CHAPTER X.

REASONS OF STATE.

The reader will without doubt expect to hear that the King appeared in public at his usual hour the next morning, bearing the traces of the night’s vigil in his haggard face and deeply lined brow; that he went through the day’s business with invincible resolution, but with an abstracted manner, the gloom of which was lightened by an occasional unconquerable sigh; and that he frequently put his hand to his forehead as though to push back the brooding weight of care which oppressed him. It is disappointing to be obliged to chronicle the fact that Caerleon made no attempt to act in this heroic but rather harrowing fashion. He did not appear at all outside his own rooms, but remained shut up in his study, where he buried himself in the piles of blue-books and parliamentary reports for which he had sent to London, growling at Cyril through the door when he besieged him in his retreat, and sending word to M. Drakovics that if he had anything special to communicate he might state his message in writing. For three days he laboured unceasingly, consulting authorities, drawing up, testing, and destroying draft schemes, guarded by the faithful Wright, who had been summoned from the stables by a sudden message from his master, and informed all comers that “’is Majesty was not to be disturbed.” The fact that he would have found great pleasure in knocking the Premier down, if he had attempted to force an entrance into the room, undoubtedly contributed to the success of his guardianship.

It happened fortunately that nothing occurred during the three days to render necessary an interview between the King and his Minister, and Cyril and M. Drakovics, giving out that Caerleon had not yet recovered from the illness which had attacked him at the ball, took things into their own hands, and got through a large amount of important business. In so far as international politics were concerned, their course lay at present chiefly in the direction of bluff, for the Powers, scarcely recovered from their surprise at Caerleon’s election, had not as yet determined upon the action to be taken in the matter. Notes and protests were flying about from cabinet to cabinet, and the papers announced daily, with awful and mysterious joy, that such and such a statesman had been closeted for over an hour with such and such a potentate, or that this great personage had visited that great personage, and that each had emerged from the interview with a clouded brow. In England, Parliament was enjoying a long recess, and the few stray politicians who were in the habit of arrogating to themselves an interest in the peace of Europe were reduced to writing frantic letters to the papers to demand that a special session should be summoned immediately for the purpose of dethroning Caerleon, or else to inquire why the Government did not at once recognise him as King of Thracia, according to the direction taken by their respective sympathies.

But Cyril’s chief concern was with less responsible individuals,--inventors who wished Caerleon to purchase the secret of their new and destructive engines of warfare, or Englishmen who were anxious either to enlist in the Thracian army or to raise a troop of irregular horse in the King’s name. To them all Cyril replied with a polite assurance that at the present moment the Thracian army was on so satisfactory a footing that his Majesty had no intention of increasing it, but that when he did so, the correspondent’s obliging offer should be borne in mind. This form of words committed Caerleon to nothing, while intimating also that although he desired peace he was prepared for war, and it was calculated to convey a gentle warning to Scythia, and to keep the rest of Europe in a state of agreeable expectancy. Cyril was not a little pleased with his own capacity for statecraft, and he did his best to raise the spirits of M. Drakovics, who was inclined to fear that the King’s persistent seclusion foreshadowed some kind of _coup d’état_, or even a determination to govern altogether without a Minister in future. Caerleon was merely working off his disappointment, Cyril assured the Premier, and he would be all right in a day or two. But even Cyril had not calculated on the manner in which his brother had employed his time in his solitude. It was brought to his knowledge at last through the medium of Wright, who on the third evening after the ball entered the smoking-room, where Cyril was sitting with M. Drakovics, and laid a large sealed envelope on the table between them.

“’Is Majesty says, my lord, will you and ’is Excellency,” with a nod in the direction of the Premier, “kindly read that, and be ready to discuss with ’im to-morrow any improvements you can suggest.”

It was with no small apprehension that Cyril and M. Drakovics, when Wright had departed, opened and read the paper. They did not quite know what they feared, but their brows grew no lighter as they advanced, and at the close Cyril summed up in a tone of utter despair--

“A strict system of licensing to be established for three years all through the kingdom, preparatory to the general adoption of a modification of the Gothenburg scheme! It is the biggest thing ever undertaken in the temperance way!”

“It is absolutely impossible,” said M. Drakovics. “It cannot be done.”

“I am very much afraid it will have to be done,” said Cyril, “if you mean to keep your king. Caerleon has always been mad on the subject of temperance. His extreme views on that question destroyed his chances of office in England, and it would be just like him to risk his crown by putting them forward now. Besides, monsieur, it is just possible he may have noticed that there is sometimes a slight confusion as to which of you is King and which is Minister, and that he means to have it cleared up.”

“It cannot be done,” repeated M. Drakovics, hopelessly, as he rose to go home, taking the paper with him; but when he met his sovereign in the morning he found that the plea of impossibility was not accepted.

“I am not King for my own pleasure, nor did I come here to rule Thracia in accordance with your ideas, M. Drakovics,” said Caerleon, “but for her own good. If I can’t do that, I had better go back to England.”

“But this legislation is undertaken so suddenly--so early in your Majesty’s reign,” objected M. Drakovics.

“Exactly. The people are well affected towards me just now, and will accept a change more readily than they would later, when things had settled down. But of course I have no intention of forcing my views on them against their will.”

“Your Majesty will listen to my advice on the subject?”

“As to the best method of introducing the scheme, certainly. I know that you agree with me as to the necessity of stringent legislation--you have said so several times. I think it will be best to bring in the measure at once as a Government bill, letting it be known at the same time that my retaining the crown depends upon its passing without delay.”

“This is interfering with the liberty of the subject with a vengeance!” said Cyril. “Are you really bent on risking your crown in this way, Caerleon?”

“I will not rule over a nation of drunkards,” returned Caerleon.

“But set to work gradually. Do things by degrees,” urged Cyril.

“And establish vested interests,” said Caerleon, quickly, “and thus have all our difficulties at home reproduced? No; things are in a state of chaos at present, and there is just this chance of bringing them into order. The more thoughtful among the people see that something must be done, and the Thracians will understand--and appreciate--a single act of authority--call it despotism if you like--better than any amount of compromises.”

“But why not go the whole hog, then, and decree prohibition right off? I know that is what you temperance fanatics are always aiming at in the far distance.”

“Because it would simply lead to the spread of smuggling and secret distilling, and an illicit traffic which the police would be bribed to condone. They would be corrupted, and the people as bad as ever. Moreover, we should need to revise our commercial treaties, especially with Pannonia, so as to forbid the importation of spirits, and this is too big a thing to be carried through in a hurry, particularly just now. And then, though you call me a fanatic, I am not so bigoted a temperance man as to feel called upon to deprive those people of alcohol for whom a moderate amount of it may be desirable, or even necessary. I merely wish to keep the younger generation from growing up with a taste for dram-drinking, and to make it impossible for men to meet at the _cafés_ and muddle themselves with adulterated spirits as they do now.”

“But why fool about with licences at all, instead of establishing your beloved Gothenburg system at once throughout the kingdom?”

“Because our present statistics are so imperfect that we have no idea either as to the number of existing public-houses, or the proportion which would meet the actual needs of the country. At present, any man who has a front yard and a table has only to borrow a bench or two and get in a cask of spirits on credit, and there is a new dram-shop. To buy out all these fellows at once would entail an expense impossible for us to meet. In future, as you see, no further taverns are to be opened, except by permission from the central authority, while each year, by means of the sum of money I propose to appropriate for the purpose from my civil list, the rights of a certain number of existing proprietors will be compulsorily acquired. By the end of the third year we ought to have reduced the multitude of public-houses to something corresponding with the needs of the country, and then there will be a chance for the Gothenburg system. The surviving publicans, who will have been chosen for their good behaviour and careful management during the three years of probation, will have become used to State control, and will have the choice of continuing their employment as salaried servants of the State, or of being bought out at once. I know the scheme is not perfect, but it is the best I can devise with the means at our disposal. We have to deal with the Thracians as we find them.”

“Then what are the advantages you claim?”

“Restriction without confiscation, the limitation of public-houses to the smallest possible number, the placing of control in the hands of an impartial central department, with trustworthy inspectors at its command, instead of biassed local bodies, and the chance of weaning the younger generation from the drinking habits of their fathers.”

“I call it grandmotherly legislation,” murmured Cyril.

“There are worse things even than that. I am convinced that this is our one opportunity of action, while the country is in its present unsettled state. The licensing plan will be established before the people know where they are, and according to the scheme that will develop into the Gothenburg system as soon as the idea has become general. If you will be so good as to have the Bill drafted, M. Drakovics, I shall be glad to go through the several clauses with you.”

And Caerleon saw his brother and his Prime Minister retire discomfited. The die was cast. He had embarked on the course Nadia had pointed out, and begun the work to which she had urged him. At least she would know that he was doing his best. His action might be unconstitutional, but if so, that was for the people to resent. If they were wise, they would prefer to be well governed, even by a stretch of the royal prerogative, rather than continue in their present state. If they were not wise, they might seek another king.

But the Thracians proved that they were wise. Caerleon’s researches into the social life of Bellaviste, and some of his speeches to prominent persons since he had been in the city, had awakened public feeling on the subject of the drinking customs of the community. The chief desire of the people was to appear in the eyes of Europe as an enlightened nation, and it was a grievous blow for them to discover that they had struck their new King as an assemblage of drunkards. The reproach must be rolled away, and the proposal for reform was accordingly received with acclamation. M. Drakovics was sufficiently far-sighted to perceive that divided councils at this juncture would ruin the future of the kingdom without doing any good to the question, and on the principle of giving up his own way with a good grace when he surrendered it at all, he threw himself loyally into the King’s scheme, bestowed endless trouble on the drafting and details of the measure, and introduced it himself in one of his famous speeches. Nor did his pains end here. It was necessary to press the Bill through all its stages as quickly as possible, as, in spite of the enthusiasm with which it was received, a strong opposition to its provisions soon made itself felt, which gathered strength as time went on. The distillers and shopkeepers of Bellaviste, who had been among the staunchest supporters of the late king, but who had profited much by the excitement of the revolution and the thirst it engendered, were disposed to resist strenuously any interference with their thriving trade of spirit-selling. Opposed to them were the bulk of the national party, young students and politicians principally, with a sprinkling of old patriots who remembered the emancipation of Thracia from the Roumi yoke, and the simple and frugal life which had preceded the rule of the later Franzas. These men had the courage of their convictions. A temperance society, which had been founded by the wife of a former British Consul-General, and had for some time led a languishing existence in Bellaviste, took a new lease of life, and added numbers of enthusiastic converts every day to its roll. Caerleon was unanimously entreated to become the president, and consented to accept the office, whereupon a loyal member made a suggestion for a new medal bearing the King’s portrait, which was taken up with enthusiasm, and a large supply ordered. From that day forward the display of a blue ribbon, with one of these medals hanging from it, betokened the ardent Carlinist; and those English reformers who deprecate the degrading of the temperance question into a matter of party politics, would have been forced to admit that in Bellaviste to have taken the pledge was the unerring mark of a member of the national party. But in spite of the ardour of the new converts, the voting power of the liquor-sellers would have swamped the Bill in the Legislative Assembly, if M. Drakovics had not summoned to his aid in the Upper House his supporters from the provinces. The chieftains rallied around him at his call, and since they all entertained a wholesome dislike and contempt for the vices of the city, they voted with one accord for the Bill, which was passed triumphantly into law. M. Drakovics stood by it to the end without flinching; but when it had received the King’s assent, he relieved his mind in private to Cyril.

“One would scarcely have anticipated,” he said, “that the people would so enthusiastically support the new King without once asking what were the views of the old Minister.”

“Why, what could you expect?” said Cyril. “You introduced the Bill; naturally they thought you approved of it.”

“They took it for granted,” said M. Drakovics. “The King is now everything; I have only to execute his orders.”

“Yes,” said Cyril, “you meant him to be figure-head, and he insists on steering. It must be slightly disconcerting.”

“You laugh at me, milord? I would ask you to remember that cases have been known in history in which a Minister who has raised a King to power has also deprived him of it.”

“And other cases in which the King has dispensed with the services of the Minister,” said Cyril, quickly. “I will back my reminiscences against yours, M. Drakovics. But it is foolish to go on quoting modern instances in this way, especially when you remember that Caerleon doesn’t care a straw whether you deprive him of the kingdom or not. You have done your best for the Bill, and laid my brother under an obligation. You can’t do without him, nor he without you; so don’t let us hear any more about dethroning kings and that sort of thing. It’s very bad form to talk to me in that way, at any rate, and I don’t like it. We shall rub along together very well if we are willing to give and take on both sides. And to cheer you, I’ll tell you something that will please you. I shouldn’t wonder if Caerleon has done a very good stroke of business in getting this Bill passed.”

“A good stroke for himself? Naturally so.”

“And for the kingdom too. Here is a regular assemblage of English papers which has just come in, and I have been looking through them to see how our proceedings are regarded. Our own men, poor beggars! are waiting for an authoritative pronouncement from the Government before saying anything; though it is easy to see that they consider Caerleon a rather dangerous lunatic at large. But the Radical papers, from which I was anticipating floods of eloquence, are checked in their wild career, most of them, by this Liquor Bill. They are nearly all committed to temperance reform at home, and they positively can’t slate the first man that’s courageous enough to try it, even if he is defying their dearly beloved Scythia. Of course their cry is for absolute prohibition; but none of them have been able to get so near it as even to bring about the adoption of the Scandinavian system, and though they scout the idea of compensation as unnecessary, they can’t help respecting a man who sacrifices a third of his civil list to form a fund for buying up licences. The non-temperance papers are rabid, naturally. Caerleon is a faddist, and a Puritan, and an Exeter Hall autocrat, and all the rest of it. In ‘Mendacity,’ Dickinson calmly--or rather frantically--demands that he should be impeached, not for his temperance legislation, of course, but for poaching on Scythia’s preserves. Rather a fine idea to impeach the king of a foreign country, whom you can’t possibly get hold of, isn’t it?”

“Then the English papers have awakened to a knowledge of our proceedings at last?” said M. Drakovics, with rather a sickly smile. “The Government has given no indication of its policy as yet, I suppose?”

“No,” returned Cyril; “but I think there is a storm brewing.”

“Ah!” said M. Drakovics, quickly. “Why?”

“On account of the extraordinary number of letters which have come for Caerleon from different family friends, old comrades of my father’s, and so on. The Master of his college has written, and the Bishop of Carsfield--who was head of Eton in our day--and a good many others whose names carry weight; and all their letters are in the same strain, begging him to reconsider the step he has taken, and return to England at once, while he has the chance. No doubt the Powers have begun to see that it’s all very well to send notes to St James’s demanding that Caerleon shall be recalled, but that St James’s has no power in the matter. If the Government had sent him out, it might recall him; but he came on his own initiative, and it would only be courting a rebuff to order him back if he wouldn’t come. Our men are too wise to lay themselves open to such a slight, but all the moral influence they can exercise unofficially will be brought to bear.”

“Ah!” said M. Drakovics again.

“For instance,” Cyril went on, “here is a long screed from Forfar, writing, as he says, not as leader of the party, but as a personal friend of Caerleon’s. That’s all very well; but it’s quite evident that the letter is a private warning from him and the Duke----”

“What Duke?” asked M. Drakovics.

“His brother-in-law, the Duke of Old Sarum, of course,” said Cyril, impatiently. “He entreats Caerleon to withdraw from Thracia immediately, and hints how very painful it would be for the Government to be forced to take action against him. He says that he has broken through strict official usage in sending him this friendly warning, and earnestly trusts he will accept it. After this they must act as they find necessary, and he will have to take the consequences. That last little touch of menace is the Duke’s, I know.”

“And what does the King say? Will he take the advice proffered by all these old friends and kind people?” asked M. Drakovics, anxiously.

“Rather not!” laughed Cyril. “He means to stick to you and Thracia. No; there’s only one thing that would uproot him, I think. If Forfar and the Duke had the sense to get a certain Person to write to him and request him as a favour to abdicate, and not to imperil the peace of Europe----”

“I see,” said M. Drakovics, “you mean the----”

“There is no need to mention names,” said Cyril. “I merely say that I am afraid Caerleon’s chivalry would incline him to follow the advice of a Person in such a position, and with so much experience.”

“But have they tried the expedient?” asked M. Drakovics, looking anxiously at the heap of papers on the table, as though he expected the letter of the Illustrious Personage to arrive by the ordinary post, bearing a 2½d. stamp.

“Not they!” said Cyril. “A bold, picturesque dash like that is quite undreamt of in their philosophy. But I will tell you what I have here--two more warnings. One is from a man who was at Pavelsburg with me. This is what he says: ‘Dear Cill, _Que diable fait ton frère dans cette galère_? If you will take a straight tip, get him out of it as quickly as you can. I say this for auld lang syne.’ The other is from Mrs Sadleir--not a letter, simply a sentence underlined in one of these precious newspapers--‘If he is wise, the so-called King will do his best to obtain recognition from Roum as soon as possible.’”

“Exactly,” said M. Drakovics, with a ghastly smile, “and my news this morning is that there is a hitch in our negotiations with Roum. Our agent at Czarigrad has been refused an audience, while a special Scythian mission was received with peculiar warmth.”

“Ah!” said Cyril, “and if the recognition is refused, you are a rebel, and Caerleon and I are filibusters. Decidedly, in such a case as this, nothing succeeds _but_ success. _Allons_, monsieur! we are all in the same boat, and we may as well stick to the ship. It is possible that the Grand Signior was only trying to put Scythia off the scent. If it is so, we shall see. If not----”

The sentence was left unfinished as M. Drakovics departed shaking his head, and Cyril returned to his work of writing answers to his brother’s correspondents. He had no further private conversation with the Premier until one morning several days later, when M. Drakovics entered the office in great excitement.

“Milord, we are lost! Our agent at Czarigrad telegraphs that the recognition is definitely refused. There is a _rapprochement_ between Scythia and Pannonia--the Emperors have met. Secret negotiations are proceeding among the Powers, and the British Government is understood to have decided to remain neutral. There is only one thing that can save Thracia. His Majesty must marry the Princess Ottilie of Mœsia.”

“Indeed!” said Cyril. “What good will that do?”

“Everything. The King of Mœsia is the nephew of the Grand Duke of Schwarzwald-Molzau, and that house is connected with every reigning family in Europe. Moreover, the King, so I learn from my correspondent at Eusebia, would like the match. The Queen wishes her daughter to marry the Prince of Dardania, but he objects to him, and has more than hinted that he would prefer a son-in-law from Thracia. Again, we can offer an inducement. There is a strip of territory on our Mœsian frontier which has been ours since the last war. The people are really Mœsians by race, and give us more trouble than all our Thracians put together; but we have held fast to the territory, knowing that it would be useful as a _quid pro quo_ in case we were ever desirous of obtaining a concession from Mœsia. The King would give anything to have it back, and in exchange for it we shall gain the strongest family alliance we could propose, and the help of Mœsia and the Mœsian army in case of war.”

“There seems to be a good deal of the _quid pro quo_ in your philosophy,” said Cyril. “The difficulty will be to make Caerleon come into the scheme. How are you going to get him to propose?”

“There is no need for his Majesty to conduct the preliminary negotiations in person,” said M. Drakovics, drily. “I have already telegraphed to Eusebia instructing our agent to make formal proposals to the King for the hand of the Princess.”

“And this without telling Caerleon?” cried Cyril in astonishment. “Well, I don’t envy you when you try to break the news to him. If he kicks you down-stairs, don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

“But it is you that will be kicked, milord, not I,” said M. Drakovics, calmly. “His Majesty is your charge, the kingdom is mine,--that is our agreement, as you know. I have done my part in this affair by setting on foot negotiations which will ensure the safety of the kingdom. It falls to you to bring his Majesty to acquiesce in them.”

Caught in his own trap in this way, Cyril passed a very bad quarter of an hour with M. Drakovics. The elder man was resolute, the younger furious--the ground of his fury being not so much the nature of the Premier’s action as the fact that he had taken it without consulting him. That M. Drakovics had exceeded his powers and got into a scrape, and was now looking to him to save him from the consequences, was Cyril’s view of the case; but as often as he urged it M. Drakovics replied with perfect calmness that it had been necessary to act immediately, and that if he had consulted Cyril the latter would have hesitated to agree without first sounding his brother, a course which would have destroyed all hope of success. Finally, M. Drakovics, with a cool obstinacy which showed Cyril another reason for his being called the Bismarck instead of the Kossuth of the Balkans, reiterated his demand that Cyril should undertake to acquaint Caerleon with the part it was desired that he should play.

“You see, milord,” he observed, frankly, “if the King was angry with me, and lost his temper so far as to address me rudely, or even, perhaps, to attempt to strike me, I am bound to resent it, for I represent Thracia. I should feel compelled to resign, and then Thracia is lost. But you are different, and, moreover, you are better acquainted than I am with his Majesty’s character, and the best way of approaching him on such a delicate matter.”

“It strikes me that my valour is the better part of your discretion,” said Cyril; “but there is something in what you say. Don’t imagine that I shall spare you, though. I quite see that Caerleon ought to marry this Mœsia girl--in fact, that it will probably make all the difference between success and a big smash if he does--but I don’t think you have acted on the square. You needn’t blame me if you are out of office this evening. Well, now to beard the lion in his den. It may as well be done at once, before an ecstatic telegram arrives from King Johann Casimir, welcoming his proposed son-in-law to his kingdom and his heart.”

M. Drakovics smiled to see Cyril pause in front of one of the mirrors in the corridor as he spoke, and rearrange his tie, which had become twisted in the heat of the argument; but when he saw him put his hands in his pockets and lounge idly into Caerleon’s study he understood him better. Cyril’s _rôle_ was to be that of absolute innocence.

Caerleon was sitting at his writing-table, busied with the reports and telegrams from Thracian agents at the various European Courts which M. Drakovics had brought for his consideration, taking care to abstract the one from Eusebia. He looked up as Cyril came in.

“Have you heard of the different blows which are about to fall on us?” he said. “Things look pretty black.”

“Oh yes, Drakovics has been telling me about them,” returned Cyril. “I hear that you are to act Curtius, and throw yourself into the gulf.”

“By abdicating? Has Drakovics come to that already? I haven’t. I don’t mean to give up Thracia without a little fighting, unless they can find a better man whom the people will accept.”

“Something much more heroic than abdicating. There is a lady in the case. Marriage is the gulf.”

“Then I fear the gulf will remain unfilled,” said Caerleon, turning back to his papers.

“Oh, that’s all fudge. You know it’s the only thing to be done.”

“There’s no need to discuss the subject,” said Caerleon, coldly. “You know what I feel about it.”

“But what is the good of wearing the willow all your life----?”

“I have already said that I decline to discuss the subject with you,” said Caerleon, and Cyril saw that in speaking calmly he was putting a very strong constraint upon himself. He changed his tone instantly.

“Oh, very well. Of course I have no right to complain if you tell Drakovics things you won’t tell me. Still, it’s rather rough on a man.”

“What do you mean? You know perfectly well that nothing is further from my thoughts than to discuss my private affairs with Drakovics.”

“Oh, I suppose you call this a public affair,” returned Cyril, with the air of a man who has neither time nor inclination for such nice distinctions. “I don’t want to appear inquisitive, but perhaps you’ll let me know the day when it’s fixed?”

“Cyril, are you mad? or is this a particularly feeble joke? Tell me what you are driving at.”

“Of course it’s no business of mine,” Cyril went on, unheeding; “but when you have gone so far as to authorise Drakovics to make proposals in your name for the hand of a lady, I think I might have been told.”

“I send a proposal? and through Drakovics? You must be dreaming. Who is the lady?”

“Princess Ottilie of Mœsia.”

“A girl I have never spoken to in my life!” Caerleon’s tone was one of hopeless bewilderment.

“Oh yes, you have. You danced with her at the State ball two years ago, when the Mœsias visited England, don’t you remember? The King looked on and smiled approvingly, and the chaperons began to put their heads together and discuss seriously the best way of preventing foreign royalties from carrying off the biggest things in the marriage market. I believe they came to the conclusion that no princess ought ever to be allowed to marry a subject. With princes it was different, of course. You can’t have forgotten?”

“I remember her--a black-eyed, rather bouncing girl. But you don’t mean,” and Caerleon grew hot and cold as the recollection came back to him of the chaff he had endured from his friends on account of the unmistakable favour shown him by the royal guests,--“you don’t mean that they are on the track of that foolery again? They must be made to understand at once that it’s absolutely impossible. You never believed it?”

“I was very glad to hear it.”

“What! when you know that it’s less than a month since I asked Nadia O’Malachy to marry me, and that I would willingly chuck up the kingdom to-day if she would only take me?”

“I hoped,” said Cyril, deliberately, “that you regarded that affair as over and done with, and were intending to sacrifice your private feelings and do the best thing for the country.”

“You thought I was intending to be a scoundrel?”

“I _wish_ you would not be melodramatic,” said Cyril, pathetically. “Here we are, between the devil, which is Scythia, and the deep sea of the neutrality of the other Powers, and you have the chance of settling everything on a firm foundation by marrying a very handsome girl belonging to one of the oldest houses in Europe. I am not given to preaching, but I do say that it would be a sin not to sacrifice your feelings in such a case, and marry her. The marriage would simply be the making of you and Thracia both.”

“I--will--not--do--it,” said Caerleon, forcing out the words slowly.

“As for Miss O’Malachy,” went on Cyril, “I give her credit for possessing much too good sense to wish to keep you a bachelor all your life for her sake. If you were to consult her, I am sure she would wish you to make a suitable marriage. In fact, I should think she has probably advised you already to do so.” The blow told, for Caerleon winced at the remembrance of the advice which it had been almost harder for him to hear from her lips than for Nadia to give. “She knew perfectly well what she was doing when she refused you. It meant that you were each to go your own way in the future, with no thought of the other. If you don’t marry, it will be thought you still have hopes of her.”

“And what is it to you if I have?” demanded Caerleon, so fiercely that Cyril jumped. He could not think of anything to say, and presently Caerleon resumed in a quieter tone, “But I have none. She put me on my honour to stick to the kingdom, and so long as I am king she will have nothing to do with me.”

“I knew she was a sensible woman!” said Cyril, triumphantly. “Now, Caerleon, let me advise you to take this thing quietly. See Princess Ottilie. You haven’t an idea what she is really like, and you may find her very like Miss O’Malachy----” (“I hope to goodness he won’t!” he added to himself), “or she may catch your heart at the rebound, or you may fall head over ears in love with her, and find that you really mistook your feelings last time----”

“I am so sure of my feelings,” interrupted Caerleon, “that I won’t pretend to run after another girl for anything you can offer me.”

“Then I should like to know what you mean to do,” said Cyril. “It’s not a private and personal matter; it is to save your kingdom.”

“Hang the kingdom!” cried Caerleon. “I won’t sell myself for the sake of Thracia. If I can’t be king and be a gentleman, let the kingdom go.”

“If you would only listen for a moment!” sighed Cyril. “This is what I was going to say. Take no further steps of any kind, and leave everything to Drakovics. Things can be formally arranged without your going near the girl, and the mere fact that the preliminaries are settled will do all we want. Once we are past this crisis, and Scythia and Pannonia have quarrelled again, you can pay a visit to Eusebia, and make yourself so disgustingly disagreeable that the Princess will be bound to throw you over.”

“Of all the shabby tricks!” cried Caerleon, pushing back his chair violently. “I declare, Cyril, if I didn’t know you were joking, I’d kick you out of the room. Entrap a girl into a bogus engagement for the sake of gaining a political advantage, indeed!”

“I only wish you had displayed a little of this aggressive virtue before,” said Cyril. “You quite gave Drakovics to understand, when he first offered you the crown, that you were prepared to fall in with his views on matrimony, and he has merely been acting upon that.”

“On the contrary, I disagreed with his ideas even then,” said Caerleon; “and if I hadn’t, what has happened since would have put my adopting them out of the question. You ought to know that. But perhaps it was you that put Drakovics up to this business about Princess Ottilie?” turning upon him sharply.

“No, on my honour,” said Cyril, eagerly, relieved at being able to deny with perfect truth this direct accusation. “Drakovics is a Spartan sort of fellow, and I suppose he thinks that as soon as you are off with the old love you may as well be on with a new. It’s his own idea altogether.”

“I beg your pardon, old man,” said Caerleon. “Everything is so crooked in this wretched place that I was even beginning to suspect you. But I am glad you had nothing to do with it. Just telephone to Drakovics to come up at once, will you?”

“Why?” asked Cyril, standing before the tube, lest his brother should resent his hesitation and insist on using it himself.

“That he may explain to the King of Mœsia that he has made a mistake, of course.”

“But, Caerleon, you can’t do things in that way!” cried Cyril. “Think of the girl! Why, the news is public property by this time, all over Europe, and there isn’t a soul that won’t believe but that you have found out something against her that has made you change your mind.”

“Then I will disown Drakovics’s action, and say that he acted without my authority.”

“Then he will resign, and you will lose the only man who possesses the confidence of the people, and can support you to any purpose at this juncture. You can’t do it, Caerleon. Besides, that again is a nasty one for the girl. Won’t you see her? No one can tell what might happen then.”

“If I see her, I shall simply tell her the whole story,” said Caerleon, grimly. “She will have no wish to marry me after that.”

“Let me tell her about the matter for you,” suggested Cyril.

“No, thank you,” returned his brother. “I have a pretty fair idea of the way you would speak of it--as a youthful indiscretion, of which I was ashamed. And I am not ashamed. I should be the proudest man on earth if Nadia were to be crowned with me this day two months.”

“Very well,” sighed Cyril. “I suppose if you will make an ass of yourself, you must. We are to arrange, then, for a personal interview, in the course of which you will, in so many words, refuse to marry Princess Ottilie?”

“There’s no occasion to do anything so rude. I shall simply tell her the truth, and leave it to her to refuse me. Or I’ll write to her. Yes, that’s much the best plan. It will save time and a lot of difficulty.”

“But you can’t!” cried Cyril, with his hand on the door. “Do you mean to write to a girl who hasn’t even accepted you, and tell her you won’t marry her? No, you must see her, as you say, and explain things. I’ll manage to get you an interview somehow, though it’s against my better judgment.”

“Be quick, then,” cried Caerleon after him, as he went out, “for if there’s any delay, I shall write to her myself.”