The Game and the Candle Part 12

A brief hush, then Rosal again in nervous conclusion:

"His Imperial Majesty the Emperor Adrian requests the return of your Royal Highness to the capital."

CHAPTER VII

ALLEGIANCE

"Check. You are losing your game, my John."

Allard laughed in frank admission,--a tanned, bright-eyed Allard after the long voyage.

"I am stupid to-night, monseigneur. It is difficult to sit here and play chess when we are anch.o.r.ed at last before our goal, the city of excitements. One has the feeling that one should go ash.o.r.e at once."

"When one arrives in a port near midnight, one does not arrive officially until next morning. Since my first act must be to go direct to the palace, you will comprehend that the hour is unfortunate."

"Yes. Although every one must know."

"Certainly. The approach of the _Nadeja_ was undoubtedly signified to the Emperor hours ago. Play, play; to-morrow will come without our aid."

Allard moved a piece at random.

"I am not the only one impatient," he defended. "Count Rosal and Vasili spent the evening hanging over the rail toward the lights of the city, and telling me all we would do, from seeing Mademoiselle Liline dance to trying that new automobile. They went to bed at last from sheer exasperation."

"They do not have to stay awake to amuse his Royal Highness."

"Oh, I could not sleep, monseigneur. But I play bad chess."

Stanief shot a glance at him; perhaps he himself could have confessed a similar inability, if he had chosen, in spite of his indolent impa.s.sivity.

"You a.s.suredly do," he agreed. "Checkmate. Set up the board again and avenge yourself."

The lap of the calm water against the ship's side marked the rising of the tide; the roar and hum of the huge city came strangely after ocean silences. On the river's bank a girl was singing a minor, half-Gipsy air which penetrated at intervals, almost as if with timidity, into the rose-and-gold salon. Allard gathered his straying thoughts together and compelled his attention to the game. They are changing the watch on deck, he reflected absently; he heard the movement and agitation.

For any one to disturb Stanief unsummoned was rare; for the door to be opened like this, without permission, was unprecedented. But Marzio offered no excuse as he held aside the heavy portiere. Stanief lifted his eyes languidly, then sprang to his feet with an abruptness that sent the chessmen rattling over the floor. Allard, startled, rose also and turned, to draw back mechanically into the shadow and leave host and guest face to face. Marzio dropped the curtain, closing the door softly as he went out.

The slight, rather frail boy clad in deep mourning was not unlike Stanief himself in fine, dark beauty of feature, and there was a composed stateliness worthy of both in the gesture with which he extended his small hand in greeting. Stanief moved forward without a word, and, kneeling, bent his head to the slim fingers for which the one great jewel seemed too heavy. Still on his knee, in constraint of their difference in height, he received the young Emperor's formal embrace.

"I am glad you have returned, cousin," the boy said, with a grave dignity of speech corresponding to his bearing. "To-morrow--I wished to see you before then."

Stanief looked into the eyes on a level with his own, before rising.

"I shall hold this visit always in my heart, sire," he answered, his tone infinitely gentle. "I have not been given many such pleasant memories."

"It is a long time since we saw each other; you did not come to me--"

"That was never my fault, sire."

"No," he conceded calmly. "I knew it was not, although they told me so."

"I am grateful for so much justice. Permit me--"

Adrian took the arm-chair which the other advanced, and himself indicated a seat very near for his cousin. He had, of course, seen Allard on entering, but, accustomed to the constant presence of others, lent no further attention to the gentleman who remained standing at the shadowed end of the salon. On Stanief his large, intent eyes were fixed with an imperiously eager scrutiny.

"You are the same as always, as you were last winter," he declared slowly. "Dalmorov has insisted that I would find you very different, now."

"The Baron Dalmorov is more than kind," Stanief replied, betrayed into his unusual frown. "May I ask why I should have changed?"

"Because you are Regent, and you govern all."

"I beg pardon, sire; if I am Regent, you are none the less Emperor."

Over the young face swept an expression that so altered, so hardened it, that it was as if another and dual self came into view.

"Then I rule _you_, as my father did," he flashed.

Allard gasped in his corner; was this the child of fourteen whom he had expected to amuse? And not as to a child was given the difficult answer by the one who knew him.

"Yes, sire," Stanief returned steadily. "But--"

"But! You say but?"

"May I speak frankly? You will find many people to flatter you, to tell you facile, surface truths; let me for once tell exactly my meaning.

a.s.suredly you do rule me and your country, so far as the possibilities permit. Yet you are surrounded by those who hate me, and even you, sire, who would joyfully see us both fall if they might mount upon the ruins.

Many times I may see what is hidden from you, and I must act accordingly. Sire, it is my intention to hold this seething Empire of yours in my grasp, to force it to bend or break in its stubborn wilfulness, until three years from now I give it back to you a tranquil government. But--and for this I said 'but'--if necessary, I shall act against your will, as against all other forces, until I carry my purpose to its end and have you crowned on your seventeenth birthday."

He drew a swift breath, caught by his own vehemence, his eyes never leaving the unchildish ones opposite.

"And on the day of your coronation, sire," he concluded, with a touch of sadness, "you will rule without the _but_. Call me to account then; I a.s.sure you I shall have no friends to protest."

Allard's own heart quickened at the fire of determination in the other's low voice. If only it had been a man who met that splendid frankness, he mourned furiously, not a child, a sullen child. For Adrian did not move at all, or answer the daring declaration. His head averted, he looked down at the floor.

Stanief waited a little, and the light died out of his face.

"You do not understand me, sire," he said, very quietly. "Or, understanding, you do not pardon one who serves you even against your will. I am thirty-two years old; it is my comfort to believe that when you reach my age, when jealousy and anger have pa.s.sed away and perhaps taken me with them, that you will think differently of Feodor Stanief.

Will you allow me to order some refreshment brought?" he added.

Adrian moved then, and the color rushed over his cheeks as he struck one small open palm on the arm of his chair.

"I understand you," he cried pa.s.sionately. "Oh, I understand! Can I trust you? It is that, Feodor. No one speaks his thoughts to me; every one _lies_. The Emperor told me that many times before he died. 'Do not trust your cousin,' he whispered to me on the last day. 'Then I must trust Dalmorov?' I asked. 'No,' he said, 'no; better Feodor than him.

Trust no one.' And now you ask it of me."

"Yet you came here to-night, sire," Stanief reminded him.

"Because I must trust some one. Because I know Dalmorov and his falseness, while I do not know you, cousin."