CHAPTER VIII.

A FAMILY COMPACT.

“I suppose you have met Lord Caerleon before, Ottilie?” said Queen Ernestine to her cousin, with a shade of disapproval in her tone, when the visitors had departed. “You seemed to know him very well.”

“I had every opportunity of knowing him,” responded the Princess, “for he and I were once engaged--for nearly a fortnight.”

“Oh, forgive me, Ottilie,” said the Queen, blushing painfully. “I had no idea that this was the gentleman who----I didn’t mean to recall unpleasant memories. Lady Caerleon is a very handsome woman, is she not?”

“Is that last remark intended to soothe my lacerated feelings?” inquired the Princess, with a merry laugh at this sudden change of subject. “If you only knew it, Nestchen, that is just the most painful part of the matter. Can you conceive that Lord Caerleon had the bad taste to prefer the lady who is now his wife to me?”

“I should prefer not to discuss the subject,” said the Queen, frigidly, but with evident confusion. “If I had had the faintest idea that Lord Caerleon was the person who----I should certainly not have admitted him to my presence.”

“My sweetest Nestchen, if you must play the prude, try to do so with a little discrimination. ‘The person who----’ twice over! Tell me, I entreat you, what poor Lord Caerleon has done?”

“I don’t wish to recall the matter, Ottilie; and I wonder that you should care to make a joke of it.”

“My dear Ernestine,”--there was a dangerous glitter in the Princess’s eyes,--“I must insist on your explaining these extraordinary insinuations. It is quite evident to me that you have picked up an erroneous idea of Lord Caerleon’s conduct in the past, and apparently of mine as well. As I do not choose to lie under imputations of such a kind, I beg of you to tell me exactly what you have heard on the subject, if you wish us to remain friends.”

“I am quite content to let the matter rest, Ottilie; but if you will make me speak, I must say that I have heard nothing definitely, for my mother would never permit the affair to be discussed in my hearing. Still, I gathered from stray remarks and hints let drop by different people that you had--well, formed an attachment for a gentleman not of royal blood, and that when your parents expressed their disapproval you eloped with him, but were brought back before you could reach a place of safety, and that afterwards you were married to the Prince of Dardania.”

“Your story is most circumstantial and most romantic, Nestchen, but unfortunately it has got hopelessly mixed. I did run away to be married; but it was not with Lord Caerleon, and I was not brought back, for I was safely married, and to Alexis Alexievitch. He was the lover of whom my parents disapproved, whereas I was engaged to Lord Caerleon with their full knowledge and approval.”

“You ran away with the Prince of Dardania?” cried the Queen, horror and astonishment struggling in her voice.

“I did, indeed; but you seem to think that makes things worse instead of better.”

“Oh no; not at all---- But surely it was unnecessary? And are you in earnest when you say that your parents approved of Lord Caerleon’s attachment?”

“Poor Lord Caerleon can scarcely be said to have been attached to me. As I said just now, he preferred another lady, and was determined to marry no one else. The attachment was a political expedient, devised by his brother and Drakovics; but my father was delighted with the idea, and all the Schwarzwald-Molzaus honoured it with their approval.”

“Impossible, Ottilie!”

“I am telling you the truth. Carlino was King of Thracia then, you must remember.”

“Oh, that makes a difference, of course. A crowned and anointed King----”

“Carlino was neither. He had not been crowned at the time, and as matters turned out, he never was to be. If I had married him, however, I think I may say that your husband would never have sat upon the Thracian throne, Ernestine.”

“Why, what could you have done?”

“Do you think I would have allowed my husband to resign his rights? Why, if he had been deprived of them, I would have set Europe in a blaze before I would have submitted; but to resign them meekly of his own accord----! No. _Je maintiendray_ should have been my motto.”

“But still,” urged Queen Ernestine, waiving the question, “I cannot see how your family could have permitted Lord Caerleon to aspire to your hand before he was crowned. Surely such an alliance would have been subversive of all the traditions of our order?”

“My dear Ernestine, do you really believe that we belong to a separate race of beings, with some ethereal fluid in their veins, instead of blood like other mortals? No wonder that we in Dardania hear tales occasionally of troubles at the Thracian Court, caused by the Queen’s treatment of her _entourage_!”

“My dear Ottilie,”--with some resentment,--“no arguments could make me regard such a marriage as anything but morganatic.”

“And the mere wearing of a crown would make the difference? But suppose Carlino had been crowned, and had afterwards abdicated, what then? Would the marriage have been regular as long as he was King, but have become morganatic when he no longer possessed the crown?”

“The effect of the anointing would still remain, I suppose,” said the Queen doubtfully, but her words were drowned by a peal of laughter from her cousin.

“Nestchen, you are too delicious! Why weren’t you born before 1789? You ought to be put into a museum, and labelled, ‘Extraordinary survival of medieval methods of thought.’ Don’t you see that we have given up all those ideas of a superior caste nowadays? It is merely a matter of policy. Say that a _parvenu_ mounts a throne and seems likely to retain it; surely the wisest thing to do is to welcome him into your mystic circle, and hold him there by chains so strong that your interests and his become identical? Lord Caerleon could show his quarterings with the best of us Germans; but if M. Drakovics were to become King of Thracia to-morrow, there are very few Courts at which he would be refused if he came seeking a bride.”

“Do you really mean this, Ottilie--that royal marriages are now arranged purely as matters of policy, and absolutely without regard to the claims of blood or the traditions of a princely house?”

“Absolutely. Why, my dear child, you seem to have no idea of the necessities of State. Surely you must see that if a young Princess falls in love with a simple noble, it is really immoral for them to marry; but that it is both right and eminently suitable for her to be handed over to any _roturier_ who may succeed in winning himself a throne? What is the use of an exclusive caste unless outsiders may be admitted into it for a consideration? You must try to understand the wheels within wheels a little, Nestchen.”

“All this is quite new to me,” said the Queen, slowly and sadly. “I thought only the lower orders regarded matters in that light.”

“But why should it make you unhappy, Ernestine?”

“Because it reminds me so strongly of my own marriage. At least I have had the comfort hitherto of feeling that there was something heroic about the way in which I was sacrificed, but you have taken away that consolation. I thought myself like Iphigenia, or that other poor princess--what was her name?--whose marriage with a man whom she detested set the seal upon a treaty; but now you make me feel that I was merely a counter in a very sordid game.”

“Exactly. I never felt that there was anything heroic about my engagement to Lord Caerleon, I assure you; but then, of course, I knew the game which was being played. Surely you must have seen it in your own case?”

“How could I? I was only sixteen, and you know what my life had been. You know that my mother and I spent nearly all our time at our castle in the mountains--for my mother’s health, it was said. When we came down to Weldart for the winter, my parents would appear together on public occasions, but they never met in private. Hitherto I have thought that they kept up appearances to prevent my being saddened with the knowledge of their dissensions, but I suppose you have a different explanation of that also?”

“Well, it would naturally have looked bad if they had separated openly, and eligible princes might have hesitated to take a bride from such a divided household. The family prestige must be considered in cases of this kind, of course. But tell me how the Fairy Prince came at last.”

“If you laugh at me, Ottilie, I shall hate you.”

“My dear Nestchen, I am not laughing. Heaven forbid that I, who gained my own way, should laugh at any one less fortunate.”

The Queen sat silent a moment, then began again, speaking hurriedly. “We came down from the mountains that autumn a little earlier than usual. I was very loath to leave the Castle, for I loved the free, wild life, and when once my lessons were over, I might roam about the hill-paths with my mother’s ladies, or--which I liked much better--with some of the girls from the village. But when we reached Weldart, I found that there were changes there. I was to take my place in society, my presence was expected at all the Court entertainments. That in itself was delightful, but there was more. The Palace was filled with guests. They came and went, but the King of Thracia and his suite stayed longest of all. He was the most distinguished man present, and he paid me marked attention. The ladies-in-waiting congratulated me continually in private. ‘Such a great soldier,’ they said, ‘so brave, so good, so wise, and he talks to no one but our little Princess!’ My head was turned, Ottilie. I thought him the handsomest and most courteous man I knew. He looked old, certainly, even for his years, but that, I thought, was due to the hardships of war. He saw that I took pleasure in his society, and it pleased him----”

“One moment, Ernestine. What was your mother doing while this was going on?”

“My mother watched it all, and said nothing. Day after day I saw her with the same unyielding face, set like a mask, but she would not speak to me on the subject, even when I appealed to her. She would neither encourage me in my liking for King Otto Georg, nor dissuade me from it. It was grandmamma of Weldart who counselled me in the matter. She called me into her room one evening when the King had danced with me several times, and I was so happy that I could scarcely keep myself from dancing then. Grandmamma called me to sit upon a low stool beside her, and took my chin in her hand. ‘So!’ she said. ‘Do you know what a little bird has just whispered to me, Nestchen? It said that the good King wishes to take my little mountain wild-flower back to Thracia with him. How would a crown look on this little head?’ I was frightened at first, and said I was so happy as I was that I did not wish to be married and go away. ‘Pschutt!’ said grandmamma, ‘little girls must be married. Do you want to be like your Aunt Amalie?’ She knew that I had always a dread of Aunt Amalie, and that to become a canoness was the last thing I desired; and she went on, ‘I know perfectly well that the very idea of making a choice is an absurdity. Who could hesitate between the life of a canoness and that of a Queen? Your father might have just as well presented his Majesty to you without any fuss as your future husband, but they do things differently nowadays. But at any rate, when the King speaks to you, be sure to say how greatly you appreciate the honour he is offering you, and remind him how young and inexperienced you are.’ That was all, you see, Ottilie. It was taken for granted that I should accept the King, and positively I did not realise that there was any alternative open to me.”

“And he proposed to you soon after?”

“The very next day; and I did as I was told, and accepted him. They gave me no time to regret my choice. The wedding was hurried on, and the interval was filled with a whirl of gaiety. I was kissed, and blessed, and praised, and congratulated, and petted until I began to think that I was doing something great. Then there were all my new clothes, and the jewellery, and the wedding-presents, and the addresses of congratulation--something new and delightful offered itself for every hour of the day. The King attended me everywhere, brought me presents continually, gratified every wish I could express. I had no time to think, but if I had thought, I should have decided that I was perfectly happy.”

“But I thought you said that you regarded your marriage as a sacrifice made for the sake of your house, or of your order, or something of the kind?”

“That was afterwards; I am coming to it now. It was the night before the wedding; I had been trying on my crown and jewels for the morrow. Some of my cousins thought the crown was too heavy for my head, but I laughed. ‘Who finds a crown too heavy?’ I said, and we gave back the jewels to the proper official to be kept safe for the night, and then I went to bed. In the middle of the night I was awakened by some one’s coming into the room with a light, and I saw my mother standing with her back to me and looking at my wedding-dress, which was spread out upon the couch. Presently she took it up and turned it about, handling it so roughly that I was horrified. ‘Oh, mamma, mamma, you will spoil my dress!’ I cried out. She turned and came towards me with such a terrible face that I crouched down among the pillows in actual fear. ‘I would tear it to shreds, or burn it to ashes, if that would have the slightest effect in preventing this marriage!’ she said. I could only look at her, trembling, and she went on, ‘Foolish child! do you imagine that the King loves you? He loathes the very idea of marriage, and is merely driven to it by his advisers for the sake of securing the succession. He is false through and through, and as wicked as he is false. You think it is hardship which makes him look so old? The last war in which he served was that of 1870: it is the wicked pleasures of the life he has led which have aged him.’ ‘Oh, mamma, what has he done?’ I sobbed. ‘Never mind,’ she replied; ‘it is enough for you to know that he is not fit to touch your hand.’ I got out of bed, shivering with cold and terror. ‘You have come to save me, mamma,’ I said; ‘you want me to run away. I am ready. You were right in thinking that I would do anything to avoid marrying such a man.’ She looked at me in astonishment. ‘Get back into bed, Ernestine, and don’t talk nonsense,’ she said. ‘Do you think you are living in a romance? It is your destiny to make this marriage; all princesses go through the same experience. I suffered it myself, but I had no one to warn me beforehand. I had to find out everything--all the falseness and horror of it--but at least I have spared you that pain.’ ‘You can’t mean to say that you will sacrifice me to this man, mamma?’ I said; ‘what have I done, that you should be so cruel?’ ‘You have been born a princess,’ she answered; ‘that is enough. One must pay for being great.’ ‘But what good can my misery do to any one?’ I cried. ‘None,’ she said; ‘but it is that to which you were born. You are fulfilling your destiny, you are avoiding a scandal, you are obeying the traditions of your house. Where a low-born girl might flinch, a Princess of Weldart must go on to the bitter end. _Noblesse oblige_.’ She stood looking at me again as I lay and sobbed, and then said sharply, ‘But don’t let me see you hugging your chains. You have been warned, and there is no excuse for further blindness. It is your husband’s place to suffer as well as yours.’ Then she went away, and left me in the dark.”

“It was infamous!” cried the Princess hotly. “If your mother’s own married life had been miserable, she might at least have allowed you the chance of doing better.”

“You must not say that. I am convinced that the strain of watching the preparations which she could not interrupt had told upon her mind for the time, and made her persuade herself that she was doing the kindest thing in warning me of what lay before me. I think that perhaps she had expected me to perceive the truth by some intuition, and rebel against my fate, and that she was disappointed by my satisfaction with it. But you know as well as I do that she could not have been actuated by malevolence.”

“Her kindness was most cruel, then. But tell me what followed.”

“I shuddered and sobbed myself to sleep when she was gone. In the morning my cousins exclaimed at my looks when they came to wake me. I told them that I had had bad dreams, and all the time they were helping me to dress they were disputing whether it was a good or a bad omen. My mother came in several times, and altered the draping of my train, or suggested to the hairdresser a slight rearrangement of my crown or my myrtle-blossoms, which would improve the general effect. She would not allow me to speak to her, and I could scarcely believe that her visit in the night was not a dream. I tried to catch her eye--to give her an imploring glance--but she met me with a cold hard look that offered me no sympathy. When I was quite ready, grandmamma came in to see me before starting for the chapel. My cousins were giving the finishing touches to their own dresses in another room, and for the moment we were practically alone. I seized the opportunity. ‘Grandmamma,’ I said, clasping my hands, ‘save me, I entreat you. I do not want to marry the King. The very thought terrifies me.’ She looked at me keenly, and said in her hardest voice, ‘What has terrified you, Ernestine? Who has been calumniating your bridegroom to you?’ I dared not betray my mother, and all that I could do was to falter out that I was frightened, and could not the ceremony be put off? Then she laughed and pinched my cheek, and said playfully, ‘Foolish little wild-flower! of course it is frightened at the thought of being transplanted into the great world. I should think very poorly of you, little one, if you could part without a tremor from a home and parents such as yours. But remember, say nothing to any one else of this, for they might not make allowances for you as I can.’ ‘Grandmamma!’ I cried, springing towards her as she gathered up her train to leave the room, ‘It is not that----’ But she turned and said, ‘Whatever it is, Ernestine, you are too late now,’ and went out. I heard her say to Aunt Amalie at the door, ‘It is a good thing that the King is so much preoccupied with this affair of the Mortimer’s precedence, or he would notice that something was wrong. The silly child looks like a ghost.’ I knew the name of the secretary Mortimer. I had seen him constantly in attendance on the King, and heard of the difficulties as to precedence which had sprung up between him and my cousin Sigismund’s Hercynian officers; but I realised now that he had come between me and my last hope of safety, and that is only an image of what he has done ever since.”

“Good!” cried the Princess; “I also hate him. But go on.”

“What is the use? You know well enough that no miracle happened to save me. In the chapel, when they put my hand into that of the King, I fainted where I stood. They said that it was owing to the weight of my dress and jewels; but it was through sheer horror. They revived me in some way, and the service was finished. At the wedding banquet I was so dazed by the strong restoratives they had given me, that I could only sit silent and look straight before me; but I still remember the dreadful smile on my mother’s face when the Emperor Sigismund, in proposing the health of the bridal pair, said that my parents could give me with absolute confidence and joy to the amiable and chivalrous monarch who had been his father’s comrade on many a battlefield. I suppose that my cousins took me up-stairs, and changed my wedding-gown for my travelling-dress; but I don’t remember it. I only know that the day was getting darker and darker when we started for the Lustschloss, although it was only three in the afternoon. There was some talk of our waiting until the storm was over; but we had only about five miles to go, and they thought we should arrive before the rain came on; so we drove out through the decorated streets into the gathering blackness. The King said something kind and reassuring to me; but I did not understand, and could only stare at him stupidly. He thought I was overdone, or affected by the weather, and advised me to lean back and try to sleep a little; but I could not. As I sat looking out, there came a great flash of lightning, and almost immediately we were in the midst of the most tremendous thunderstorm I ever saw. Presently Count Mortimer, who had been riding with the other attendants, came to the window of the carriage and suggested that we should take refuge in an inn close at hand, as the horses were alarmed by the lightning. We did as he advised; and the passing through the rain from the carriage to the house seemed to remove the paralysis from my mind. I felt myself awake again; and the moment I was alone with the King, I threw myself at his feet, and implored him with tears to allow me to return to my mother. I don’t know what I said, or what wild promises I made him; but I know I caught at his sword and entreated him to kill me if he would not let me go. He must have been utterly amazed, for I saw him look round helplessly (I suppose he wished to consult Count Mortimer), but he raised me up and led me to a chair, and entreated me to sit down. Then he took another chair beside me, and begged me to listen to him. He said that if he had had the faintest idea that the marriage was disagreeable to me, he would never have proposed it; that he felt he was far too old for me, but that my kindness to him had encouraged him to hope that he might succeed in making me happy. He could only ask my forgiveness for the suffering he had caused me, and promised to do all that he could to lighten it. But (and he was very firm in this) it was too late now to undo what had been done. To allow me to return home would be to inflict a deadly and most undeserved slight on my family and on all the royal personages who had been present at the wedding, besides bringing very injurious suspicions on myself. We were bound together now; let us both resolve to make the best of it. He comforted me so kindly and so delicately that my terror began to diminish, and I reflected that death would soon release me from my troubles, since no one could live long in such misery. You see what a baby I was, Ottilie; I thought one could die when one wished.”

“Forgive my saying so, Ernestine, but you had no excuse for quarrelling with a husband who could speak to you so gently after the outburst of loathing to which you had treated him.”

“One excuse you know; it was Count Mortimer. Sometimes I think I had another, but you shall hear. I became partially reconciled to my lot when I realised that there was no escaping it, and the King left no effort untried to comfort me and keep me contented. We left the Lustschloss--I was glad of it, for it was horrible to have continual visits from all my relations, spying, remarking, criticising, trying to find out how the slave they had just sold got on with her master--and came to Thracia, where every one was prepared to welcome me with the greatest delight and kindness. Not a wish that I could express was ungratified, and new pleasures were suggested every day. I was beginning to look back with shame upon my fears on the wedding-day, when in some way everything went wrong once more. When we had been married rather more than a month, I received a letter from my mother, written evidently in great excitement. ‘At last,’ she said, ‘I have torn off the mask which, for your sake, I have worn so long. Your father and I have come to a definite agreement to separate, and I have bidden farewell to Weldart for ever. I am now a wanderer, unless my daughter will offer me a shelter for the remainder of my miserable life.’ What could I do, Ottilie? I ran sobbing to the King and showed him the letter, demanding that he should join his entreaties with mine to induce my mother to come to us at once. He consented, but without enthusiasm, as it seemed to me, and came to me about half an hour later, when I was writing my letter in transports of grief and indignation.”

“Ah, he had been consulting Count Mortimer, I suppose?”

“Undoubtedly. ‘You are entreating your mother to pay us a visit, little one?’ he said. ‘Not a visit,’ I answered in astonishment; ‘I am inviting her to make her home with us.’ ‘We must not be too precipitate,’ he said, ‘for this climate may not suit her, or she may not care for our ways, and yet she might feel a delicacy in telling us that she would prefer to move. I think, _Liebchen_, that it will be well to ask her simply on a visit at first. A visit can always be extended, but it is not so easy to break off an established custom.’ ‘But that is nothing,’ I said; ‘it is a home that I wish to offer her, for she is homeless. She might go to any number of places on a visit.’ ‘Have you thought that this will mean an absolute rupture of relations with your father and grandmother?’ he asked. ‘I don’t care about them!’ I cried; ‘I want my mother. We were never separated before, and you cannot tell how lonely I have been without her. I shall die if you will not let her come.’ The sight of my tears moved him, and he told me to do as I pleased----”

“It was a great pity,” said the Princess.

“Ottilie!” cried the Queen resentfully, “it is evident that you do not know that my mother has been almost my only comfort all these years. If she disturbed the tranquillity in which we were living, it was merely because she saw it was a fool’s paradise. On the very evening of her arrival, when we were alone together, she said to me, ‘So you are hugging your chains, as I foresaw you would do!’ I asked her how this could be, and she replied, ‘It is simple enough. You are the King’s slave, and he is the slave of the Mortimer.’ She would not say any more, but I saw the truth of her words. It flashed upon me all at once that Count Mortimer directed the whole course of our lives. It was he who suggested all our plans, who encouraged the King to accompany me on all occasions, who kept him continually up to the mark, if I may say so. It flashed upon me also why he did this. He knew my wretched story, knew the way in which I had been bought and sold--nay, he had probably taken a chief part himself in making the bargain, and he wished to see the prisoner content with her captivity. If I could be brought to seem happy there would be the less likelihood of scandal, and the more chance of his appearing a skilled diplomatist. From that moment I hated him. I resolved to thwart his schemes, and I did so. I refused to accept his suggestions; I did not welcome the King’s company when he offered it. I made it very clear that any plan in which Count Mortimer’s influence could be traced was displeasing to me.”

“Foolish child!” cried her cousin; “was there no one to warn you?”

“I was frightened myself sometimes when I saw that I was alienating the King from myself instead of from Count Mortimer, but that made me only the more determined to succeed. I tried tears and reproaches, and entreaties and ridicule, but my husband was not to be moved. He told me plainly that I was seeking to banish the man who could do most to smooth my path, and was most willing to do it. When I persisted, he said that Count Mortimer was indispensable to him, and that he never went wrong except when he was too lazy or too soft-hearted to follow his advice. I knew what he meant; but I would not cease from my attempts, although they only tended to make the King spend less time in my society, and more in that of Count Mortimer. So the time dragged on until Michael was born, and then I determined, as my mother advised me, to make one great effort to oust my enemy. The King was delighted with his son, and became once more as kind to me as he had been at first. On the day of the christening, when he was sitting alone with the baby and me after the ceremony, I appealed to him suddenly to dismiss Count Mortimer. In his first astonishment he refused point-blank, and left me in displeasure. I was determined not to yield, for I could not bear that he should be able to comfort himself with the society of his friend when I was angry with him. If Count Mortimer were gone, my mother and I should find it much more easy to deal with the King.”

“In other words, he would be at your mercy? Oh, Ernestine, I must say it, what a little fool you were!”

“Probably. If it was so, I have been punished for my folly. My husband came to me again the next morning, and said that he was about to make a proposal to me which he begged me to consider calmly and without prejudice, since he was convinced that the happiness of our married life depended upon it. Nothing would induce him, he said, to dismiss Count Mortimer; but Count Mortimer himself was prepared to retire from the Court in the hope of restoring peace between us. Only, the King said, he would not accept this sacrifice except upon one condition--that my mother also should leave Thracia. He would not mince matters, for he was convinced that our unhappiness was due to her, since I had shown no dislike to Count Mortimer before her arrival. Once rid of the two elements of discord, we would start afresh, and try to be as happy as such an ill-assorted couple could be. Well, you do not need to be told that I rejected the proposal with horror. I told the King that it was an outrage and an infamy, and that I would suffer anything rather than yield. He left me again, and we resumed our double life, the King and Count Mortimer against my mother and me. I would not quit Thracia, as my mother advised, for I could not endure to let Count Mortimer triumph in the idea that he had driven me away; but it could not be expected that I should assist in any of his schemes. He and the King had the idea that Thracia was for the Thracians, and should be kept as Thracian as possible, and my mother and I did what we could to introduce German customs and habits instead.”

“You can scarcely expect me to agree with you there,” said the Princess, “since my husband and I have always aimed at carrying out in Dardania the methods which the King thought best for Thracia.”

“We were not thinking of what was best for the country,” explained the Queen innocently. “We wanted to have everything as it ought to be--as it is in Germany--and also to make the King angry.”

“Well, it is quite evident that you were successful in that part of your wish.”

“Yes; we were all very unhappy. Then, as you know, my mother was forced by the intrigues of the Ministry to leave Thracia, and I was so lonely and miserable that once or twice I even tried to make friends with my husband; but he either pretended not to notice my attempts, or he laughed at them, so that I left off trying. And then Count Mortimer went to England for a holiday, and I thought there might be some chance for me, but I saw even less of the King than before, and he would scarcely speak to me. Then he was taken ill, and you know that on his death-bed he made me promise not to dismiss Count Mortimer, and so he was left to tyrannise over me still. Can you wonder that I hate him?”

“You do hate him?” asked the Princess, with interest.

The Queen’s face flushed hotly. “You would hate him in my place,” she said. “He thwarts all my plans, and he is always justified by the result. He is continually putting me in the wrong, and no one who sees it can have a doubt but that he is right. I make a great effort to take him by surprise, and it is evident that he knew of my intention as soon as I did. I would give anything to be able to turn the tables on him!”

“I don’t wonder you get into trouble if that is your feeling.”

“At any rate, I can do one thing. I know that after to-day Count Mortimer will try to make me return to Bellaviste, for neither he nor M. Drakovics wished us to come here, but I will not go.”

“What a rebellious little person you are, Ernestine! But I do most earnestly advise you to get rid of Count Mortimer before your boy is old enough to marry, unless you want your own story repeated.”

“I shall take care that does not happen.”

“Well, his father’s story, then--a marriage without love or even liking on either side, arranged purely as a matter of state. What else can you hope for from Count Mortimer? I don’t doubt that he has a suitable alliance in view already. There are your cousin the Emperor Sigismund’s twin daughters, the little Princesses Hermine and Frederike of Hercynia--either of them would be an excellent match for Michael.”

“That I would never allow. I have always disliked Sigismund, and I should refuse to welcome either of his children here.”

“Even if Michael fell in love with one of them?”

“Oh, that would be different, of course. But I shall take good care that he has no chance of falling in love with them.”

“Then is he to be permitted to select his own bride? That might lead to complications--if he preferred a pretty _bourgeoise_, for instance. The marriage could scarcely turn out a success, and moreover, your family and the Schwarzwald-Molzaus would not allow it to take place.”

“He could not marry below his own rank, naturally. But there must be ways of bringing the right people together.” She paused, and her eyes followed those of her cousin to the corner in which Princess Ludmilla was dispensing imaginary tea in dolls’ cups to a select detachment of the King’s tin soldiers, while the host was crawling round the table on his hands and knees, and propping up the guests as they slipped down. “Ottilie!” the Queen cried, with a gasp, “your little Lida! She is just the right age, and she is dark and he is fair.”

“My dearest Nestchen! What would Count Mortimer say?”

“What does it signify what he says? And Lida is so sweet and gentle, and Michael so masterful already! Let us make a compact, Ottilie, and educate them for each other. They shall grow up together as much as possible--we will come here, or you will come to Praka, once a-year--and when the time comes they will fall in love, and all will be well.”

“Are you really serious, Ernestine?”

“Of course I am, if you agree.”

“Is it likely that I should refuse? It is a compact, then?”

“Between us two mothers. Naturally the children must know nothing, or it would make them self-conscious when they are older. And of course there is no need to tell any one else for years and years yet.”

“Will you leave that to me, Nestchen? If we are to bring our scheme to pass, I must be free to enlist allies as opportunity offers. But if you will put the matter into my hands, I engage that we shall succeed.”

“Yes; I will leave it to you, Ottilie. You are so clever, you never blunder.”

“You have paid a long visit to your cousin,” said the Prince of Dardania, as he helped his wife out of the carriage on her return to their country-seat. “I hope it has been a pleasant one?”

The Princess made him no answer, but pointed to the little girl, who was being carried off by her nurse. “We must take care of her,” she said. “She will wear a crown one day.”

“What! have you betrothed her to his Majesty King Michael?” cried Prince Alexis, with a burst of laughter.

“Exactly. Ernestine and I have agreed that they are to marry when they grow up.”

“Poor babies! You have settled their future early. May I ask whether our friend Count Mortimer was consulted?”

“He was not. But I have no reason to be afraid of him. I have outwitted him once.”

“They say that there are few people who can say that, and none that have outwitted him twice.”

“Nevertheless, I intend to do so. What can a man effect against two determined women? Not that I depend much on Ernestine’s powers of resistance. Her proposing the match has given me the standpoint I want; but I foresee that I shall have to do the fighting. She would not dare to oppose him seriously.”

“What?” the Prince raised his eyebrows interrogatively.

“Oh no; it is merely that he has a fascination for her, for he knows how to manage her, and he is the victor in every battle that they fight. She was eager to assure me--and herself--that she hated him, and she seizes every opportunity of revolt; but it is because she finds herself succumbing to his influence. She feels that she ought to obey him, which makes it worse.”

“And you encourage her to go on resisting him?”

“Of course. It will all help towards the great object.”