The Adventure of Princess Sylvia Part 9

Baroness von Lynar flushed faintly, under the delicate apology of her rouge. For the fraction of a second she looked rather blank, for she had insisted upon the argument, and it was going against her. She had not stopped to view the question from every side, in her haste to annoy the Chancellor. So far she had only vexed him, She owed him a great deal more than a petty stab of vexation--a debt which during twenty years, she had been repaying in small instalments. If she could prove her point now--or rather, if Maximilian would prove it for her, and she could wipe the slate clean once and forever from the obligations of revenge, it would be something to live for. Yet how was that to be done, since Count von Markstein was in the right about his Imperial master?

But the wife of the Grand Master of Ceremonies was a woman of resource. The cloud on her still handsome face gradually lifted, and she beamed more brightly than before. The little pin-point p.r.i.c.k she had inflicted need not be an anti-climax after all.

"Dear Chancellor, how well you know His Majesty!" she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "If-- being but a young man, and a hot-blooded one, despite his high principles and his former indifference to women--he should not stop to count the cost for himself, you would no doubt take advantage of your warm friendship to remind him?"

"I should indeed do so," said the Chancellor grimly, "were there the slightest chance of such necessity arising."

"It is but a piece with your well-known integrity and courage. What a comfort, therefore, that the necessity is _unlikely_ to arise!"

The old man stared her in the face. "I must have misunderstood you,"

he sneered. "I thought, in your opinion, the opposite conclusion was foregone?"

"But" (and the Baroness smiled her most charming smile) "suppose that Lady de Courcy and her daughter were not remaining at the hotel?"

The Chancellor's cold eyes brightened--for, in reality, she had given him an uneasy moment. "Ah--then they are going away?"

"I hear," returned Baroness von Lynar slowly, pleasantly, and distinctly, "that they have been asked to the country to visit one of His Majesty's oldest and most intimate friends."

Maximilian was said not to care for dancing, though he danced well--as it was his pride to excel in everything worth doing. Certainly there was usually a perfunctoriness about his manner in a ballroom, a suggestion of a man on duty in his grave face, his readiness to lead a partner to her seat when a dance was over.

But to-night! The white arm on his--the girlish arm that had been firm as a man's in his defense; the perfume of her hair, and the glamour of the light upon it; the beating of her heart near his as they danced (or did he only fancy that he felt it?); the glory of her eyes, when they were lifted from a wonder-shadow of lashes; the lissom grace of her girlhood, so childlike, so suggestive of spring, contrasting with the voluptuous summer of Rhaetian types of beauty; the rose flush that spread and spread from her cheeks to the Madonna arch of her brows, as he looked, because he could not help looking! To-night was different from any other night, because she was different from any other woman; Maximilian fancied that an accident had befallen the musicians when the music for that waltz came suddenly, as it seemed, to an end.

At the Rhaetian Court there was always a stately interval of ten minutes after each dance. But what are ten minutes to a man who has things to say which could not be said in ten hours?

They had hardly spoken yet--since the day on the mountain; and, at this moment, each was wondering whether or no the memory of that day should be ignored. Maximilian did not intend to speak of it; Sylvia did not intend to speak of it. But, then, how few matters turn out as people plan!

Next to the throne-room was the ballroom; and beyond was another called the "Waldsaal." Maximilian had had this fitted up for his own pleasure; and it was named the "Waldsaal" because it represented a forest. Walls and ceiling were skilfully covered with thickly growing creepers, trained over invisible wires, through which peeped stars of electric light, like the chequers of sunshine that stray between netted branches. There were realistic grottoes of dark rock, growing trees planted in huge boxes hidden by ivy; while here and there, out of shadowed corners, glared the gla.s.sy eyes of birds and animals-- eagles, bears, stags, and chamois--that the Emperor had shot. This room, so vast as to appear empty when dozens of people wandered under its trees and among its rock grottoes, was thrown open to the dancers when ever a ball was given at the palace; and, because of its novel and curious effect, it was more popular than the conservatories and palm-houses. It was here that Maximilian led Sylvia after their waltz; and as she laid her hand upon his arm, an almost overmastering desire seized him to kiss the long white glove, upon the wound she had received for him.

"This is a madness," he said to himself. "It must pa.s.s." And aloud, meaning to say some thing else--something courteous and common place, he exclaimed, "Why did you do it?"

Sylvia glanced up at him in surprise.

"I don't understand." And then, in an instant, well-nigh before the words were out, she did understand. She knew that he had not intended to ask the question; but, having spoken, it was characteristic of him to stand by his guns.

"I mean--the thing I shall have to thank you for always," he replied.

If Sylvia had been given time to think, she might have prepared an answer. But given no time, she told only the bald truth. "I couldn't help it."

He looked straight into her eyes. "You couldn't help risking your life to----" He did not finish.

"It was to save----" Her words also died incomplete.

Then it was that he forgot various restrictions of etiquette which an Emperor, in conversing with a commoner--be the commoner man or woman-- is not supposed to neglect.

For one thing, his voice grew unsteady, and his tone was eager as that of some ineligible subaltern with the girl of his first love.

"There is something I should like to show you," he said. Opening a b.u.t.ton of the military coat, blazing with jewels and orders, he drew out a loop of thin gold chain. At the end dangled some small object that flashed under a star of electric light.

"My ring!" exclaimed Sylvia in a breathless whisper.

Thus perished the Emperor's intention to ignore the day that had been theirs in the past.

"Your ring. You gave it to Max; he has kept it. He will always keep it. Are you surprised?"

Sylvia wished to say "Yes," but instead she answered "No," because pretty fibs require preparation; it is only the truth that speaks itself.

"You are not? Then--you guessed, yesterday?"

"I knew--at Heiligengelt. But I wish I need not tell you."

Silence between them for a moment, while Maximilian digested her answer, slowly realizing what it meant. He remembered the bread and ham; the cow, and the rucksacks; he remembered everything and laughed out, boyishly.

"You knew, at Heiligengelt! But not on the mountain when----"

"Yes, I knew even then. It was only a chance--the same adventure might have happened to hundreds of people without their guessing. But I had happened to hear that you went there sometimes, and I had seen many of your pictures--so, when I met a man, I--oh, I wish you had not asked me!"

"Why?"

"Because--one might have to be afraid of an Emperor if he were angry."

"Do I look angry?"

Their eyes met, and dwelt, laughing at first, then probing unexpected depths which drove away all thought of laughter. Something that seemed alive and independent of control leaped in Maximilian's breast. He shut his lips tightly. Both forgot that a question had been asked, though it was Sylvia who spoke first since it is easier for a woman than for a man to hide feeling behind conventionality.

"I wonder you kept the ring--after all my rudeness."

"I had a special reason for keeping the ring,"

"Will you tell it me?"

"You are quick at forming conclusions, Miss de Courcy. Can't you guess?----"

"To remind you never to help strange young women on mountains?"

"No--not for that."

"I am not to ask the reason?"

"On that day you asked what you chose. All the more should you do so now, since there is nothing I could refuse you."

"Not the half of your kingdom--like the Royal men in fairy stories?"

The light words struck a chord they had not aimed to touch. They went echoing on and on, till they reached that inner part of himself which the Emperor knew least--his heart. Half his kingdom? Yes, he would give it to her, if he could. Heavens! what such a partnership would be!

"Ask anything you will," he said, as a man speaks in a dream.

"Then tell me--why you kept the ring?"