minutes ago – on horseback – alone.”
“Did you happen to look at her, Captain? If you did, you might describe her.”
“I cannot, Your Highness; her face was covered with a thick, black veil.”
The Archduke smiled. “You’re a good soldier, I see; a pretty face comes first.”
“But her figure, sir – it’s wonderful, black habit and black horse – and she can ride – and her voice – ”
“At least, Captain, your inability to describe her isn’t due to lack of observation,” the Archduke remarked dryly. “You have aroused my curiosity; I must see this remarkable woman – and do you remain here. I may have need of you presently; if you hear a whistle, come to me instantly.”
“Very clever, my lord,” Hertz muttered; “but you can’t cozen this bird; you’re here to meet her, and we are not expected. If the Regent knew it – whew!” and dismounting, he nodded to the sergeant.
“This looks about as harmless as a game of ping-pong,” said Armand, as they went into the courtyard; then, suddenly, an amazing idea flashed upon him; and he swung around, and motioned Hertz to him.
“What color was the woman’s hair?” he asked.
“Black. Your Highness, black as her gown.”
He dismissed Hertz with a look.
“Moore,” he said, and without moving on, “this plot is tangling fast. Can you guess who this woman is?”
“‘The one who knows,’” said the Colonel promptly.
“Yes, and more – it is Madeline Spencer.”
“Impossible!”
“I hope so, God knows,” the Archduke answered; “I’ve had enough of that devil – Scartman, is any one awaiting me?”
The old fellow had come up at a run.
“Your Highness’ pardon,” he cried, bowing almost into the dirt; “had I known you were coming I would have been at the gate to receive you – ”
“Never mind the reception, my man, answer my question – is any one awaiting me?”
“I think so, Your Highness – ”
“Don’t you know – what name did she give for me?”
“‘The one who knows,’ sir – but I wasn’t to tell you, sir, she is a woman – she was most particular as to that.”
The Archduke laughed. “Well, you didn’t; I knew it – where is she?”
“I will conduct your – ”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Armand, dismounting and flinging his rein to his orderly; “where is the lady?”
Old Scartman knew enough to palaver no longer.
“The large room on the right, Your Highness,” he answered promptly.
“Come along, Moore,” said the Archduke, “let us have a look at her – and pray heaven it isn’t Spencer.”
But the landlord shook his head dubiously.
“It’s queer doings, sure enough!” he muttered; – “leastwise, it’s no love meeting they’re up to;” and he followed them as far as the hall, to be within call if needed.
Shielded by the curtain, Madeline Spencer had watched the scene in the courtyard, laughing quietly, the while, at Hertz’s confusion and at what she knew was in his mind, as to the Archduke and herself; now she flung the veil lightly around her head, and put her chair where the sun would be behind her. Moore’s presence had surprised and disappointed her; but, on the whole, she preferred him to Bernheim – and particularly if one of them were to be at the interview. Though she had rather counted upon Armand coming alone, if only to show his contempt for the permission to bring an escort – that he had sent the troop of Lancers she did not credit for a moment, though it might do to twit him with it.
Cool player that she was, and skillful beyond most women, yet even her heart beat a little faster, and her hand showed the trace of a tremble, as she heard the rattle of swords and spurs in the hall-way, followed by the sharp knock upon her door. And she let the knock come a second time before she answered it. She had not seen Armand since that night in her reception room in the Hotel Metzen, when the King and he had surprised her and Lotzen together, and, after tumbling the Duke’s schemes about his ears, had sent him to Lotzenia in disgrace and her across the border; and, now, the sight of him, and the sound of his voice, had stirred again the old fondness that would not down. And though, to his face, she might laugh at his anger and mock at his contempt, and feel it so then, yet afterward, in the depression that in such natures always follows periods of excitement, the recollection of it hurt her sadly, scorn it as she might, despise it as she did – destroy him as she meant to do, and would.
“Entrez!” she called, “entrez!” and with the words, the tremble passed, and she was serene and undisturbed again.
“Your Royal Highness!” she said, very low, and swept him a quick curtsy.
Instead of offering his hand to raise her, he answered with a slight bow.
“Madame desired to see me?” he asked; and crossing over obliged her to turn so that the light from the window fell upon her sideways. And, despite the heavy veil, that gave him only a black mask of crape instead of her face, he was satisfied he had surmised correctly.
Suddenly she caught the veil and flung it away.
“You know me, I see,” she laughed, “so we will dispense with this covering – it is very warm.”
For a little while, he looked at her in forbidding silence.
“What ill wind blew you back to Dornlitz?” he asked presently; and she almost cried out in surprise at the deliberate menace in his voice. And Moore marvelled and was glad – the old Henry was being aroused, at last.
“Ill wind?” she said – leaning carelessly against the window ledge where the sun played through her wonderful hair, and tinged the flawless face from dead-white to a faint, soft pink – “ill wind for whom, Armand? – surely not for you; why am I here?”
The Archduke gave a sarcastic laugh. “That is precisely what I should like to know.”
“You doubt the letter?”
A shrug was his answer.
She leaned a bit toward him.
“If I show you the Book of Dalberg Laws, will you believe?” she asked.
“That they are the Laws, yes.”
She smiled rather sadly.
“The facts will have to prove my honest motive, I see; and I came from Paris, hoping that I could render you this service, as a small requital for the injury I did you a little while ago.”
The Archduke laughed in her face.
“And for how much in gold coin of the realm, from some one of my enemies?” he asked.
She put the words aside with another smile.
“I’ve been in Dornlitz for more than two weeks,” she went on; “can you guess where? – yes, I see you can; the only place I could have been, and you not know of it.”
“And you mean to say the Book is in Ferida Palace?” said Armand.
