The Princess Virginia Part 14

"But she has mentioned it to him since, no doubt,--before giving me the invitation. Intimate friend of his as she is, she wouldn't dare ask people to meet him, if he hadn't 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 could have said to make him look so happy.

Perhaps--"

"What answer did you give Baroness von Lyndal?"

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

CHAPTER IX

IRON HEART AT HOME

Schloss Lyndalberg towers high on a promontory, overlooking a lake, seven or eight miles to the south of the Rhaetian capital. The castle is comparatively modern, with pointed turrets and fretted minarets, and, being built of white, Carrara marble, throws a reflection snowy as a submerged swan, into the clear green water of the Mommelsee. All the surroundings of the palace, from its broad terraces to its jeweled fountains and well-nigh tropical gardens, suggest luxury, gaiety, pleasure.

But, on the opposite bank of the Mommelsee is huddled the dark shape of an ancient fortified stronghold, begun no one remembers how many centuries ago by the first Count von Breitstein. Generation following generation, the men of that family completed the work, until nowadays it is difficult to know where the rock ends, and the castle begins.

There, like a dragon squatting on the coils of its own tail, the dark ma.s.s is poised, its deep-set window-eyes glaring across the bright water at the white splendor of Lyndalberg, like the malevolent stare of the monster waiting to spring upon and devour a fair young maiden.

The moods of Baroness von Lyndal concerning grim old Schloss Breitstein had varied many times during her years of residence by the lake. Sometimes she pleased herself by reflecting that the great man who had slighted her lived in less luxury than she had attained by her excellent marriage. Again, the thought of the ancient lineage of the present Count von Breitstein filled her with envy; and oftener than all, the feeling that the "old grizzly bear" could crouch in his den and watch sneeringly everything which happened at Lyndalberg got upon the lady's nerves. She could have screamed and shaken her fist at the dark ma.s.s of rock and stone across the water. But after the birthday ball and during the first days of Leopold's visit at her house, she often threw a whimsical glance at the grim silhouette against the northern sky, and smiled.

"Can you see, old bear?" she would ask, gayly. "Are you spying over there? Do you think yourself all-wise and all-powerful? Do you see what's in my mind now, and do you guess partly why I've taken all this trouble? Are you racking your brain for some way of spoiling my little plans? But you can't do it, you know. It's too late. There's nothing you can do, except sit still and growl, and glare at your own claws--which a woman has clipped. How do you like the outlook, old bear? Do you lie awake at night and study how to save your scheme for the Emperor's marriage? All your grumpy old life you've despised women; but now you're beginning at last to find out that powerful as you are, there are some things a woman with tact and money, nice houses and a good-natured husband can do, which the highest statesman in the land can't undo. How soon shall I make you admit that, Chancellor Bear?"

Thus the Baroness, standing at her drawing-room window, would amuse herself in odd moments, when she was not arranging original and elaborate entertainments for her guests. And she congratulated herself particularly on having had the forethought to invite Egon von Breitstein, the Chancellor's half-brother.

There was a barrier of thirty-six years' difference in age between the two, and they had never been friends in the true sense of the word, for the old man was temperamentally unable to sympathize with the tastes, or understand the temptations of the younger brother, and the younger man was mentally unable to appreciate the qualities of the elder.

Nevertheless it was rumored at court that Iron Heart had more than once used the gay and good-looking Captain of Cavalry for a catspaw in pulling some very big and hot chestnuts out of the fire. At all events "Handsome Egon," so known among his followers, "the Chancellor's Jackal" (thus nicknamed by his enemies) would have found difficulty in keeping up appearances without the allowance granted by his powerful half-brother. The ill-a.s.sorted pair were often in communication, and the Baroness liked to think that news fresh from Lyndalberg must sooner or later be wafted like a wind-blown scent of roses across the water to Schloss Breitstein.

She was still less displeased than surprised, therefore, when--the Emperor having been three days at Lyndalberg, with two more days of his visit to run--an urgent message arrived for Captain von Breitstein from his brother.

Poor old Lorenz was wrestling with his enemy gout, it appeared, and wished for Egon's immediate presence.

Such a summons could not be neglected. Egon's whole future depended upon his half-brother's caprice, he hinted to the Baroness in asking leave to desert her pleasant party for a few hours. So of course she sent the Chancellor her regrets, with the Baron's; and Egon went off charged with a friendly message from the Emperor as well.

When the Captain of Cavalry had set out from Lyndalberg to Schloss Breitstein by the shortest way--across the lake in a smart little motor-boat--promising to be back in time for dinner and a concert, the Baroness spent all her energy in getting up an impromptu riding-party, which would give Leopold the chance of another tete-a-tete with Miss Mowbray.

Already many such chances had been arranged, so cleverly as not to excite gossip; and if the flirtation (destined by the hostess to disgust Leopold with his Chancellor's matrimonial projects) did not advance by leaps and bounds, it was certainly not the fault of Baroness von Lyndal.

"Egon has been told to use his eyes and ears for all they're worth at Lyndalberg, and now he's called upon to hand in his first report," she said to herself, when the younger von Breitstein was off on his mission across the lake.

But for once, at least, the "Chancellor's Jackal" was wronged by unjust suspicion. He arrived at Schloss Breitstein ignorant of his brother's motive in sending for him, though he shrewdly suspected it to be something quite different from the one alleged.

The Chancellor was in his study, a deep windowed, tower room, with walls book-lined nearly to the cross-beamed ceiling. He sat reading a budget of letters when Egon was announced, and if he were really ill, he did not betray his suffering. The square face, with its beetling brows, eyes of somber fire, and forehead impressive as a cathedral dome, showed no new lines graven by pain.

"Sit down, Egon," he said, abruptly, tearing in half an envelope stamped with the head of Hungaria's King. "I'll be ready for you in a moment."

The young man took the least uncomfortable chair in the room, which from his point of view was to say little in its favor; because the newest piece of furniture there, has been made a hundred years before the world understood that lounging was not a crime. Over the high, stone mantel hung a shield, so brightly polished as to fulfil the office of a mirror, and from where Egon sat, perforce upright and rigid, he could see himself vignetted in reflection.

He admired his fresh color, which was like a girl's, pointed the waxed ends of his mustache with nervous, cigarette-stained fingers, and thinking of many agreeable things, from baccarat to roulette, from roulette to races, and races to pretty women, he wondered which he had to thank for this summons to the Chancellor. Unfortunately, brother Lorenz knew everything; one's pleasant peccadilloes buzzed to his ears like flies; there was little hope of deceiving him.

Egon sighed, and his eyes turned mechanically from his own visage on shining steel, to the letter held in an old hand so veined that it reminded the young man of a rock netted with the sprawling roots of ancient trees. He had just time to recognize the writing as that of Adalbert, Crown Prince of Hungaria, whom he knew slightly, when keen eyes curtained with furled and wrinkled lids, glanced up from the letter.

"It's coming," thought Egon. "What can the old chap have found out?"

But to his surprise the Chancellor's first words had no connection with him or his misdeeds.

"So our Emperor is amusing himself at Lyndalberg?"

Egon's face brightened. He could be cunning in emergencies, but he was not clever, and always he felt himself at a disadvantage with the old statesman. Unless he had a special favor to ask, he generally preferred discussing the affairs of others with the Chancellor, rather than allowing attention to be attracted to his own. "Oh yes," he answered, brightly. "His Majesty is amusing himself uncommonly well. I never saw him in as brilliant spirits. But you, dear Lorenz. Tell me about yourself. Is your gout--"

"The devil take my gout!"

Egon started. "A good thing if he did, provided he left you behind,"

he retorted, meaning exactly the opposite, as he often did when trying to measure wits with the Chancellor. "But you sent for me--"

"Don't tell me you supposed I sent for you because I wanted consolation or condolence?"

"No-o," laughed Egon, uneasily. "I fancied there was some other more pressing reason. But I'm bound in common courtesy to take your sincerity for granted until you undeceive me."

"Hang common courtesy between you and me," returned the Bear. "I've nothing to conceal. I sent for you to tell me what mischief that witch-cat Mechtilde von Lyndal is plotting. You're on the spot. Trust you for seeing everything that goes on--the one thing I would trust you to do."

"Thanks," said Egon.

"Don't thank me yet, however grateful you may be. But I don't mind hinting that it won't be the worse for you, if for once you've used those fine eyes of yours to some useful purpose."

Egon was genuinely astonished at this turn of the conversation, as he had been carefully arming himself against a personal attack from any one of several directions. He sat pointing the sharp ends of his mustache, one after the other, and trying to remember some striking incident with which to adorn a more or less accurate narrative.

"What would you call useful?" he inquired at last.

The Chancellor answered, but indirectly. "Has the Emperor been playing the fool at Lyndalberg, these last few days?"

"Do you want to make me guilty of _lese Majeste_?" Egon raised his eyebrows; but he was recovering presence of mind. "If by playing the fool, though, you mean falling in love, why then, brother, I should say he had done little else during the three days; and perhaps even the first of those was not the beginning."

The Chancellor growled out a word which he would hardly have uttered in the Imperial presence, particularly in the connection he suggested.

"Let me hear exactly what has been going on from day's end to day's end," he commanded.

Egon grew thoughtful once more. Clearly, here was the explanation of the summons. He was to be let off easily, it appeared; but, suspense relieved, he was not ready to be satisfied with negative blessings.

"Are you sure it isn't a bit like telling tales out of school?" he objected.

"School-boys--with empty pockets--have been known to do that," said the Chancellor. "But perhaps your pockets aren't empty--eh?"