The Princess Dehra Part 3

Bigler shot a quick glance at Mrs. Spencer, and understood.

"I'm not to Paris at all," he said, "unless you send me."

"He won't do that, Monsieur le Comte," the lady laughed; and Lotzen, who had quite missed the hidden meaning in their words, nodded in affirmance.

"Come," he said, "your budget-out with it. I'm athirst for news."

The Count drew out a cigar and, at Mrs. Spencer's smile of permission, he lighted it, and began his tale. And it took time in the telling, for the Duke was constant in his questions, and a month is very long for such as he to be torn from his usual life and haunts.

And, through it all, Mrs. Spencer lay back in sinuous indolence among the cushions on the couch before the fire, one hand behind her shapely head, her eyes, languidly indifferent, upon the two men, her thoughts seemingly far away. And while he talked, Count Bigler watched her curiously, but discreetly. This was the first time he had seen the famous "Woman in Black" so closely, and her striking beauty fairly stunned him. He knew his Paris and Vienna well, but her equal was not there-no, nor elsewhere, he would swear. Truly, he had wasted his sympathy on Lotzen-he needed none of it with such a companion for his exile.

And she, unseeing, yet seeing all, read much of his thoughts; and presently, from behind her heavy lashes, she flashed a smile upon him-half challenge, half rebuke-then turned her face from him, nor shifted it until the fading daylight wrapped her in its shadow.

"There, my tale is told," the Count ended. "I'm empty as a broken bottle-and as dry," and he poured himself a gla.s.s of wine from the decanter on a side table.

"You are a rare gossip, truly," said the Duke; "but you have most carefully avoided the one matter that interests me most:-what do they say of me in Dornlitz?"

Bigler shrugged his shoulders. "Why ask?" he said. "You know quite well the Capital does not love you."

"And, therefore, no reason for me to be sensitive. Come, out with it.

What do they say?"

"Very well," said Bigler, "if you want it, here it is:-they have the notion that you are no longer the Heir Presumptive, and it seems to give them vast delight."

The Duke nodded. "And on what is the notion based?"

"Originally, on hope, I fancy; but lately it has become accepted that the King not only has the power to displace you, but has actually signed the decree."

"And Frederick-does he encourage the idea?"

The Count shook his head. "No, except by his open fondness for the American."

"I've been urged to go to Dornlitz and kill the American," Lotzen remarked, with a smile and a nod toward Mrs. Spencer.

"If you can kill him," said Bigler instantly, "the advice is excellent."

"Exactly. And if I can't, it's the end of me-and my friends."

"I think your friends would gladly try the hazard," the Count answered.

"It is dull prospect and small hope for them, even now. And candidly, my lord, to my mind, it's your only chance, if you wish the Crown; for, believe me, the Archduke Armand is fixed for the succession, and the day he weds the Princess Royal will see him formally proclaimed."

The Duke strode to the far end of the room and back again.

"Is that your honest advice-to go to Dornlitz?" he asked.

The other arose and raised his hand in salute. "It is, sir; and not mine alone, but Gimels' and Rosen's and Whippen's, and all the others'-that is what brought me here."

"And have you any plan arranged?"

The Count nodded ever so slightly, then looked the Duke steadily in the face-and the latter understood.

He turned to Madeline Spencer. "Come nearer, my dear," he said, "we may need your quick wit-there is plotting afoot."

She gave him a smile of appreciation, and came and took the chair he offered, and he motioned for Bigler to proceed.

"But, first, tell me," he interjected, "am I to go to Dornlitz openly or in disguise? I don't fancy the latter."

"Openly," said the Count. "Having been in exile a month, you can venture to return and throw yourself on Frederick's mercy. We think he will receive you and permit you to remain-but, at least, it will give you two days in Dornlitz, and, if our plan does not miscarry, that will be quite ample."

"Very good," the Duke commented; "but my going will depend upon how I like your plot; let us have it-and in it, I trust you have not overlooked my fiasco at the Vierle Masque and so hung it all on my single sword."

"Your sword may be very necessary, but, if so, it won't be alone. We have several plans-the one we hope to--"

A light tap on the door interrupted him, and a servant entered, with the bright pink envelope that, in Valeria, always contained a telegram.

"My recall to Court," laughed the Duke, and drawing out the message glanced at it indifferently.

But it seemed to take him unduly long to read it; and when, at length, he folded it, his face was very grave; and he sat silent, staring at the floor, creasing and recreasing the sheet with nervous fingers, and quite oblivious to the two who were watching him, and the servant standing stiffly at attention at his side.

Suddenly, from without, arose a mad din of horses' hoofs and human voices, as the returning cavalcade dashed into the courtyard, women and men yelling like fiends possessed. And it roused the Duke.

"You may go," to the footman; "there is no answer now." He waited until the door closed; then held up the telegram. "His Majesty died, suddenly, this afternoon," he said.

Count Bigler sprang half out of his chair.

"Frederick dead! the King dead!" he cried-"then, in G.o.d's name, who now is king-you or the American?"

The Duke arose. "That is what we are about to find out," he said, very quietly. "Come, we will go to Dornlitz."

II TO-MORROW AND THE BOOK

Frederick of Valeria had died as every strong man wants to die: suddenly and in the midst of his affairs, with the full vigor of life still upon him and no premonition of the end. It had been a sharp straightening in saddle, a catch of breath, a lift of hand toward heart, and then, with the great band of the Foot Guards thundering before him, and the regiment swinging by in review, he had sunk slowly over and into the arms of the Archduke Armand. And as he held him, there was a quick touch of surgeon's fingers to pulse and breast, a shake of head, a word; and then, sorrowfully and in silence, they bore him away; while the regiment, wheeling sharply into line, spread across the parade and held back the populace. And presently, as the people lingered, wondering and fearful, and the Guards stood stolid in their ranks, the royal standard on the great tower of the Castle dropped slowly to half staff, and the mellow bell of the Cathedral began to toll, to all Valeria, the mournful message that her King was dead.

And far out in the country the Princess Dehra heard it, but faintly; and drawing rein, she listened in growing trepidation for a louder note. Was it the Cathedral bell?-the bell that tolled only when a Dalberg died! For a while she caught no stroke, and the fear was pa.s.sing, when down the wind it came, clear and strong-and again-and yet again.

And with blanched cheek and fluttering heart she was racing at top speed toward Dornlitz, staying neither for man nor beast, nor hill nor stream, the solemn clang smiting her ever harder and harder in the face. There were but two for whom it could be speaking, her father and her lover-for she gave no thought to Lotzen or his brother, Charles. And now, which?-which?-which? Mile after mile went behind her in dust and flying stones, until six were pa.s.sed, and then the outer guard post rose in front.

"The bell!" she cried, as the sentry sprang to attention, "the bell, man, the bell?"

The soldier grounded arms.

"For the King," he said.

But as the word was spoken she was gone-joy and sorrow now fighting strangely in her heart-and as she dashed up the wide Avenue, the men uncovered and the women breathed a prayer; but she, herself, saw only the big, gray building with the drooping flag, and toward it she sped, the echo of the now silent bell still ringing in her ears.