CHAPTER XXI.

PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE.

“The more I think of the state of affairs,” said Cyril to Prince Mirkovics, when they were alone, “the more I am convinced that we must hurry things on. If possible, we must see that Drakovics resigns, and has not to be dismissed; but that is not so important as the necessity of preventing his bringing on a constitutional crisis. His aim will be to get up a strife between the Crown and the Legislature, which might end in her Majesty’s being deprived of the regency, and every day that passes adds to his power for mischief.”

“But how would you propose to force his hand, as you said just now?”

“We must bring things to a head as soon as possible--have no more haggling negotiations. Whether Drakovics resigns or is dismissed, he must go quickly, or he will oust the Queen--not to speak of ourselves. In some informal and unofficial way it must be brought to his knowledge that the Queen will refuse her assent to Philaret’s nomination. Of course he guesses that she will; but I hope that the thought that the matter was arranged with us would sting him to action. It will probably have to be done by means of an indiscretion.”

“An indiscretion, Count? On whose part?”

“Yes, a calculated indiscretion. The difficulty is to decide who shall commit it, since of course it would entail removal from public life--at all events for a time--or from the Court, according to the individual concerned, and that is rather a large order. One can scarcely ask such a sacrifice from any one. But let us leave the matter for the present; I will think it over. Luncheon is ready, I see. You may have noticed that I have a new footman? My servants were complaining of the extra work caused by my illness and the consequent troops of visitors, and therefore I imported this fellow in a hurry.”

But although Cyril had suggested leaving the consideration of politics for the present, it seemed that he was unable to dismiss the subject from his mind; for almost before he had been supplied with the invalid fare prescribed for him, he glanced across the table at Prince Mirkovics.

“I suppose there is no doubt that her Majesty will refuse her assent to the nomination of Philaret?” he said.

“None whatever. Stefanovics gave me the assurance in the plainest terms.”

“It is possible that he exceeded his instructions.”

“On the contrary, he repeated to me her Majesty’s words at her own desire. Nothing could be more definite than the statement of her determination. But, my dear Count”--as the servant left the room for an instant--“are we wise in speaking so freely before this new footman of yours? He may understand French.”

“Impossible,” returned Cyril carelessly. “He told me so himself; and he had no motive for concealing the truth, since his wages would have been higher if he had been able to speak a foreign tongue. In a polyglot household like mine, the man who knows most languages is the most useful. We have no reason to be afraid of him. But, by the bye”--the footman had now returned into the room--“do you think that her Majesty will have the courage to provoke a conflict with Drakovics. It will need a good deal of pluck.”

“She will not shrink from it,” was the emphatic reply. “She has gained remarkably in force of character of late, and her behaviour during this crisis has extorted universal admiration. She may not become more popular on account of her courage and tact, but she will be more respected. No; she will not fail us.”

“Ah, it is well to be assured of that,” said Cyril, and he changed the subject deftly. It was not until the footman had once more left them alone that he leaned back in his chair and remarked with a smile, “Well, my dear Prince, our business is done, and that without any complications or outside help.”

“To what are you alluding, Count?”

“To the necessity for allowing Drakovics to become aware of her Majesty’s attitude. That new man of mine is one of his spies--sent here to learn our plans. He has not discovered very much of them; but I hope he has heard enough about the Queen to bring about the explosion we want.”

“Then it is I who have committed the indiscretion?”

“Do not be so hasty, Prince. There is no indiscretion at all. You don’t imagine I would have allowed you to say anything important?”

“But surely I might expect to have been informed beforehand----?”

“Not at all. You are not a good actor, Prince, and it would have been evident that you were playing a part. Now you have spoken with the most complete good faith, and Drakovics will ask no more.”

“But suppose that he will not resign, even now?”

“Then I shall be compelled to advise her Majesty to end the deadlock by herself nominating either Bishop Socrates or your brother to the vacant see, on the ground of the Premier’s long delay. The crisis must come then.”

“You are playing a desperate game, Count.”

“Quite so, Prince. We are in a desperate position.”

The remainder of the day passed uneventfully. Late in the afternoon the Vienna doctor left Cyril’s house to return home, just after the police on guard had been relieved. His assistant, so they gathered from the doctor’s words to Paschics at the door, had gone on first to the station in order to make arrangements for the journey. A second reassuring bulletin as to the condition of the patient appeared in the one evening paper of which Bellaviste boasted, and it became generally known that the retiring Ministers would resign their portfolios on the following day.

The ceremony at the Palace in the morning was a brief and formal one. The Queen, who looked pale and grave, uttered the stereotyped words of regret and farewell that the occasion demanded, and when the public audience was over, requested Cyril to remain behind in order to explain to her the system on which he had been accustomed to manage the household details which came into his province. Going to his office to fetch his books, he returned to find her in the room in which she had held her first interview with him as Regent, with Anna Mirkovics on guard in the anteroom. Ernestine was walking up and down impatiently when he entered, but turning as he closed the door, ran to meet him.

“Put those down!” she said imperiously, taking the books from his hand, and throwing them on the table. “I am not in the least interested in them; I want _you_. Oh, Cyril, you must not let yourself be kept out of office long. I could not endure it. How I have lived through these four days without once seeing you I cannot tell.”

“But I warned you beforehand,” said Cyril.

“Not that it would be so long, and besides---- Oh, I know I disobeyed you, Cyril; but I was really frightened when I heard what Dr Danilovics said. I made Baroness von Hilfenstein go and question M. Paschics, and happily he was able to assure her that he thought the doctor was taking too gloomy a view of your case. That satisfied me, for I knew he could not say more, as she is not in our secret. But if it had been true what they said, nothing should have kept me from you. I would have come and nursed you; I would have refused to let you die. The world might know the truth, and welcome! I am not ashamed of loving you.”

“Sometimes I almost wish you were,” said Cyril, looking into her earnest face. “I don’t want to scold you, Ernestine; but you might have ruined us both----”

“But I did not, after all, so you must forgive me. And I am keeping you standing while I talk! Sit down here--yes, in my chair--and let me put this footstool for you. Yes, I will wait upon you--I love to do it. Dear Cyril, won’t you say that you are pleased to see me again?”

“Is there any use in saying what your Majesty knows already?”

“I should like to hear it from your own lips. You have found the days a little long, haven’t you?”

“Very,” responded Cyril, with perfect truth. “They seem to have had a lifetime crammed into them.”

Ernestine looked perplexed. “I should have thought they would seem empty,” she said hesitatingly.

“A lifetime of misery, dearest, of course. You cannot imagine how fast the brain works under such circumstances.”

“I believe you are trying to tease me,” she said, detecting in his tone something that, if not exactly false, was assumed; but as she bent forward to look into his face, the raised voice of Anna Mirkovics struck on their ears from the anteroom.

“Monsieur, I tell you that her Majesty is engaged in going through the household books with his Ex----with Count Mortimer. I cannot imagine that she will receive your Excellency at present.”

“Perhaps you will have the goodness to inquire her Majesty’s wishes on that point, mademoiselle,” replied the voice of M. Drakovics. “My business is of the gravest importance.”

“I hope your Excellency will excuse me to her Majesty for disturbing her in this way,” was the reply, given in the same distinct tones, as the maid of honour approached the door of the inner room, and knocked as loudly as she dared without arousing the suspicions of the intruder. But her precautions had not been in vain. Cyril had grasped the situation at once, and risen from the Queen’s chair. “Sit here,” he said to Ernestine, and drew another chair to the table for himself. When M. Drakovics was ushered in, his former colleague was sitting surrounded by account-books, and looked up with mild surprise as he entered. The response was immediate. After the first glance at Cyril, the Premier seated himself, unbidden. Ernestine’s eyes flashed, but she took no notice of the solecism save by rising from her own seat, an example which Cyril followed instantly, leaving M. Drakovics no choice but to imitate him.

“You wished to see me, monsieur?” said the Queen.

“I was anxious to obtain the settlement of a very important point, madame, or I would not have ventured to interrupt your interview with Count Mortimer.”

“I am ready to give you my attention, monsieur; but I must ask you to be brief. The details of these accounts are somewhat intricate, and I am determined to understand them myself before they are handed over to Count Mortimer’s successor.”

“Nothing could be more praiseworthy than such a spirit, madame. I will not detain your Majesty longer than is necessary to attach your signature to this paper--the mandate authorising the Synod to proceed to the appointment of a Metropolitan.”

“But this is a matter that needs consideration, monsieur. I cannot consent to make the appointment hurriedly in the midst of other business. I should prefer to see you about it at another time.”

“There is no time like the present, madame.” The Premier’s tone was dogged, even menacing, and Ernestine’s colour rose.

“That is a matter for me to decide, monsieur. If you will be good enough to leave the paper, I will read it at my leisure, and give you my decision to-morrow.”

“Madame, I cannot consent to leave about important state papers for the eyes of persons unconnected with the Government. If your Majesty wishes to discuss the subject of the nomination, I have the honour to be your adviser--and not any person who has thought fit to dissociate himself from me.”

“I do not understand you, monsieur. I am not prepared to discuss the subject at this moment, and I do not intend to sign the paper without consideration. You may be sure that it shall not leave my possession.”

“If you wish for plain speaking, madame, you shall have it. I decline to leave the document for the inspection of Count Mortimer, with the certainty that as soon as my back was turned he would advise your Majesty to act contrary to my recommendations.”

“Your language is very strange, monsieur. I thought you had just recognised the fact that Count Mortimer is no longer one of my advisers.”

“Then how comes it, madame, that you have entered into a conspiracy with him to defeat the measures I feel it my duty to bring forward? Do you imagine I am ignorant of the determination you have expressed to refuse your assent to this document, and thus force me to resign office? You may be a very clever woman, madame; but you have not yet succeeded in hoodwinking me.”

“What is the purpose of these remarks, M. Drakovics?” The question came sharply, as Ernestine looked at the Premier with icy disdain.

“To show your Majesty that I am not a man to be trifled with. This paper which I hold is of the nature of an ultimatum. If you sign it, I remain in office; if you refuse or temporise, I resign--and you take the consequences.”

“Thank you, I will take the consequences. _Bonjour, feu M. le Ministre_!”

The crisply spoken words came on M. Drakovics like a thunder-clap, and appeared literally to take away his breath. He glared round helplessly for a moment; then his eyes fell on Cyril, fingering his account-books unconcernedly, and he made a step towards him as though to seize him by the throat. Ernestine placed herself between them involuntarily, and by the movement drew down his wrath on herself.

“You will take the consequences? Ha, ha! do you know who I am and who you are, madame? You owe your crown to me, as your husband did his. I fear you have forgotten the days before you came to Thracia. Do you realise that I brought you from a German principality about as large as your palace garden here, from a Court which was the scandal of Europe--that I seated you on the Thracian throne--do you realise this, I say?”

“I had imagined that it was the King who did all that,” said Ernestine coldly, as he broke off, foaming with rage; but the warning tone in her voice only served to excite him afresh.

“I made you, and I will break you!” he cried furiously. “I might have done it before. Perhaps you did not guess that it was I who persuaded your husband to patience when he was goaded into wishing to seek a separation on account of your conduct towards him? That is new to you, is it? It was not for your sake I did it--it was for the sake of Thracia, that no slander might touch my country’s royal house. But it might have been well if I had allowed my master to take the course he proposed. Then at least I should have been spared the knowledge that I had bestowed my charity upon a treacherous, heartless coquette”--this was not quite the word which M. Drakovics used--“scheming to place her lover on the throne from which she had successfully removed her husband.”

“Drakovics!” cried Cyril, springing forward, but Ernestine waved him back.

“This is my affair, Count. M. Drakovics, you may go; and never venture to present yourself in my presence again. Your services are dispensed with.” M. Drakovics hesitated, tried to speak, then recoiled, unable to face the eyes burning with indignation which seemed to pierce him through and through, and departed; while as he went he heard the Queen’s voice saying in very different tones, “And now, Count, let us return to our account-books!”

But the words were the last effort of which Ernestine was capable. Cyril, stepping forward to close the door behind the fallen Minister, returned to find her cowering in her chair, with her face turned away from him.

“My dearest,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder; but she shuddered and shrank from him.

“Don’t touch me!” she cried. “I can’t bear it. You heard what he called me, Cyril?” her voice rose almost to a shriek.

“He was really not responsible for his language at the moment, dear. And you faced him splendidly. You certainly had the best of it.”

“That he--or any one--should be able to say such a thing to me!” she wailed, not heeding his attempts at comfort. “I know that I behaved wrongly to my husband--that I was hard, cold, proud--but never in word or thought was I--and that other thing he said--Cyril. _Cyril_, say that you don’t believe it.”

“Believe it? My dearest, the man doesn’t believe it himself. He wouldn’t have said it if he had been in his right mind, but he wanted to hurt you, and he said the first thing that came into his head, though he knows that no human being would credit it for an instant. It would stamp him as mad if he ever uttered it to any one.”

“No, no; I don’t mean that, though I should die of shame if I thought that any one knew it had been said. It is that he said it to me, and that you heard it. Oh, you can’t understand; it hurts, it hurts! Say something to me; make me forget it, or I shall go mad.”

Little as she imagined it, Cyril understood her feelings perfectly. He knew that she was quivering in every fibre under the insults hurled at her, knew how much the agony was increased by his own presence when they were uttered; and his own heart, which did not often interfere with his policy, supplied an additional sting, which Ernestine would not have inflicted even had it occurred to her mind--she owed it to herself that it was in the power of M. Drakovics to torment her in this way. For the moment, as he stood beside her with his hand on her shoulder, the thought was in his mind that, come what might, he would save her from further torture of the sort. He would cast away duties and prospects and high hopes and marry her at once, and face the world at her side, let that world say what it would about his motives. But the impulse was only momentary. Give up everything when his hand was even now grasping the prize, leave the field again to Drakovics when the day was his own at last, and for the sake of a woman? No, a thousand times no; although she was the woman he loved, and who loved him. After all, one must risk one’s queen in the game as well as one’s pawns.

“My darling,” he said gently, in response to her passionate outburst, for he could well afford to lavish upon her the small coin of kindness when the treasure of his ambition was untouched, “you are making me very unhappy by talking in this wild way. Can you imagine for an instant that I could remember a thing you wished forgotten? I will forget it completely if you will only banish it from your own mind, so that I may not be reminded of it by the look on your face. After all, it was aimed at me as much as you. Consider that it was addressed altogether to me, and help me to forget it. It hurt me far more than it did you.”

“Oh no, it could not do that,” sobbed Ernestine, but she allowed him to raise her head from the arm of the chair and lay it on his shoulder, and her tears became less bitter as he soothed and kissed her. Let no one under-estimate Cyril’s chivalry and self-control at this moment. He was wasting precious time in comforting her--time on which his political future might depend. There were a hundred things to do if he consulted his own interests, but he recognised that she possessed a claim upon him, and not a word or movement showed that he was putting strong constraint upon himself in remaining with her. To reward his patience, it was Ernestine herself who opened the way for the discussion of mundane matters.

“What have you done to your moustache?” she asked curiously, when she had dried her eyes, and could look at him again. “It seems to be a different shape, and surely the colour has changed?”

“I didn’t know you were such a keen observer,” said Cyril, taking off the false moustache he had worn since returning from his journey to Vienna, for he had been compelled to sacrifice his own to the efficiency of his various disguises. “You must put down the change to my illness--or to political exigencies if you like--but no one else must know, or we may have disastrous revelations. Shall I let it grow again, or not?”

“Of course. I don’t like you without it. It makes you look cruel, Cyril. But don’t let us talk of politics. I hate the word.”

“I am sorry to hear that, dear, for I am afraid that unless we can get through a little political business our lately departed friend may steal a march on us. I won’t mention him more than I can help,” as a shudder ran through her, “but if we are to make this escapade his last, we must strike while the iron is hot.”

“What do you want me to do?” asked Ernestine, helplessly.

“I suppose we are to take it for granted that Drakovics will not be regarded as a possible Minister of the Crown in future?”

“Can you insult me by imagining that after what has passed I would ever receive him again as an adviser?”

“I did not imagine it for an instant, but your assurance was necessary. With your permission I will give directions for the issue of a special Gazette, setting forth that the Premier has resigned office on account of failing health.”

“Resigned? Failing health? I dismissed him--and in your presence--because he had grossly insulted me. What can you mean?”

“My dear Ernestine, the man was obviously out of his mind. He must have the benefit of the fact, and so must we.”

“I don’t understand, but he is not to be allowed to escape punishment.”

“Quite so. His punishment will be the most severe you can inflict--dismissal. It will not make it the less bitter for him if we call it compulsory resignation, but it will smooth the way for us. If we do not stop his mouth, he will raise the country against us to-morrow.”

“But I don’t see how your special Gazette will stop his mouth.”

“There is something else to be done as well. If you will allow me, I will send Stefanovics to him at once, with a message which must be delivered either to him or to his nephew, and only to them. If he will resign office promptly and without any fuss, on the ground of his health, you will overlook his conduct of to-day in consideration of his past services to Thracia, and permit him to retain the honours which have been conferred upon him, although he must remain at a distance from the Court. Moreover, we will give him a suitable pension, and find some permanent post under Government for Vassili. If he refuses, he will lose everything, and we shall take legal proceedings against him, of course _in camerâ_, for insulting the Crown.”

“He will prefer to appeal to the people,” said Ernestine decisively.

“I think not. In the old days he would have done it like a shot, and most effectively--the patriot Minister cast off in his old age by the ungrateful family he had raised to power, stripped of his well-earned honours, and persecuted revengefully by those whose unprincipled conduct he had sought to restrain. But he is not what he was, and I believe his outburst just now showed that he knew the game was played out. He has lost his nerve, he is in bad odour with the Powers--and he is afraid of me, while it is obvious that you and he can never work together again.”

“But it is not fair! You wish to allow him to escape altogether.”

“Not at all, pardon me. He has fallen; but I do not wish him to drag us down with him.”

“Oh, do what you like,” said Ernestine pettishly. “Make your own arrangements. It seems to me that whatever happens, I have always the worst of it. I should have thought----” tears choked her voice.

“If your Majesty will excuse me,”--Cyril’s tone was severely businesslike, and he ignored the tears altogether,--“I will proceed to take the steps I have mentioned, and also to communicate them to my colleagues. You will not require my presence again to-day, perhaps?”

“Yes, I shall,” was the angry reply. “You are to come back as soon as you have sent your messages. I could not be so cruel as to detain you longer now.”

Cyril made no answer, and departed with an absolutely unmoved face. When he returned, after despatching his business, he observed that Ernestine had evidently improved the interval by what an Englishwoman would have called “having a good cry.” She was calm again now, but in a frame of mind which could only be described as injured, and Cyril braced himself for a tussle.

“You wished to see me, madame?” he remarked.

“Sit down,” she said imperiously. “I don’t want you to be ill again, in spite of your unkindness to me.” She paused for a reply; but as Cyril only bowed in acknowledgment of the favour, she found it impossible to remain silent. “I am quite convinced,” she went on, “that you care far more for politics than you do for me. If I died to-day, I believe your first thought would be how to get yourself made regent to-morrow.”

Still no answer, and she became desperate.

“If it is not true, at least you might say so. You don’t--you can’t mean me to understand that you have only made--made use of me as a step to your own advancement--that you have never cared for me at all?”

“That is enough, Ernestine,” said Cyril bitterly, rising from his seat. “It is indeed generous and noble in you to taunt me with the difference in our positions. I thought that you believed me disinterested, if no more; but I see that I was mistaken. I will make no attempt to defend myself--how can I? It is quite true that at your entreaty I broke with Drakovics, and resigned office. This has led, as it happens, to the prospect of higher office, and therefore it is clear that I acted with that in view. I will not deny it; I will only say that I did not expect to find my action cast in my teeth by the woman for whose sake it was taken.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked, frightened.

“I am going to see Mirkovics, and hand the Premiership over to him. Then I shall leave Thracia as soon as possible. I promise you that you shall not be offended by the sight of me longer than I can help.”

“Cyril!” She came flying after him, and fairly dragged him from the door. “You are not to go--you shall not. Forgive me. I was so miserable I scarcely knew what I was saying. I am a wicked, ungrateful woman. What can I do to show you how sorry I am? Oh, you are not going to leave me?”

“You have said too much,” returned Cyril resolutely, unclasping her hands from his arm. “I am afraid we have been mistaken in each other, Ernestine; but what I can do to mend matters shall be done.”

“If that means that you will leave Thracia, it shall not be done,” she retorted. “I forbid you to go. You belong to me, and I will not give you up. Dear, you have not forgotten that journey of ours? You know how unreasonable and angry I was so often then, and yet you found out afterwards that I loved you even when I was most cross. Won’t you believe it now?”

“Believe it or not, I cannot stand such accusations as you are bringing against me. My meekness is not equal to the strain.”

“I am glad it isn’t. I could not have been proud of you if it was. It was despicable of me to say what I did, Cyril. I can’t expect you to forgive it, I know. Only stay here, for I cannot do without you, and then you will forgive me in time, for you will not be able to endure seeing me so miserable. Promise me, dear, promise me--just that you will stay.”

“If you are content that I should remain here without forgiving you----”

“But I am not. I shall be perfectly miserable until you do. Ah, you do forgive me. You know that it is only because I love you so much that I cannot bear anything to come between us. I am jealous of politics, Cyril; I am afraid they may separate us from one another. I know it is wrong and foolish; but it is because I love you. You will forgive me? I will try to conquer the feeling, and I will never, never say again what I did just now. Like M. Drakovics, I was mad for the moment.”

“I don’t want to seem hard on you, Ernestine--on my honour I don’t--but you make it very difficult for me to stay here. I can never feel sure that you will not take offence at some necessary move of mine and do something that will shatter my plans and make a fool of me in the face of Europe. You see what I mean?”

“Cyril, you don’t think that I would let any one else see that I was displeased with you? My dearest, I would uphold you to the world if we were in the midst of a quarrel. Only try me; and see if anything would make me forsake you. Do you know that I had a letter from my mother this morning, scolding me for having taken you back to your house in my carriage when you were wounded--just as Baroness von Hilfenstein scolded me when she heard of it? How delighted I should have been to be able to tell them the truth! But since you will not allow that, I have written to tell my mother that I should despise myself if I had neglected to do such a small service to a man who had been attacked solely on account of his faithfulness to Michael and to me.”

“You quixotic little person! Don’t defy the proprieties too boldly, or we shall have a commission of inquiry consisting of your mother and aunts coming here to investigate matters, which might lead to alarming discoveries.”

“I should not mind. You cannot say that I should forfeit the regency if it became known that I was engaged to you.”

“No; but my remaining here would be very strongly felt to be an impropriety, and besides, dear, you don’t seem to see that we--or at any rate I--have more in view than simply being able to marry at the end of eleven years or so without damage to Michael and his kingdom.”

“Why, what is that?” she asked, surprised.

“I want our marriage to be recognised. If your cousin Sigismund--who is very strong on these matters--chose to regard it as morganatic, all Europe would go with him.”

Ernestine’s eyes blazed. “Let it!” she said; “I don’t care. You and I know what we mean to do, and when we are married we will go to England and live in a cottage, and be simply Mr and Mrs Mortimer. There are no morganatic marriages there, are there?”

“You would at least be Lady Cyril Mortimer, so there is no need to contemplate quite such a descent,” said Cyril, disregarding the question. “But I think you must see that it would be more satisfactory to me if the marriage was recognised.”

“I would not have you degrade yourself by appealing to Sigismund for any favour--or even any right--whatever.”

“There is no question of appealing to any one. My aim will simply be to establish myself in such a position that either Sigismund or the Emperor of Pannonia will have no difficulty in recognising our marriage--or might even be glad to do it.”

“But how would you do that? Have you any plan?”

“I have some sort of an idea.”

“Cyril, you are wonderful! I will never grumble at your devotion to politics again, since I know what is involved. Oh, there is Michael!” as youthful footsteps crossed the anteroom at a run, and the handle of the door was violently agitated. “He will want me to tell him a story now that his lessons are over. Say good morning nicely to Count Mortimer, my little son. Then I will not detain you longer, Count.”

“Poor dear little woman!” was Cyril’s thought as he left her. “She is so easily managed that it seems almost a shame to try it on with her. But it was really necessary to make that no more scenes of jealousy should occur at inconvenient times.”

He went back to his house, passing on the way Sir Egerton Stratford, who was taking an afternoon ride. It gave Cyril intense pleasure to respond to the startled and almost mechanical salutation of the British Minister, and he anticipated with glee the explanation which could not be long delayed. But he had no time to call at the Legation at present, and there was a good deal of business to be arranged immediately with Prince Mirkovics and the rest of his colleagues, in view of the important political changes to be announced on the morrow. When he had got rid of them he returned to the Palace, where he had a long interview with Stefanovics in his office, after which he prepared to go home, thinking that he had accomplished a pretty fair day’s work for an invalid. But his time for rest had not yet arrived, for just as he was on the point of locking his desk for the night, Baroness von Hilfenstein entered the room, to his great astonishment.

“What can I do for you, Baroness?” he asked. “Pray sit down.”

The old lady complied, but seemed to have some difficulty in declaring the object of her visit. At last she spoke in a kind of gasp.

“Count, I have been making up my mind for some days--since I saw how political events were tending, indeed--to seek this interview with you, but I have found no opportunity hitherto. At last, fearing that I should be too late, I asked her Majesty’s permission not to appear this evening, pleading a headache, and thus succeeded in finding you alone. May I ask if it is settled that you take office to-morrow, and if you have any hope of retaining it?”

“It is a little unusual to communicate political details of this kind to any one outside Cabinet circles,” said Cyril, “but to you, Baroness, I cannot hesitate to speak freely. So far as anything human can be said to be settled, it is settled that I enter upon office, and (although this is not generally known) I have strong hopes of being able to maintain my position.”

“Would it appear to you extremely strange, Count, if I entreated and advised you very strongly to give up your intention, and to return to England for good?”

“I fear I should regard it as inconceivably strange, Baroness.”

“Nevertheless, that is what I am here to do. Can you not imagine a reason?”

“Really, Baroness, I am unable to do so.”

“Think. Is there nothing, no possible complication, in your circumstances, or in those of the--Court, which might make it undesirable for you to remain?”

“I fear I am very dense, Baroness, but I do not see anything of the kind.”

“Then I must speak plainly. I know that you are a gentleman and a man of honour, Count, and therefore I need not entreat you to keep what I say a secret. I trust you as I would a son of my own.”

Cyril bowed, in much perplexity. “Is she going to tell me that her daughter has fallen in love with me?” he thought. “That would be a complication with a vengeance!”

“On the evening on which you left Tatarjé, Count,” the Baroness went on, “you may remember that in view of your plan of escorting her Majesty in disguise to a place of safety, I told you that I was afraid of circumstances. Now I have reason to believe that my fears were justified. Need I speak more plainly?”

“I begin to understand you, Baroness. You would imply that her Majesty does me the honour to regard me with more than friendly feelings?”

“You are right, Count. I have observed a change in her Majesty’s way of speaking of you since our return from Tatarjé, but that I ascribed simply to natural gratitude. Her anxiety when you were wounded, however, and the grief she displayed on learning of your serious condition, have made it evident to me that--that her feelings towards you have changed in the direction you indicate.”

“I can never sufficiently admire, Baroness, the delicacy and discretion with which you are handling this most difficult topic. But you must consider that you have revealed to me a most astonishing and gratifying fact. What steps do you expect me to take in consequence of this revelation, if I may venture to inquire?”

“Can you ask, Count? To a nobleman of your high character there is but one course open--to sever immediately and for ever your connection with the Court, and thus render it easy for her Majesty to forget this temporary indiscretion.”

“I see; and you do not think that such a course might tend to bring matters to a climax?”

“Count! her Majesty is a Princess of Weldart, and knows that _noblesse oblige_. She could only be grateful to you for the delicacy of your conduct.”

“And my feelings in the matter, Baroness----?”

“It is quite impossible that you can have any feelings in the matter, Count. The crisis is one which demands a correct attitude, not fine feelings.”

“Thank you, Baroness. It is unfortunate that you should have pointed this out a little late in the day. Who knows but I might have been able to assume a correct attitude if I had been warned in time! But as it is--I know that you are a woman of honour, and will keep what I say a secret. Are you prepared for a shock, Baroness? I do not want to startle you too much. The Queen and I have been engaged ever since our return from Tatarjé--nearly a year ago now.”

“_Lieber Himmel_!” was the shocked exclamation of the Baroness. “I wish you had not told me,” she broke out, after a few moments of horror-struck silence.

“Not at all,” said Cyril politely. “We shall be glad to think that you are a sharer in our secret.”

“I do not doubt it, Count. But do you consider what is my duty in the matter?”

“I know what I should consider your duty, my dear Baroness, but whether you will see it at first in the same light is open to question.”

“And what is your view of my duty, may I ask?”

“To go on as before, seeing and knowing nothing. Anything else could do no good, and would only make the Queen miserable.”

“You appear to disregard the absolute necessity of my laying the matter before her Majesty’s family, that they may exercise their influence to bring about your removal from Thracia.”

“But why should I be removed from Thracia?”

“Because it is absolutely impossible for you to remain here.”

“How? If we have been engaged for nearly a year without so much as rousing your suspicions, it seems to me quite possible that we should go on in the same way.”

“When you have the presumption to aspire to the hand of her Majesty?”

“Precisely. Now, Baroness, listen to me. The Queen does not propose to marry me until the King is of age, and the regency at an end--which means a twelve years’ engagement. You will be at hand to watch over the decorum of the whole thing--as you have been doing unconsciously hitherto. Now isn’t it better to acquiesce in that quiet and peaceful state of affairs than to hound me out of Thracia, and then discover one fine day that the Queen had escaped to join me?”

“But you cannot marry her Majesty.”

“Pardon me, Baroness; we differ on that point. I mean to try.”

The Baroness sat nonplussed for a time. “After all,” she murmured, “eleven years may bring about many changes.”

“Quite so. It is natural that our hopes with regard to any such changes should differ, but we will not quarrel over that.”

“You are inducing me to betray my trust, Count.”

“I would not do such a thing for the world, Baroness. Only remind me, and I will see that the Queen relieves you formally of your duties before our marriage takes place. You shall not be forced to countenance it in your official capacity. As a private friend of both parties, of course----”

“I am overwhelmed,” said the Baroness, not in allusion to Cyril’s considerate offer, as he opened the door for her. “I could never have suspected this of you, Count.”

“Ah, Baroness, we live and learn--some of us. Others live and love.”

And he went back into the office to laugh quietly over the disdainful pose of the Baroness’s head and the contemptuous swish of her skirts as she swept away from him. He had no fear that she would betray him, or even attempt to prejudice Ernestine against him. The whole affair was a crime that admitted of no palliation--but the good lady had a tender corner for him in her heart.

To his great relief, Cyril found that no further interviews were demanded of him that night, for he was so tired that he made no objection when Dr Danilovics arrived, in a towering rage, to conduct him home. The doctor’s lectures on the proper treatment and correct behaviour of invalids during the drive back to Cyril’s house might have edified a whole medical school, but they were lost on their present auditor, for Cyril was fast asleep in the corner of the carriage when he reached his destination.

“Take charge of him,” said the doctor wrathfully, delivering the invalid over to Paschics and Dietrich; “I wash my hands of him. What can a self-respecting medical man do with a patient who acts like a madman, and expects nature to cure him--especially when nature does it?”

In spite of his own indiscreet behaviour, and thanks to the unprofessional conduct of nature, Cyril slept well, and awoke refreshed in the morning, to hear from Dietrich that the British Minister had called to see him, and on being told that he was not up, had said that he would come again in an hour.

“He means to have it out,” said Cyril to himself. “Well, one can’t say that life has been dull during the last few days. It’s only a pity that all this pleasurable excitement can’t manage to distribute itself a little more.”

When he went down to his study, he found Sir Egerton waiting for him--not sitting down, as would have been the case on ordinary occasions, but standing wrathfully in the middle of the room, like Nemesis armed with a riding-whip. As Cyril entered, the British Minister stepped forward with a stiff bow.

“Good morning, Count Mortimer. Your sudden restoration to health is as astonishing as it is gratifying. You may have observed that I was surprised to see you yesterday. As a matter of fact, I had heard it said that you would accompany your colleagues to the Palace, but I imagined that the report had been spread by your servants in order to put off as long as possible the discovery of your escape.”

“I am sure you can’t have been half as glad to see me again as I was to see you. A friendly face----”

“Excuse my interrupting you. Five days ago, by representing yourself to be in a state of abject terror almost amounting to madness, you induced me to smuggle you out of the city, on the understanding that you would not return to Thracia. Now I find you back again, and apparently quite restored to health. I should be glad to know what all this means.”

“Simply that three days’ rest and change gave tone to my nerves and set me up again. You forget that I expressed my intention of returning if that should prove to be the case, Stratford.”

“Sir Egerton Stratford to you in future, if you please.”

“I beg your Excellency’s pardon most humbly. Well, then, Sir Egerton Stratford, may I ask to what you object in my return?”

“You were no more ill at that time than you are now. You had some scheme in your head for capturing the government, and you made a catspaw of me to enable you to carry it out. Instead of getting you out of Thracia, I have in some way or other made you a present of the Premiership. I don’t pretend to understand how you have worked it, but it is quite clear that I played into your hands and ensured the success of your plot.”

“Not at all. You are judging yourself too hardly. You did a kindness to a poor beggar in a tight place. Well, don’t try to get behind that. You may be sure that I shall keep your act of charity dark, and I don’t think you’ll want to publish it abroad, though I fancy you had some idea in your head of preventing me from returning to Thracia by making known the manner of my leaving it, eh? If I had not been so anxious to keep you from getting into trouble I should have taken you into my confidence, so be grateful.”

“You know perfectly well that if you had told me your intentions I should have refused entirely to take any part in furthering them.”

“Ah, well, perhaps that was one of my reasons for reticence. But you shouldn’t go back on your good deed now it’s done.”

“I have not asked advice from you, Count Mortimer, and after what has happened, I am scarcely likely to take it. You succeeded in getting my help in a discreditable job by means of a dirty trick, which was successful because I regarded you as a friend and an honourable man. Now that you are proved not to be the one, it is impossible for you to continue to be the other. I wish you a very good morning. In future, if you should take the trouble to call at the Legation, Lady Stratford will not be at home.”

“I knew Stratford would be fearfully wild when he realised that he had been had,” reflected Cyril, as the British representative departed, “but I didn’t expect he would put on frills quite to such an extent. I suppose he can’t get over my having worked on his feelings. Well, the best of friends must part. But it will be a bore not to be able to drop in at the Legation in the evenings.”