CHAPTER XVIII.

FRIENDLY INTERVENTION.

When M. Drakovics entered the Queen’s anteroom he found Cyril there, engaged in comparing notes with the two ladies as to the success of the day’s spectacle.

“You have seen her Majesty, Count?” asked the Premier, as Princess Anna went to announce his arrival to the Queen.

“Yes; the ordeal is over for me. My report had not the good fortune to please the Queen, however. I shall have to write another; and as I am to dine at the British Legation to-night, I ought to get it done early. You have my most sincere wishes for better luck.”

“He cannot know!” murmured M. Drakovics, looking sourly after his colleague’s retreating figure, but he was not satisfied. The discovery which he had made that morning had struck him at first as most opportune and important; but when he had had time to consider it coolly he saw that it was by no means complete. One thing he knew--that Queen Ernestine loved Count Mortimer--but he could not say whether the Queen had perceived the nature of her own sentiments, much less whether Cyril returned them, and this stood in the way of his making any use of his knowledge. If Cyril had not fallen in love with the Queen, M. Drakovics could do nothing, since to give utterance to his suspicions would be only to make Cyril important and the Queen ridiculous--and although the Premier would have cared little for Ernestine’s feelings as a woman, he had a high sense of her dignity as Regent of Thracia. His sole hope lay in surprising some admission from one of the persons concerned, and he recognised that he was not likely to succeed in this attempt with Cyril. To Ernestine, therefore, he turned his attention, and his errand this evening, although veiled under the pretext of inquiring her pleasure on one or two points of procedure likely to arise in the course of the trial of the conspirators, was in reality to seek to obtain some insight into the state of her feelings. If he had been able to accompany Anna Mirkovics into her presence, he would have needed little further confirmation of his suspicions, but this boon was denied him.

“Madame, his Excellency the Premier entreats----”

“I will not see him,” said Ernestine shortly, turning from the window with a face of such misery that the girl recoiled a step or two.

“But pardon me, madame, you have just granted an interview to Count Mortimer, and M. Drakovics might think it strange----”

“You are right, Anna.” The Queen passed her hand wearily over her brow. “Let him come in.”

“But you look so ill, madame, and your hair--forgive me----” She glanced from the Queen to the jewels on the table, and hesitated, then drew a chair into the shadow of the screen. “If you would sit there, madame, his Excellency would not notice your paleness; and if you would permit me to throw this lace scarf over your head---- No one could be surprised that the weight of the crown had tired you.”

“Anna, wait!” Ernestine caught the girl’s hand as she arranged the lace deftly to hide the disordered curls. “You know--you have guessed--that--that Count Mortimer and I love one another. I am sure that I can trust you; but no one else must know. Remain in the room when M. Drakovics comes in. I am too tired--too miserable--to see him alone to-night. Pretend to be putting the jewels away--I know that it is not your business, but he will not think of that; only stay with me.”

“Dearest madame, I would do anything in the world to help you!” said the girl fervently, pressing her lips to the Queen’s hand, and pulling the screen a little more forward as she spoke; and when M. Drakovics came in, Anna Mirkovics stood at the table, taking out the pins from the lace veil, and smoothing the folds of the costly fabric. The Premier looked significantly towards her, but Ernestine forestalled the protest he was about to make.

“Let me entreat you to be merciful, M. le Ministre. I have had more than enough to-day of politics and state pageants, and my head is in a whirl. Pray spare me further fatigue if you can.”

“And yet I understand that your Majesty granted Count Mortimer the honour of an interview.” He fixed his eyes upon her as he spoke; but she could have laughed at his attempting to entrap her in this clumsy way.

“Oh yes, he came about his report, I believe,” she answered carelessly. “And that reminds me---- The report did not please me exactly; but remembering one’s own fatigue, one must be merciful to others. Where is it, Anna? I was standing by the window at the time; perhaps it has fallen into the corner. Thank you. May I trouble you to be my messenger, monsieur? Will you give yourself the pain of leaving this in Count Mortimer’s office, and telling him that it will do well enough?” She held it out to him, and her eyes met his with absolute calmness as she placed it in his reluctant hand. “And now, as to your own business?”

“It is unimportant, madame. If I had been aware of your Majesty’s fatigue, I would not have intruded upon you,” and with this wide departure from the truth M. Drakovics covered his retreat from the room. On the whole, he thought, it seemed probable that Count Mortimer could not be aware of the Queen’s feelings towards him; but he could not resist the temptation to burst in upon him suddenly in his office, and try to startle him by the delivery of her message. But his strategy was again in vain.

“Sent to say it will do, has she?” remarked Cyril. “Wish it had come a little earlier, then. I am half-way through another report. Well, it might have been worse. Awfully obliged, Drakovics.”

And he bowed the discomfited Premier out of the office, with a full perception of the humour of the situation. Unlike some men, Cyril could feel a certain amount of pleasurable interest in his own misfortunes, as well as in those of other people, and his present difficulties would have given him the keenest artistic enjoyment, if it had not been for the danger of Ernestine’s betraying unintentionally the state of affairs. Nothing more could be done for the present, however, and he put aside the perplexities of his love-affair with his official clothes, and prepared to spend a pleasant evening at the British Legation, where he was the life of the party. Sir Egerton Stratford and he were old acquaintances, since the former had been sent on a minor diplomatic mission to Pavelsburg during the year Cyril had spent there as attaché long ago, and in private they enjoyed one another’s society, although officially it was imperative to maintain a certain degree of reserve in their intercourse, in view of the somewhat equivocal position occupied by Cyril, as an Englishman holding high office in a foreign country. He was not, however, to be allowed to go to rest that night quite forgetful of his present circumstances. As he was leaving the drawing-room of the Legation, Lady Stratford, a small, shy woman with large grey eyes, whom the greater number of her acquaintances despised as a nonentity, while a select few adored her as the most sympathetic and enthusiastic person they knew, presented him with a written notice of some kind.

“Have you seen one of these, Lord Cyril? I don’t know whether you will be able to come to any of the meetings?”

“I’m afraid they are not exactly in my line,” returned Cyril, wondering with great amusement why his hostess thought him likely to be attracted by an invitation to a series of evangelistic meetings shortly to be held in Bellaviste by a certain Count Wratisloff, a Scythian religious reformer who had been banished from his own country some years before. “I see that some of them are to be held here.”

“Only the ladies’ meetings,” said Lady Stratford, with her ready blush. “The fact is, Sir Egerton met the lady who is to conduct them when he was at Pavelsburg. She goes about a good deal with Count and Countess Wratisloff, and I fancied you might know her--Princess Soudaroff.”

“Princess Soudaroff! do I not know her, indeed? Why, she is a relation of mine, Lady Stratford--at least she is my brother’s godmother-in-law, and if that is not relationship, what is? I shall certainly contrive to pay my respects to her when she is here, even if I cannot find time to attend any of her meetings. But all the same,” he added to himself, as he descended the stairs, “I shall keep it dark about my little affair with Ernestine. The Princess is just the person to urge me to throw up everything and marry her at once, and though I should not do it, one doesn’t want a lot of fuss.”

But Cyril’s plans were doomed to disaster. It was not until three days after Princess Soudaroff’s arrival in Bellaviste that he was able to find time to call at her hotel, and as soon as his name was announced by the waiter at the sitting-room door, the white-haired lady who was sitting writing in the window rose to meet him, uttering a little cry of joy, which showed him that his visit had been expected.

“My dear Lord Cyril, I am so glad to meet you again! I was just writing a note to ask you to come and see me. You know that I spent Christmas at Llandiarmid with the Caerleons? How well and happy your dear brother looks!”

“You are too transparent for a diplomatist, Princess. Every line of your face says how much better you think it would be if I married and settled down like Caerleon.”

“That was certainly not in my thoughts at the moment; but it is curiously connected with the subject on which I wanted to speak to you. This morning I spent at the Palace, where I heard from the Queen’s lips your story.”

Cyril’s face hardened. “I am sorry you should allow our affairs to trouble you, Princess. I hoped I had succeeded in reconciling the Queen to the only course possible in our difficult circumstances.”

“No, do not think that I am thrusting myself into your affairs. I will tell you how they came to my knowledge. You know that Countess Wratisloff and I are conducting a series of Bible-readings for ladies at the British Legation in the mornings while we are here? Yesterday I noticed among those present two ladies in deep mourning--both very young, apparently, but one of them wearing widow’s weeds--who were conducted by Lady Stratford to a seat in a corner, separated from the rest. I was taking the meeting, and my subject was the Will of God. I forget exactly what I said--I speak as it is given me to speak at the moment--but I noticed after a time that the young widow appeared very much affected, until, when I happened to say that ‘No love can look for happiness which is deliberately founded upon the misery of another human being,’ I saw that she was weeping bitterly under her veil. Before the end of the meeting her companion induced her to withdraw, and when the other people were gone, Lady Stratford came up to me. ‘Did you know that the ladies in black were the Queen and one of her maids of honour?’ she said. ‘I wanted you to speak to Princess Anna Mirkovics. She is the niece of the good Bishop of Karajevo, who has been so nice about the Bible Society, but of course she had to go with the Queen. I think she brought her to hear you--at any rate she wrote the note asking whether her Majesty might come _incognito_. Didn’t you think the Queen looked terribly sad? Poor thing! she is only as old as I am, and she was left a widow when she was twenty-one. One cannot wonder at her being so miserable, can one?’”

“Really,” said Cyril sharply, “Lady Stratford is more of a child than one would have imagined possible for a modern married woman.”

“I wish there were more women as innocent as she is. It would never strike her that the Queen’s grief could arise from anything but the loss of her husband. But to continue, Lord Cyril. This morning I received a note asking me to come to the Palace, as the Queen was anxious to see me. I went, and was received with some coldness by an elderly lady, who appeared to regard me with suspicion”--Cyril smiled as he imagined the reception which Baroness von Hilfenstein would accord to one whom she had been heard to call a Scythian fanatic--“but the Queen was most gracious--indeed, when I was alone with her she unburdened her heart to me. She loves you very deeply, Lord Cyril. Are you fully awake to the strength of her love?”

“I hope, Princess, that I appreciate at its proper value the honour which her Majesty has been good enough to confer upon me. I own that I did not expect to be only one of many to whom she would be pleased to communicate the intelligence.”

“Now you are doing her a grievous injustice. She made no attempt to ask me to induce you to alter the decision which you announced to her a week ago--deeply as I can see she grieves over it. No; it was quite a different matter in which she wished to make use of me. She is aware that you object to requesting private interviews with her, as likely to arouse suspicion, and she did not know how to convey to you an important piece of news, until she thought of asking me to bring it. It seems that two days ago M. Drakovics, in the course of an interview, took occasion to refer to the recent second marriage of the Dowager Grand-Duchess of Schwarzwald-Molzau, of which you have no doubt heard?”

“There is no parallel between the Grand-Duchess’s case and that of her Majesty. The territorial rights of the Schwarzwald-Molzaus are insignificant, and the present Grand-Duke is not a minor.”

“The parallel appears to exist in the mind of M. Drakovics. To the Queen’s intense astonishment, he remarked, after some conversation on the subject, that he had often felt of late that the Thracian Constitution erred on the side of harshness in not permitting a Queen-Regent to marry again. Disregarding her surprise at his words, he went so far as to ask whether a modification of the article dealing with the matter would be pleasing to her personally, adding that he was an old man, and she could confide in him without fear of being misinterpreted.”

“Drakovics is certainly an original character. One never knows where to have him. And what--what--what did she say?”

“I think you may trust the Queen to protect herself when her dignity is assailed.” Cyril breathed more freely. “She expressed amazement at his entering upon such a subject with her, when it was obviously one in the discussion of which she could take no part. Any steps to which he might proceed must be taken entirely on his own responsibility, for it was impossible for her to express an opinion in the matter.”

“Bravo!” said Cyril, much relieved. “I was really afraid that Drakovics as the heavy father would get round her.”

“No; she has kept your secret, as you wished, although I think--I hope--you have little idea of the unhappiness it causes her. Is it necessary to be so cruel, Lord Cyril? ‘I dash myself up against him like the waves,’ she said to me, ‘and it makes no more impression on him than on a rock. My will is broken against his.’ Is it really impossible that you should be married before the King is of age?”

“Absolutely impossible,” returned Cyril.

“Do you mind telling me the reasons?”

“For her, that she would be leaving her son to the tender mercies of Drakovics; for me, that it would ruin my career.”

“I see; and you prefer your career to her?”

“Let us look at things on the lowest and most practical grounds, Princess. I am a younger son; five hundred a-year from my mother is all that I can call my own. Caerleon would do something for me, no doubt; but I don’t want to take his money. Can you in cold blood propose that the Queen and I should set up housekeeping on--say, at the best--a thousand a-year?”

“But she must have a jointure--money of her own, perhaps?”

“Precious little; when you consider what she would lose on remarrying. And suppose the Prince of Weldart, or the Emperor Sigismund, relented so far as to allow us to settle down in strict seclusion in some corner of their dominions. I cannot flatter myself that I am what you may call a domesticated man; I have no interest in agricultural pursuits; hunting bores me. Can you imagine that I should prove a particularly amiable husband, shut up in some deserted village in rural Germany, with nothing to do? I am not qualified to go about conducting Bible-readings, like your friend Count Wratisloff, even if I felt called--I believe that is the proper word--to do it.”

“But surely such a state of things could only last for a year or two?”

“It would last throughout our lives, and the lives of our children, unless it was put an end to by a miracle. No, Princess--I am speaking to you plainly--I would do anything for Ernestine that it is fair to ask of a man; but spend my days as the morganatic husband of a Princess who had disgraced herself by contracting a misalliance, ostracised by every Court in Europe and by society everywhere, that I will not do.”

The Princess looked at Cyril’s lowering brow and compressed lips in perplexity. He was revealing to her a new side of his character, and she scarcely knew how to approach him.

“Then you do not love her?” she said at last.

“I beg your pardon; I do love her. Now please don’t quote Caerleon to me, and say that he was ready to chuck away a kingdom for the sake of your goddaughter. I know he was, but that doesn’t make me resemble him. No doubt it would be very nice if I did: life would be quite idyllic and much less complicated if we all went blundering along like Caerleon, with only room for one idea in our heads at one time; but in my private opinion Caerleon was a fool. Pray don’t imagine that I regret the way in which things have turned out, or think that any one else would have suited him better as a wife than Nadia; but Caerleon and I are two different people, and what he can do with a good grace would be utterly impossible to me.”

“You cannot love her!” said the Princess sharply.

“Now it is you who are doing me an injustice. I love her--as I have never loved any woman before. If she was not Queen--if she was a peasant-girl--I would marry her to-day, and look forward hopefully to living happy ever after. There would be some chance of it, too,” he added meditatively, “for you would never find her in the same mood two minutes together. One would have too much variety ever to be bored.”

“Please don’t talk like that,” the Princess looked pained. “The fact is, Lord Cyril, your love is willing to give, but not to receive. One of your English poets says something of the kind.”

“Ah, I fear I have got a little out of the current of English literature of late years.”

“It is not very modern, I think. Oh, I remember--

“‘I hold him great who for love’s sake Can give, with earnest, generous will; But him who takes for love’s sweet sake I think I hold more generous still.’

The Queen would give up everything for you, but you will not take it.”

“You are right, Princess. I will not take what she has no business to give. Excuse my saying it, but you appear to forget that she and I are not private individuals, and that all we do must be considered with an eye to its effect on the political situation.”

“You think that I forget that? My dear Lord Cyril, it is the amount of right on your side in this affair which is the perplexing element in the case. If I had not felt that perhaps, after all, your view was the more just, I should have pleaded with you for the poor Queen with all my heart--I should have advised her to plead for herself until you could withstand her no longer.”

“You have passed a good many remarks on me to-day, Princess. Allow me in return to say that you are the strangest combination of fanatic and sentimentalist that I ever met. Why are you so anxious to see us married?”

“For her happiness and your good. But now explain to me this political situation. Why should not the help of M. Drakovics be invoked to bring about such a change in the Constitution as would permit of your marriage?”

“Simply because Drakovics is not acting on the square. When King Otto Georg died, the old man relied upon the Queen’s dislike of me to place him in possession of absolute power; but finding that I was left in a position practically as important as his own, in so far as the right to advise the Queen and watch over the little King went, and also that I could manage Ernestine better than he could, he has changed his attitude towards me. He could tolerate me as a subordinate, but not as an equal, and by no means as his political heir. That post is intended for his nephew Vassili; and both uncle and nephew have improved the shining hour by consolidating their position while I was away all winter with the Court at the other end of the kingdom. Now you see Drakovics’s little game. He suspects that Ernestine is in love with me, but he can’t find out whether I return the sentiment. If he could get her to assent to the alteration of the Constitution, he need only inform the Powers of what was up, certain that I should have to quit Thracia in no time. That would get rid of me, and leave Ernestine perfectly helpless in his hands, while if she came after me and we were married, he would get rid of us both. It is to his interest to do that--in fact, to get us married--and so have the little King left in his hands, to be converted or anything else, just as he liked.”

“But would it not be possible--I do not wish to suggest anything presumptuous--to arrange a kind of treaty with M. Drakovics, by which, even if it was necessary for the Queen to resign the regency, she and you might remain in the country and watch over the little King? It would of course be provided that his faith was not to be tampered with.”

“No doubt it would be possible, were it not for the fact that the first hint of such a treaty would give Drakovics just the information he wants.”

“But he has no proof against you. You could not be removed merely on suspicion, for you must have friends both in the country and in Europe generally.”

“Few enough, I fear. I have been a little too successful for friendship to flourish in my neighbourhood, you see.”

“But still, there must be some who would take your part. M. Drakovics must know that. Surely he would prefer to gain his end without trouble or scandal if possible? And then there would not be the difficulty of leaving King Michael in his hands. The Queen would not consent to that, and I could never advise her to do it; but if you and she remained in the country as private individuals, taking no part in politics, you would be able to superintend the child’s education, and see that the treaty was not broken.”

“Taking no part in politics!” repeated Cyril, shrugging his shoulders. “You evidently fail to perceive, Princess, that life without politics--and political power--would be death to me.”

“Lord Cyril,” said the Princess earnestly, laying her hand on his arm, “I want to entreat you to enter upon some settlement of this nature if it is possible. It is very strongly impressed upon me that at this moment you are standing at the parting of the ways. The two roads which lie before you are those of love and ambition; but in this instance love includes the whole higher side of life. You have sacrificed much for ambition already, and I long to see you break the spell, for greater sacrifices will be demanded of you if you make this one. Bear with me; I am speaking as I would to your brother. It is not for Queen Ernestine’s sake that I ask you to pause here; it is for your own. This trial is bitter enough for her at the moment, but I think she will develop into a nobler woman under it. But your character must deteriorate under the influence of ambition--nay, it has deteriorated already. You would once--even when I first met you, I think--have shrunk from building your career on the foundation of twelve years of splendid misery for the woman who loved you. You may yet find yourself bartering for the chance of power your love for her itself.”

“Your anticipations are not flattering, Princess.”

“I fear that they are none the less true for that. But there is another danger, if you refuse to take this opportunity of casting away your ambition. What will happen if the trial you are inflicting on Ernestine strengthens her character in proportion as yours deteriorates? You will be developing in different directions, and your punishment at last may come through the very sufferings you inflicted on her, in order to gratify your desire for power.”

“Princess,” said Cyril, standing up and shaking himself, “you have the most extraordinary faculty for making a man uncomfortable that I ever came in contact with. Your prophecies of evil make me feel quite superstitious, and I don’t like it. I tell you what I will do for you, more than I would do for any other woman--even Ernestine herself. You may tell her from me that I place myself unreservedly in her hands. If she asks it of me, I will throw up everything and marry her, and do my best to make her a good husband. Perhaps she will kindly let me have an answer as soon as possible, as I must begin to formulate a scheme for getting round Drakovics if that treaty is to be entered into.”

“You are confiding in the Queen’s generosity,” said Princess Soudaroff. “You feel convinced that she will shrink from founding her happiness on the ruins of your career, although you do not fear to found your career on the loss of her happiness.”

“Now you are looking a gift-horse in the mouth, Princess, which is an ungracious thing to do. At any rate, I deserve to be released from your reproaches now; and if Ernestine refuses my offer my conscience will be absolutely clear.”

“I will request her to give her answer quickly. She asked me to mention to you that it was always safe to trust Princess Anna Mirkovics, in whom she has found it advisable to confide.”

“Yet another person? Well, may I entreat you to impress upon her on no account to trust Drakovics in the very smallest degree--not if he goes down on his knees and implores her with tears in his eyes to confide in him. Let her keep up the tone she adopted at first. And now I must really get back to work, Princess. You cannot conceive how refreshing it has been to see you. I don’t know when I have enjoyed a call so much.”

But when Cyril was in his office again the thought of the step on which he had ventured fairly staggered him. If Ernestine should take him at his word! He gazed round on the familiar pigeon-holes and despatch-boxes like a man under sentence of death. They were the outward and visible signs of his career, and he might be called upon to leave them to-morrow! How he spent the hours between the sending of his message and the receipt of the answer he could not have told afterwards from his own recollection; but the amount of business which he found had been disposed of inclined him to suppose that he had sat up working all night. It was about noon of the next day that Ernestine’s answer arrived, placed in his hands by Anna Mirkovics with a bundle of less important papers. She gave it to him without any indication of the value of the parcel; but as soon as she and her maid had left the office he tore open the roll and took out Ernestine’s note with hands that literally shook. One glance assured him that his fears were groundless.

“My Beloved,”--she wrote,--“Princess Soudaroff has just informed me of your generous offer. I know what it must have cost you; and although I have never for a moment dreamed of accepting it, I love you more, if that were possible, for making it. Dearest, I am ashamed of myself for the way in which I received your decision the other day. I know that it is wise and right, and that it is as painful to you as to me. Forgive me, and I will try to use these long years of waiting in becoming more worthy of you. You will let me see you alone sometimes? I will not cry or complain; but there are always so many things on which I want to consult you. I feel so lonely when I do not see you.--Your own

/Ernestine/.”

“Well, it is something to be believed in,” said Cyril to himself, passing a hot hand over his damp forehead. “I felt sure I could depend upon her, and yet my nerves are all to pieces. There is one thing, my dear Ernestine, which it is unnecessary under present circumstances to mention to you, and that is, that if you had failed me, I believe your devoted lover would have blown out his brains.”

He tore up the note, and burned every fragment of it with scrupulous care, then turned again with a sigh of satisfaction to the business of everyday life. This was particularly engrossing just at present, and it did not become less so as days went on. The chief subject of interest--and difficulty--was the trial of the Tatarjé conspirators, which was now being conducted by the various tribunals convened for the purpose, and which presented features of great complexity. It appeared natural enough that officers of the army, and state officials like the Bishop and Mayor of Tatarjé, found in arms against their sovereign, should be treated and sentenced as rebels; but the case was complicated to an extraordinary degree by the fact that all the prisoners declared stoutly that they had believed themselves to be fighting under the orders of the Queen and her Government. So far as they knew, the Queen was in their midst during the whole of the time that they were under arms, having taken refuge among them of her own free will, and the commandant had assured them that he had full warrant and support from M. Drakovics for all that he did. It was true that the Premier’s letter, that which his nephew had received from the Bishop, in whose charge the commandant had placed it, did not justify this assertion; but it was quite easy to believe that the arch-conspirator who had perverted its meaning had also exaggerated its terms. Hence it was evident that these men would be punished for obeying what they honestly believed to be their legal orders, a result which would be likely to lead to much difficulty with the army in future, while to leave them without punishment would be to open a door for the fabrication of similar excuses in other cases.

In the end, a way out of the dilemma was found in a compromise. The delinquent officers were sentenced by court-martial to undergo the penalties due to their offences, without taking into consideration any mitigating circumstances; but when the sentences came up for confirmation by the Queen, the royal prerogative of mercy was freely exercised, and the culprits allowed to return to their regiments with a censure and a warning. The Mayor of Tatarjé, who had also been a dupe throughout the affair, was considered to be sufficiently punished by being deprived of his office (he had not the army behind him to demand his total exemption), but it was otherwise with Bishop Philaret. The sentence passed upon him of six months’ suspension from the duties of his post and seclusion in a monastery was neither commuted nor lightened, since, as M. Drakovics explained, the supposed Queen was in his palace the whole time, and it was his own fault if he did not discover the deception. This righteous sternness on the part of M. Drakovics exercised Cyril’s mind not a little. Still smarting under the revelation made in the O’Malachy’s letter, he had been cherishing a hope of unmasking the Premier and exposing the unholy compact into which he had entered with the Bishop; but no opportunity was given him, and he perceived that this was only a new proof of M. Drakovics’s shrewdness. The younger man was not, however, to be deprived of the honour of a struggle with his colleague and former ally, for in the course of the Cabinet Council at which the measures to be taken in the case of the Tatarjé conspirators were announced, a strong and almost unprecedented difference of opinion declared itself. The War Minister desired to divide the officers to be dealt with into two classes, leaving the majority to be pardoned and reinstated, but punishing with dismissal from the army a certain number, who had been clearly proved to have met together secretly and plotted against the Government before the outbreak. One of these was the brother of the late commandant. To this proposal M. Drakovics opposed a direct negative, refusing to consider any cases separately.

“Some rumour of your Excellency’s intentions has got about,” said M. Georgeivics, the Minister for War, “and the feeling of the army is much opposed to it.”

“I am happy to say that the army does not govern Thracia,” retorted M. Drakovics, in what seemed a needlessly offensive tone.

“No,” said Cyril; “but you have discovered before the danger of alienating the army. Why, then, outrage the feelings of the officers, by compelling them to receive proved rebels as their associates?”

“Bah!” cried M. Drakovics; “these unfortunate youths played at treason in their leisure hours; but that is no valid reason for excluding them from the benefits of the pardon.”

“On the contrary,” returned Cyril, “it appears to me to furnish a very strong reason. Several of them are by no means youths, but of field rank, and if they are allowed to return to the army, the probability is that they will not only go back to their old ways themselves, but corrupt those under them. No wonder that the army fears for its honour.”

“You are inciting the army to mutiny, Count!” cried the Premier.

“Not at all. It is you who are driving them to it.”

M. Drakovics glared at his rebellious colleague in speechless wrath, while two or three minor members of the Cabinet endeavoured to throw oil on the troubled waters; but it was Prince Mirkovics who at last suggested a _modus vivendi_, although not until the Premier, with a glance at M. Georgeivics and Cyril, had reminded those who differed from him that their remaining in the Ministry was merely a matter of choice. Prince Mirkovics proposed that the officers whose fate was under discussion should, while they were allowed to remain in the army, lose all seniority in their respective ranks, be deprived of their decorations, and be declared ineligible for extra-regimental posts or promotion; and this compromise was finally accepted, with some unwillingness, by the dissentients, since the punishment, severe as it was in itself, was still quite inadequate to the offence. It was evident, however, that M. Drakovics was determined to maintain his point; and even if Cyril and the War Minister had been prepared to push things to extremity, the earnestness with which Prince Mirkovics entreated them to accept his suggestion, and not to break up the Government for the sake of this small matter, would have prevailed upon them to pause. M. Drakovics accepted the compromise, and the council broke up peacefully, although with some feeling of constraint. As soon as he got outside, Cyril found himself seized upon by Prince Mirkovics.

“Come to my rooms and drink coffee,” said the old chieftain, who scorned to rent a house in Bellaviste, and always lived at a hotel when his official duties called him to the capital.

Cyril accepted the invitation unsuspiciously; but when he arrived at Prince Mirkovics’s rooms he was surprised to find that there were other guests beside himself. The War Minister was there, and Constantinovics, the general who had compelled the surrender of Tatarjé, and several members of the Government who belonged to the party of the Nobles, of which Prince Mirkovics was the acknowledged head. The moment that Cyril perceived this he paused on the threshold, but his host took him by the arm and drew him into the room.

“Come in, Count,” he said; “you are the man we want. We have for some time been dissatisfied with the conduct of affairs, and this Tatarjé business has brought things to a head. Do you honestly think it is all right?”

“Really, Prince, you cannot expect me, a member of M. Drakovics’s Ministry, to enter into a mutiny against him.”

“The army will mutiny if this sort of thing goes on,” growled Constantinovics, a sturdy old soldier who had taken a prominent part in establishing King Otto Georg on the throne. “There are widespread rumours that a job has been perpetrated, and we want to know whether it is true.”

“It is quite impossible for me to accuse M. Drakovics on the authority of a rumour for which I can produce no proof,” said Cyril.

“Proof!” cried the General. “The suspicion of foul play is enough. The whole thing ought to be inquired into.”

“No one could object to that, of course; but you must see, General, the extreme impropriety of my suggesting such an inquiry into the doings of my own chief.”

“Count Mortimer is right,” said Prince Mirkovics suddenly. “It is important for him to remain in the Ministry, for he is the only man who can cope with Drakovics, and we must not risk his being obliged to resign. But remember, Count, when you make a stand as you did to-day, that we are with you. Our object, like yours, is to save the honour of Drakovics and Thracia. The Premier must be above suspicion. If he is warned by to-day’s experience, it will be well; but if not, then Thracia is to be considered before Drakovics.”

“It may interest you if I remark,” said Cyril carelessly, as he stood at the window, “that you have all been watched here. I recognise two or three of Drakovics’s spies on the other side of the street. I am afraid you have let me in for trouble, Prince. My presence will show that this is a political gathering.”

“You shall not suffer, Count,” said Prince Mirkovics. “Be sure that we will stand by you. We cannot spare you at this crisis.”

“This is an unexpected gain,” said Cyril to himself as he departed. “It gives me leverage, perhaps even a standing-place from which to move my world. But Drakovics will be dangerous for a day or two.”

Contrary to Cyril’s expectation, however, the Premier made no attempt to provoke him to further conflict, and the matter of the punishment of the rebels was allowed to rest; but this surprising meekness on the part of M. Drakovics did not in any way change his subordinate’s opinion. “The old man has a card up his sleeve,” was Cyril’s reflection. “When he plays it, look out for squalls!” It did not strike him at the moment that the card in reserve was a Queen.

About a month after the dispute in the Cabinet, M. Drakovics, as was his custom on most mornings, sought an interview with Ernestine. When the matters to be discussed at the council at which he was to preside after leaving the Palace had been decided, the Premier drew nearer to the table at which the Queen was sitting.

“In accordance with your gracious permission, madame,” he said in a low tone, “I have been sounding the Governments of the various Powers with respect to the alteration of those provisions of the Constitution which deal with your Majesty’s position in the event of remarriage.”

“My permission!” Ernestine flushed with angry astonishment. “I gave you no such permission, monsieur. Pray what have the Powers to do with the matter?”

“Permit me to remind your Majesty that the sanction of the Powers is necessary before any article of the Constitution can be abrogated or altered. As to your permission--I was wrong in using the word. I am fully aware that the delicacy of your Majesty’s sentiments forbade you to initiate any action on the subject, while leaving me at liberty to act on my own discretion.”

“You have totally misunderstood me, monsieur; and I fear you have placed me in a most unpleasant position. The Powers will naturally conclude that I am in a hurry to marry again, whereas nothing is further from my thoughts.”

“Will your Majesty permit me to express my sorrow that such should be the case? It is now considerably more than a year since the lamented death of the King, and I could regard the future of Thracia with far more complacency if I thought that you, madame, were not to continue to bear the burden of state alone.”

“I fear that your wishes have led you into a too hasty course of action, monsieur. May I ask what was the effect produced on the Powers by your inquiries?”

“Scarcely a satisfactory one, madame. The majority desired to know more before expressing an opinion. If the name of any candidate for your hand were submitted to them, they were prepared to consider the matter; but if there was no suitor in the field, they thought the inquiry premature.”

“Very much so. This is a most embarrassing state of affairs for me.”

“Surely not, madame. If your Majesty would intrust any name to me, in strict confidence, the affair shall be conducted with the greatest delicacy.”

“You will not understand me, monsieur.” Anger and confusion were contending in her voice. “I have no name to intrust to you.”

“Among all the princes of Europe, madame----”

“I am not searching Europe for a second husband, monsieur. You must understand once for all that I cannot fall in with your schemes on this subject.”

“It is possible that a search is unnecessary, madame. The Scythian Government has been good enough to make a suggestion.”

“I am extremely grateful. Who is the person suggested.”

“His Highness Prince Nikifor of Klausenmark.” The Klausenmark family formed a kind of link between the imperial house of Scythia and ordinary mortals, since it traced its descent from a Scythian Grand-Duchess who had married a member of the German nobility early in the present century.

“But he is little better than a simpleton!”

“True, madame, so they say. Your Majesty must surely be able to suggest a more acceptable suitor?”

“You fatigue me with this constant reiteration, M. le Ministre.” Ernestine spoke pettishly. “I have told you already that I have no one to suggest. There is not a prince in Europe that I would marry if he asked me--still less to whom I would send through you to ask him to marry me.”

“Not a prince, perhaps, madame.” M. Drakovics spoke meaningly, watching the changing colour of her face, “But if there is any individual of a less exalted rank who has had the happiness to attract your Majesty’s favourable attention, do not, I entreat you, hesitate to confide the fact to me. The opposition of the Powers need not be fatal, for many things forbidden by Congresses are effected by diplomacy. Nay, the difference of rank might even smooth our path, since, in the case of a person who was not of royal blood, there would be no question of sharing the duties of the regency, while he would yet be at hand to support and advise your Majesty in private. Is it possible, madame, that you have such a prospect of relief from our difficulties to suggest to me?”

For a moment Ernestine was tempted to yield to his importunity; but the remembrance of Cyril’s injunctions prevailed, and she rose suddenly from her seat at the table.

“We will not discuss this subject further, monsieur. I have told you that it wearies me. Perhaps it will comfort you if I tell you that I have no intention of marrying again until my son is of an age to rule for himself.”

Brought to a standstill at the moment that he imagined his object attained, M. Drakovics could not wholly conceal the expression of rage and disgust that crossed his face. He suppressed it immediately; but Ernestine caught sight of it, and rejoiced that she had not betrayed herself. When he had left the Palace, she watched him from the window, curious to see whether the look would return when he thought himself unobserved. She did not catch it again; but she saw the Premier stop suddenly, strike his hands together, and smile, and her fears were stirred at once.

“He is plotting something against Cyril!” she said to herself, and returning to the table, scribbled a tiny note, then called a footman, and desired him to give it to Count Mortimer immediately, before he left the Palace to attend the meeting of the Cabinet.