The Adventure of Princess Sylvia Part 10

"Because the only woman I ever cared--to make my friend, took it from her finger and gave it to me."

"Now the Emperor is pleased to pay compliments."

"You don't think that, really? You know I am sincere."

"But you had only seen me for an hour. Instead of meriting your friendship, I had, on the contrary----"

"For one hour? How long ago is that hour? A week or so, I suppose--as time counts. But then came yesterday, and the thing you did for me.

Now I have known you always."

"If you had, perhaps you would not want me for your friend."

"I do want you."

The words would come. It was true--already true. He did want her. But not only as a friend. His world, a world without women or pa.s.sion ardent enough to eclipse principles, was upside down.

It was well that the ten minutes' grace between dances was over, the music for the next about to begin. A young officer, Count von Markstein's half-brother, who was to be Sylvia's partner, came toward her, then stepped back, seeing that she was with the Emperor. But Maximilian permitted his approach, with a gesture.

"Good-bye," said Sylvia, while her words could still only be heard by the ears for which they were intended.

"Not good-bye--we are to be friends."

"Yes, in heart. But--we shall not often meet."

"Are you going from Salzbruck soon, then?"

"Perhaps."

"I must see you. I will see you--_once more_, whatever comes!"

"Yes. Once more, but----"

"After that----"

"Who knows--Captain von Markstein--Yes, it is our dance."

"Once more--once more!" The words lingered in Sylvia's ears. She heard them through everything, as one hears the undertone of a mountain torrent, though a bra.s.s band brays out some martial air to drown its music.

Once more he would see her. She could guess why it might be only once, even if he would fain have had it more. This game of hers, begun with such a light heart, was more difficult to play than she had dreamed.

If she could but be sure he _cared_; if he would tell her this, in words, the rest might be easy; though, even so, she did not quite see how the end should come. Yet how, in honour, _could_ he tell her that he cared? While, if he told her in any other way, how could she bear her life? "Once more!" What would happen in that once more? Surely nothing but a repet.i.tion of grateful thanks and courteous words, equivalent to farewell.

To be sure, Miss de Courcy and her mother might go away, and the negotiations between the Emperor's advisers and the Grand d.u.c.h.ess of Eltzburg-Neuwald for her daughter's hand could be allowed to continue, as if no outside influence had ruffled the peaceful current of events.

Then, in the end, a surprise would come for Maximilian; wilful Princess Sylvia would have had her little romance, and all might be said to end well. But something within Sylvia's fast-beating heart refused to be satisfied with so comparatively tame a last chapter, a finis so obvious. She had tasted a sweet, stimulating draught--she who had been brought carefully up on milk and water--and she was loth to put the cup down, still half-full and sparkling.

"Once more!" If only that once could be magnified into many times; if she could have her chance--her "fling," like other girls!

So she was thinking in the carriage, by her mother's side, driving back to the Hohenburgerhof from the palace; and the Grand d.u.c.h.ess was forced to speak twice before her daughter became aware that silence had been broken.

"I forgot to tell you something, Sylvia."

"Ye-es, mother?"

"Your great success has made me absentminded, child. You looked like a shining white lily among all those handsome, overblown Rhaetian women."

"Thank you, dear. Was that what you forgot to say?"

"Oh, no! It was this. The Baroness von Lynar has been most kind. She urges us to give up our rooms at the hotel, on the first of the week, and join her house party at Schloss Lynarberg. It is only a few miles out of town. What do you think of the plan?"

"Leave--Salzbruck?"

"She has asked a number of friends--to meet the Emperor."

"Oh! He did not speak of it--when we danced."

"But she has mentioned it to him since, no doubt--before giving me the invitation. Intimate friend of his as she is, she would not dare ask people to meet him, if he had not first sanctioned the suggestion.

Still, she can afford to be more or less informal. The Baroness was dancing with the Emperor, I remember now, just before she came to me.

They were talking together quite earnestly. I can recall the expression of his face."

"Was it pleased, or----"

"I was wondering what she had said to make him look so happy.

Perhaps----"

"W-What answer did you give Baroness von Lynar?"

"I told her--I thought you wouldn't mind--I told her that we would go."

CHAPTER VIII

THE BEAR IN HIS DEN

SCHLOSS LYNARBERG stands high on a promontory overlooking a lake, half a dozen miles to the south of Salzbruck. The castle is modern, with pointed turrets and fretted minarets, and, being built of marble, throws a dazzling reflection, like a great submerged swan, into the blue waters of the Kaisersee. Everything about the place, from its tropical gardens to its terraced roofs, suggests luxury, gaiety, pleasure. On the opposite bank of the lake frowns the ancient fortified stronghold of the Counts von Markstein, squatting on its rocky base like a huge black dragon on the coils of its own tail. Its small, deep-set windows glare across the bright waters at the white splendour of Lynarberg, like the jealous eyes of the monster waiting its chance to spring upon and devour a beautiful young maiden.

The moods of Baroness von Lynar, regarding dark old Schloss Markstein, had varied during her residence by the lake. Sometimes she pleased herself by reflecting that the man who had slighted her lived in less luxury than she had made her own. Again, the thought that "the old bear" could crouch in his den and observe all that went on at Lynarberg, got upon her nerves. She could have shrieked and shaken her fist at the huddled ma.s.s of stone across the water. But, during the first days of the Emperor's visit at her house, she often glanced at the grim outlines of the castle, and smiled.

"Can you see, old bear?" she would say to herself. "Are you watching, over there? Do you guess _now_ who is responsible for the growth of this love-flower you'd stick your claws into and tear, if you could?

But you can't, you know. There's nothing you can do--nothing but sit there and growl, and realize that you've been outwitted for once--by a woman, too. How do you like the prospect, old bear? Do you lie awake at night and wonder what's to become of your fine schemes for the Emperor's marriage? After all, there are some things which can be done by a woman with tact and money, pleasant houses and an easy-going husband, that the cleverest statesman can't undo. Will you admit so much at last, old grisly one?"

Thus the Baroness would amuse herself at odd moments, when she was not busily arranging original and elaborate entertainments for her guests.

And she rejoiced especially at having had the forethought to invite Otto von Markstein, the Chancellor's half-brother. There was a barrier of nearly thirty-five years difference in age between the two men, and they had never been friends, for the elder was temperamentally unable to sympathize with the tastes or understand the temptations of the younger. But it was whispered at Court that the Chancellor had more than once used the gay and popular captain of cavalry for a cat's-paw, in pulling some very big chestnuts out of the fire, and that he would do the same again, if occasion arose. "Handsome Otto"--so known among his admirers--"The Chancellor's Jackal"--thus nicknamed by his enemies--would have found difficulty in keeping up appearances without the allowance granted by his brother. The ill-a.s.sorted pair were often in communication, and the Baroness liked to think that news fresh from Lynarberg must sooner or later be wafted across the water to Markstein. "Iron Heart" would hear of that which his iron hand was powerless to crush; and the old bear would be ready to devour himself in impotent fury.

Therefore she was not surprised, when the Emperor had been for two days at Lynarberg, and there were still three more of his visit to run, that an urgent letter should arrive for Captain von Markstein from the Chancellor.

Poor old Eberhard was wrestling with his enemy, gout, it appeared, and desired Otto's immediate presence. Such a summons could not be neglected; Otto's whole future depended on his brother's caprice, he hinted to the Baroness, in asking leave to desert her pleasant party for a few hours. And she had sent the Chancellor her regards, regretting his indisposition; and Otto had been charged with a friendly message from the Emperor as well. When he had driven off in one of the Lynarberg carriages, promising to be back in time for dinner and a concert in the evening, the Baroness spent all her energies in getting up an impromptu riding party, which would afford Maximilian the chance of another _tete-a-tete_ with Miss de Courcy.