The Game and the Candle Part 9

CHAPTER V

THE NEW DAY

The morning sunlight penetrated the room riotously, merrily defying the azure silk and lace m.u.f.fling the windows, glinting in every polished surface and running golden-footed from point to point. Lying tranquilly among his pillows, Allard watched the man busied in folding and laying away a mult.i.tudinous array of garments, placing gloves and handkerchiefs in drawers and arranging toilet articles.

"You are not Petro," Allard remarked finally.

The man started and turned.

"No, monsieur. With monsieur's permission, I am Vladimir. His Royal Highness said that as monsieur had not yet engaged a valet for the voyage, perhaps I might be accepted. I would be very glad to serve monsieur."

"Very well," Allard a.s.sented. Stanief was not to be contradicted, but certainly embarra.s.sment seemed unavoidable in view of an absent wardrobe. Dancla had been of a decidedly different figure from his successor. "What time is it?"

"Nearly ten o'clock, monsieur," and he approached and kissed the hand outside the coverlet before the surprised American could object. "Every thanks, monsieur; I am monsieur's devoted servant. It pleases monsieur to rise?"

"I--suppose so. The yacht has stopped."

"Yes, monsieur. We are anch.o.r.ed before the great city, New York, since many hours."

Allard had yet to learn his Stanief; the time was to come, when to know an affair in his charge was to abandon anxiety concerning it. The question of the wardrobe was embarra.s.sing only from its overwhelming answer. Never even in the other days had Allard, naturally simple in tastes, provided himself with the lavish and sybaritic completeness he found awaiting him now. No detail was forgotten; the very toilet-table bore its shining array, each dainty article carrying the correct monogram, J. L. A. Marveling, Allard pictured what it meant to have produced this in one night; and vaguely realized that there must be a deeper object than mere consideration for his comfort, behind all this unnecessary elaboration.

Breakfast was served in his own miniature salon.

"His Royal Highness is awake?" he inquired.

"Monsieur, his Royal Highness went ash.o.r.e an hour ago, to pay farewell visits of ceremony."

They were to sail soon, then. Allard's pulses quickened with relief at the prospect. Remembering Stanief's expressive injunction to show himself at ease and make friends with his new companions, he resolved to go on deck. But before the white and silver writing-desk he lingered wistfully.

"You can mail a letter for me, Vladimir?"

"Certainly, monsieur."

The letter must be convincing, and not dangerous in the wrong hands.

With a tenderness that was almost pain he recalled the last signed letter to his brother, written on that final night at home, while Robert sat by with hidden eyes. A letter he had headed South America, the date blank, to be used as explanation to Theodora and her mother if the crash came and he disappeared for years.

The thick cream-tinted paper was convincing in itself, bearing in gilt letters the name of the yacht, _Nadeja_.

MY DEAR OLD ROBERT:

I have just returned from the South, and of course intended to come straight home. But I met H. R. H. the Grand Duke Feodor Stanief, who has been visiting the United States, and he is taking me with him as his secretary. I owe him more than I can tell, or you guess, Bertie; and this service is a service of love. I will write again; you know there was no opportunity where I have been.

Give my love to Aunt Rose and Theo--is she quite my sister by this time?

Very happily and lovingly, my brother,

Your brother,

JOHN ALLARD.

Like a girl he touched the letter to his lips before putting it in the envelop. Robert would watch the eastern newspapers, he knew, and couple the two stories together.

The lower Hudson was swept by a strong salt wind when Allard reached the deck, green and white waves running under the bright sunshine and lashed to swirling froth by the innumerable boats plowing back and forth. On the yacht everything was activity and preparation, all sound overborne by the crash of loading coal. The busy Captain Delsar left his affairs and came to greet the guest punctiliously, if hurriedly.

"We sail this morning," he explained, "and you will understand all that involves for me, monsieur."

Allard responded cordially; it was so wonderful, so beautiful, just to meet other men again and be himself. And presently Lieutenant Vasili came to add his cheerful greeting and lead the way to the forward deck, where wicker chairs and small tables stood under a gay scarlet awning.

"His Royal Highness told me this morning to amuse you, if I could," he declared. "Indeed, I think he left me behind for that purpose, Monsieur John."

"Allard," the other corrected pleasantly. "I am infinitely obliged to his Royal Highness, then, I am sure."

"A thousand pardons; I misunderstood your name last night."

"Not exactly, his Royal Highness calls me John, my Christian name."

Vasili's eyes opened and he regarded his companion with marked respect.

"He told me he had known you a long time," he a.s.sented, "and that you had been ill. The voyage across will tone you up--if you are a good sailor--before we reach home."

"I am a good sailor," Allard affirmed, rather astonished at Stanief's account of his health. He had no idea of the extreme delicacy of his own appearance, of how those years of torture had left him worn and colorless.

Vasili tilted his chair against the rail and smiled engagingly.

"For my part I am always happiest at sea," he confided. "Not that I am concerned with political affairs--_pas si bete_; I leave that for wiser heads. But still one is never secure in a country like ours. I walk straight ahead without asking questions, and hope the Grand Duke sees I am doing no more; nevertheless, one is more comfortable at sea. Ah, this America is a restful place! No intrigues, no rivals, no salt-mines in the background."

"A delightful picture you are painting for me," suggested Allard laughingly.

"Oh, you are the friend of his Royal Highness, monsieur. Moreover, every one believes an American or an Englishman when he declares himself with one party; it is only each other whom we always suspect. _Tiens_, the little white boat!"

The little white boat in question was one of the city police launches, and Allard's hand closed sharply on the arm of his chair as the officer in charge hailed the yacht, signifying his intention of coming on board.

Captain Delsar went down to receive the visitors, not without visible impatience at the interruption.

"Come," exclaimed the diverted Vasili, after watching the colloquy for a few moments, during which several of the yacht's officers joined their chief. "If it is droll!"

"What is it?"

"Why, of course we all speak French--as does every one at home except peasants--but since Dancla went only the Grand Duke is left who speaks English. And evidently our guests have no French."

Allard surveyed the group, and glanced up at the gorgeous flag fluttering in the breeze and casting its shadow over him. Foreign ground, Stanief had called this.

"I might play interpreter," he offered slowly.

"Surely! Am I dull not to think of that? Shall we go?"

The mutually exasperated group paused to look at the pair coming down the deck toward them, Vasili in his gold-laced uniform and the gentleman in yachting flannels.