By Wit of Woman Part 49

"If I can no longer tell you all that is in my thoughts, do not blame me. Let us wait for the meeting. I am afraid, if I were to speak, some of my chagrin might show itself."

He made a gesture of disappointment. "I have lived too long in the world, Christabel, to look for either schemes or counsels of perfection. Life must always be a compromise. I will not counsel you now; I will only hope."

"That is at least left to us all--even to me in this."

He gave me a sharp look, threw up his head slightly, and said: "Remember, Count Gustav is necessary to the country."

"It is an unfortunate country, then," I retorted, rather tartly; and we said no more.

Soon after breakfast James Perry came. He told me that he had written the letter; and I gave him his final lessons, and said that his father, who was waiting close at hand--was to take a letter which I had written to Colonel Katona, and then to be at the door with the carriage for me at twelve o'clock to the instant.

In the letter to Colonel Katona I merely gave him my address, and said I would be there within half an hour of midday to meet him and Count Karl.

When I had arranged those details, I had nothing to do except wait for the time of the meeting with such patience as I could command.

I did not know that two hours could possibly contain so many weary dragging minutes as those. I resorted to every device I could think of to use up the time. I walked up and down the room counting my steps.

I tried to read; only to fling the book away from me. I repeated a quant.i.ty of poetry, from Shakespeare to Walt Whitman. I got the chess board out and tried problems; only at last to give it all up and just think and think and think.

At eleven o'clock I went to my bedroom and put on my hat in readiness, although I was not to leave until an hour later. Then to find something for my hands to do, I unpacked my trunk and tumbled all my clothes in a heap; and began refolding and repacking them with deliberate care.

I was in the midst of this most uninteresting task when a servant brought a message that General von Erlanger would like to see me.

I bundled everything back into the trunk anyhow and anywhere, locked it and went down. It was half-past eleven by the great hall clock as I crossed to the library. James Perry was just about making his entrance as traitor.

His Excellency was fingering a letter as I went in.

"I am anxious to have a last talk with you before Count Gustav comes, Christabel. There are some things I wish you to see quite plainly."

"We have only half an hour," said I.

"No, we may have longer. I have a line from the Count to say that an unexpected but very pressing engagement may prevent his being quite punctual; and he begs me to explain this to you."

"Oh, General, what perfectly glorious marguerites!" I exclaimed, enthusiastically, turning to point to the flowers in the garden, lest he should see my face and read there the effect of his words. Count Gustav's engagement was with James Perry; and my heart beat fast as I saw victory ahead.

His Excellency crossed and stood by me. "Yes, they are beautiful. I pride myself on my marguerites, you know. But--isn't it a little singular they should appeal to you so strongly at this particular moment?"

"I love marguerites," I replied, with a smile. I was master of my features again then.

"So do I. To me they stand for simplicity, truth, trust and candour, especially between friends--such as, say, you and myself, Christabel."

We exchanged looks; mine smiling; his grave, very gentle, and a little reproachful.

CHAPTER XXV

ON THE THRESHOLD

His Excellency had at times some very pretty ways. He stepped through the window now, and, plucking three or four of the finest marguerites, offered them to me.

"You will accept them--in the sense I have just indicated?" he asked.

"You punish tactfully, General. I suppose you think the rebuke is warranted. I would rather you gave them to me--to-morrow, say;" and I turned from the window and sat down.

He laid the blossoms on the table. "We will leave them until our chat is over. I hope you will take them then."

"I think not. There is only half an hour, you know."

"You are resolved not to give Count Gustav the grace he asks? You believe there is some purpose behind this note?" and he held it up.

"That is one of the marguerites, and must wait--until to-morrow."

"You shut me out, then? You are a very resolute, self-reliant little person, you know, Christabel. Is even this letter your doing too?"

"I told you we would wait for the meeting."

"Umph!" he nodded. "Then I suppose it's not much good for me to say anything. I am sorry," and he sighed.

"I should like to tell _you_ something," I said; "but it might make you angry; and you have been so kind to me--so much more than kind."

His look relaxed. "You will not make me angry. I am too old to heat quickly."

"I think you should not have been a party to this Duke's scheme. It is not honourable to any one concerned--and to me, dishonourable in the extreme."

"You don't think I would do anything dishonouring you? Why, I would have--but you remember the question you would not let me ask."

"Is it honourable to me to make a pretence of granting the justice I seek for my father's memory, while in reality using that very thing and--and my own feelings, merely as a means of doing yet another wrong to another man? To fool me thus and make a sport of me for these wretched, sordid policy purposes? Why, you yourself spoke of it contemptuously as no more than a Greek gift."

He showed no irritation at my warm words, but on the contrary smiled and pressing his finger tips together said: "I suppose it will sound strangely to you--but I can still, from my side, offer you those marguerites in the sense I indicated."

"Candour?" I almost threw the word at him.

"Are we not at a little disadvantage? We are not calling spades, spades. May I do that?"

"Certainly, so far as I am concerned."

"Then I will. Count Karl has loved you ever since he knew you in New York. You love him now--yes, don't protest; it is quite true. He wishes above all things in the world to make you his wife. The Duke knows this and he consents to the marriage. The Duke knows and consents because--I am going to surprise you--Count Karl himself told him and asked his consent. The Duke came yesterday to see you for himself: deeply prejudiced against you, because of Count Gustav's misrepresentations: but you conquered him; as I told you last night you had. He resolved to grant you what you desired, to have your father's t.i.tle revived----"

"As a bribe," I burst in impulsively.

"And justice done, that the way might be clear for the marriage. That he told you the truth in regard to Count Stephen's death is itself a proof that he means to keep his word. Now, what is there dishonourable to you in that?"

"What of the Greek gift?" I quoted against him.

"You should look at that dispa.s.sionately. Count Karl is impossible as the leader of the Patriots. You tell me he is misunderstood; and very possibly you may be right. But the fact is what I say--the Patriots would not follow his lead: and thus only Count Gustav remains to us.

It may be unjust; but there is always some injustice in popular movements. What then remains? Either the whole movement must be wrecked, or Count Gustav must be brought through this trouble. That was the Greek gift."