CHAPTER XI.

A DELICATE NEGOTIATION.

“Well?” asked M. Drakovics, anxiously, when Cyril appeared in his office. “How did his Majesty receive the news?”

“As badly as you could wish. He won’t hear of marrying Princess Ottilie, and wanted to telegraph his views at once to Eusebia. However, I have got him to consent to see the lady, so that the honour of refusing him may rest with her, and if we play our cards well, that ought to give us all we want.”

“How?” asked M. Drakovics, quickly.

“It will gain us time and a favourable impression, and if we can once succeed in separating Scythia and Pannonia, we ought certainly to be able to prevent their coming together again.”

“Undoubtedly we ought to be able to manage that. But how do you propose to bring about a coolness between them?”

“The coolness will come of its own accord fast enough when it is understood that Caerleon is going to marry Princess Ottilie, for the Empress of Pannonia was one of the Schwarzwald-Molzaus, and they always stick together. Our business, therefore, is to produce the impression, even if it is only a temporary one, that he is going to marry her.”

“Right!” said M. Drakovics, emphatically. “And your method?”

“We are to consider it settled, I suppose, that the King of Mœsia will take kindly to the idea? Very well; then as soon as his answer is received, you must telegraph to inquire whether he will give a private audience to a confidential envoy of the highest rank, in order to discuss matters connected with the proposed marriage. He is pretty safe to consent, and then either you or I must go to Eusebia.”

“But why?”

“In reality to arrange for this interview which is to end everything. But if the European public chooses to regard the mission in a different light, we cannot help it.”

“Ah!” said M. Drakovics. “But you must go. I dare not leave Bellaviste at this juncture. I cannot trust the townspeople.”

“Never mind,” said Cyril, “I will go. It will look even better, as it is a family matter. There is no need to wait for King Johann’s answer before making our preparations. If you will set about having relays of horses got ready for me at all the posting-stations, I shall be able to start as soon as things are settled.”

“And you will not have to go as far as Eusebia,” said M. Drakovics. “The King and Queen and Court are at Herzensruh, a country-seat which is only a few miles from our own frontier. Your idea is excellent, and yet--! Without a doubt, it would be still more effective if only we could produce the impression that the King himself was coming _incognito_ to plead his own cause. I suppose it would be impossible for you to personate him?”

“Considering that there is just eight inches’ difference between our heights, and that the King and Queen and Princess all know him by sight, it is probable that it would,” said Cyril. “But, believe me, monsieur, my visit will serve our views better than any romantic journey Caerleon himself could make.”

“What do you intend to say to King Johann?” asked M. Drakovics.

“My cue will be this. Caerleon is a very modest and retiring fellow, with an exaggerated idea of his own defects. He has been horrified to discover that proposals have been made for his marriage without his having had any opportunity of consulting privately the wishes of the Princess----”

“I see,” said M. Drakovics. “You may lay as much blame on me as you like,” he added, magnanimously. “I am a statesman, a plain man of business, knowing nothing of the subtleties of love-making, you perceive?”

“Precisely. Well, Caerleon cannot bring himself to believe that the Princess would be willing to accept him if she knew what he was really like. A ballroom acquaintance does not seem to him to form a sufficient foundation for a happy marriage, and he is afraid that his character and tastes might not attract the young lady’s fancy. This distressing diffidence is making his life such a burden to him, that I am sent to see whether a meeting between the young people cannot be arranged before anything irrevocable is settled. Of course, when the interview has once taken place, all will come right. It would be treason to the Princess to think otherwise. You see, if it is properly put, it is rather complimentary to her than not.”

“Yes; but then the meeting will destroy everything.”

“But we shall have done what we wanted, and you may be sure I will mention as late a date for it as possible. And I don’t despair of squaring Princess Ottilie. Caerleon has agreed to abide by her decision, and if she won’t consent to refuse him, he must marry her. There’s no doubt that if he told his story to King Johann, he would simply laugh at it, and the Princess might possibly do the same. But that must depend on any chance I may get of speaking to her alone. Where is the meeting to be?”

“There need be no difficulty about that. We have several matters in dispute with Dardania, and it has long been agreed that King Carlino and the Prince of Dardania should meet and talk them over under the excuse of a hunting-party. Now, our frontiers meet those of Mœsia and Dardania at a spot only three or four miles from Herzensruh, and it will be the easiest possible thing for the Mœsian royal family to arrange for an interview at the same time. The date and the exact details you will of course decide.”

“All right,” said Cyril; “but isn’t it rather a pity to have the Prince of Dardania knocking about on such a delicate occasion? He might be inclined to spoil sport.”

“Pooh!” cried M. Drakovics; “he may try, but he will not succeed. What chance has a prince when a king is in the way? All women are dazzled by a crown, and the Queen and her daughter will be the very first to scorn him.”

“Very conveniently for us,” said Cyril. “Well, we will consider that settled. Now for another highly important matter. The whole thing must be carried through with exaggerated secrecy, and yet the secret must leak out, do you see? or we shall have all our trouble for nothing.”

“Certainly,” said M. Drakovics. “A whisper to my agents on the various Bourses of Europe will ensure its dissemination.”

“Whispers are apt to be overheard,” said Cyril, “and I have a better plan. You remember Hicks, the American who gave us so much trouble over the O’Malachy business? Well, it so happens that he is spending two or three days here now after going to Bashi Konak and back. I met him last night, and he tried to pump me and find out how his Majesty was getting over his disappointment. Of course I told him nothing, only shook my head and looked knowing, and intimated that I could make startling revelations an if I would; but that is a good foundation for our business now.”

“And you knew nothing at that time of all this!” said M. Drakovics, with reluctant admiration.

“Of course not; but I was not going to give myself away by saying so. What would become of diplomacy if a man said plainly when he knew nothing about a thing? Hicks is going to be as good as a news-agency to us, but he will have to find out everything for himself. You understand?”

“I am deeply interested, milord. Pray proceed.”

“Well, in the evening you will bring out a special Gazette with an official announcement that the rumours which have been lately in circulation as to a _rapprochement_ between us and Mœsia are wholly premature and unauthorised. Of course there are no rumours whatever, but that is a detail. There will be some soon enough after this _communiqué_, and it will stir Hicks up. Then, when it is dark, I will send down our English groom to the Hôtel Occidental, to inquire whether they can let us have two horses that are good for a hard long-distance ride next morning. We could use our own horses, naturally, but there would be no publicity in that. He will not say where they are to go, but he will hint mysteriously at a country not far to the west of us, and he will obstinately refuse to state who is going to travel. After that, I think it will be surprising if Mr Hicks doesn’t hire a window overlooking the west gate, and sit up all night to see the start.”

“And then?”

“I shall take only Wright with me, but you will accompany me to the gate, mentioning loud enough to be heard that the relays of horses are ready all the way. I shall be muffled up, as though to escape recognition; but when I am abreast of Hicks the muffler will slip for a moment--quite accidentally, of course--and he will just catch a glimpse of my face. That will be enough for him, and the news will be all over Europe by the evening. I only rely on you to take no further steps without consulting me, and to keep any papers which speak of the marriage as a certainty out of Caerleon’s way until I return.”

“But are you able to undertake so long a ride, milord?”

“Oh, I shall do it somehow. The more dead tired I am the better the impression will be--haste and eagerness so intense, you know, and all that sort of thing. Besides, I shall take it out of Caerleon a little. He will be horribly cut up when he finds that I have undergone so much fatigue just out of tenderness for his scruples, and it ought to make him easier to manage in future. Riding hard all the way, I should be back in three days. That is quite long enough to give him a fright.”

“Milord,” said M. Drakovics, with deep conviction, “I am more and more thankful that it is your brother, and not you, who is King of Thracia. Hitherto I have bemoaned my hard fate in having to manage a man with a conscience; but I perceive now that compared with a man without one he is simplicity itself to deal with.”

“Isn’t that pretty good, from you to me?” asked Cyril with slow scorn, and the Premier shrugged his shoulders and spread forth his hands deprecatingly as he bowed himself out.

If the interests of strict morality are to be considered, it would have been well that the several portions of Cyril’s scheme should not have met with the complete success which actually attended them. The appearance of the special Gazette with its enigmatical announcement created a great sensation in the city, which was heightened by the fact that the alarming foreign news of the morning had been eagerly noised abroad by Scythian sympathisers among the townspeople. Wright performed his business at the Hôtel Occidental with the most appropriate woodenness of manner, stoutly refusing to be drawn into any clear statement as to the intended destination of the travellers, but giving the necessary hints with an extensive facial contortion which he denominated a wink. Things had fallen out so well that Cyril felt a good deal of pleasurable excitement as he walked through the silent streets in the autumn twilight of the next morning but one, wondering whether Mr Hicks would be equal to the occasion. The King of Mœsia had replied with effusion, both to the first overtures made by M. Drakovics, and to the later telegram respecting the envoy, and the energetic sending of messages backwards and forwards, the news of which had in some way penetrated to the town, had heightened the popular excitement. The horses were waiting at the west gate, under charge of a mounted police official who was to escort the travellers during the first stage of their journey, and there was a little crowd of inquisitive citizens gathered at no great distance. A thrill of triumph ran through Cyril as he recognised among them the sallow face and scanty beard of the American, and he rejoiced that virtue should not be its own sole reward in the case of Mr Hicks’s early rising. He had muffled his throat and the lower part of his face in a silk scarf, and turned up his collar, and as he mounted his horse it was easy to let the scarf slip for a moment, which was all that the journalist required. He went back to the hotel with a sensation in his note-book, and Cyril rode away on his quest cheered by a pleasing consciousness of success.

Prior to this day’s experiences, Wright had always entertained a deep-rooted conviction that Lord Cyril’s horsemanship was far inferior to that of his brother, both as regarded skill and endurance; but now he was compelled to admit that he rode “like a Trojan,” whatever that vague but evidently expressive comparison might mean. With short halts for food and change of horses, they rode on hour after hour, being handed over by their first guide to a second, and so on at every stage, and arriving at Schloss Herzensruh late at night. Cyril found himself intrusted to the care of the master of the household, who treated him with breathless consideration, and intimated that he would be admitted in the morning to an intensely private and confidential interview with King Johann, and be allowed to depart early, so as to avoid comment. The King of Mœsia had not Cyril’s reasons for desiring an unauthorised publicity for the object of his errand, and the envoy congratulated himself that he had not trusted to the enterprise of Mœsian journalists.

Morning came, and Cyril was conducted with extreme precaution to the King’s private room, where there was a secretary on guard at the door, and a stalwart gamekeeper outside the window. Secrecy having been ensured by this means, King Johann greeted his guest with delight, and proceeded to lay bare to him his mind and the state of feeling in his kingdom far more thoroughly than he had any idea of doing. The impression that he produced on Cyril was that of a fussy, nervous man, half elated by the fact of his having emancipated himself from his wife’s control, and half afraid of the consequences. Throughout their married life it had always been his custom to follow her advice, and his kingdom had flourished exceedingly, until a few months before, when the little rift within the lute had originated in the double question of the marriage of Princess Ottilie, the only child of the royal couple, and the succession to the crown. The constitution of Mœsia did not allow a female to occupy the throne, and there was therefore no question of the Princess’s bringing that perilous dowry to her future husband; but while her mother wished her to marry the Prince of Dardania, a distant connection of her own, the King was prepared to allow her to marry any one else, but not the Prince. The reason for this difference of opinion was to be found in the fact that there was a strong party, both in the Mœsian Legislature and in the country, who desired the selection of Prince Alexis as their future ruler, anticipating that, when united with Dardania, the kingdom of Mœsia would be strong enough to strike awe even into her triumphant rival Thracia. The members of this party were most anxious for the marriage, and the Queen supported them with the calm determination which had always hitherto had its due weight with her more hasty husband; but some time after the affair had been considered as settled, its course was interrupted by an alien influence, wielded by the King’s uncle, the reigning Grand-Duke of Schwarzwald-Molzau. He had always regarded the kingdom of Mœsia as a snug preserve for one of the many cadets of his house, and it did not suit him at all that his plans should be crossed. Emissaries from Molzau were despatched to Mœsia, the King was invited to revisit the cradle of his race, and both there and in his own court he was cajoled, threatened, flattered, and bribed until he refused his consent to the projected marriage. The Queen was at first incredulous,--it seemed impossible that her power could have vanished with such suddenness; but the Schwarzwald-Molzaus had parted husband and wife only too effectually, and an armed neutrality now existed between them.

This was the state of affairs in Mœsia, when M. Drakovics replied to King Johann’s half-veiled hints as to the desirability of a closer alliance between the two kingdoms by the formal demand of Princess Ottilie’s hand for Caerleon--a demand which the monarch had hastened with somewhat unkingly eagerness to grant. With the Princess safely married to some one else, the Prince of Dardania would be deprived of one of the chief influences on which he relied for support in his candidature for the throne, while there was no fear that the Mœsians would ever elect Caerleon as their sovereign. The mutual hatred between Mœsia and Thracia was far too great for the two nations to consent to be united under any circumstances, and this left the way clear for the formal adoption by the reigning sovereign, and subsequent accession to the Mœsian throne, of one of the younger princes of the house of Schwarzwald-Molzau.

The first question of importance to be discussed between King Johann and his guest was that of the treaty, as to the provisions of which the King was nervously anxious. In fact, he was depending upon the acquisition of the disputed strip of country as a means of reconciling his subjects to the Thracian alliance, and preventing their mourning over the discomfiture of their favourite, Prince Alexis. Hence, although he heard it with wonder, he accepted with avidity the suggestion which Cyril had arranged with M. Drakovics should be made. In order to avoid the unpleasant savour of a bargain, in which the Princess would be handed over in return for the tract of land, the treaty respecting the disputed territory was to be drawn up and signed before any public announcement was made as to the marriage. The King did not appear to consider that it was less objectionable for his daughter to act as a seal upon the treaty than as an equivalent in it; but he grasped eagerly at the offer, and Cyril, who had been representing in the highest possible light the delicacy of his brother’s feelings, and the absolute certainty of his refusing to countenance anything in the nature of a bargain, heaved a sigh of unfeigned relief.

“This gives us a hold on the old fellow if the wedding doesn’t come off after all,” he thought, while the King was hugging himself in the idea that he had just achieved one of the most astute strokes of policy of modern times. It was agreed that the treaty should be signed as soon as it could be formally drawn up, and when King Johann suggested that this ratification might well take place at a personal meeting of the two sovereigns on the disputed territory, Cyril found the necessary opening for imparting the real object of his journey. The King listened in astonishment as he unfolded his story of Caerleon’s excessive humility, and his determination to consult the wishes of the Princess before he would consider himself engaged to her.

“But this is abs--romantic!” cried the King. “It is a piece of the Middle Ages. Naturally the girl will accept him when she has been instructed to do so. Why should she not? His fears are preposterous.”

“That is exactly my own view, sir,” said Cyril, in the tone of one whose endurance had been taxed to the utmost; “but I regret to say that I cannot enforce it upon my brother. However, after what your Majesty has just said of the docile disposition of her Royal Highness, I hope the matter will prove to be merely a form.”

“There is no doubt of that,” said the king, hastily. “If the King of Thracia is bent upon taking this course I must allow it, although he will find it a very bad precedent,--undermining his authority, admitting doubts as to his power, and so on. But I will give my daughter her orders, and the Queen and she both know by this time that it will be the worse for her if she does not obey.”

The irrepressible triumph which animated these words betrayed the exultation of the weak-minded man who had gained a victory over a strong-minded woman; but Cyril discreetly took no notice of the tone, wondering only whether the King had intended to conduct his daughter by main force to the altar, and whether he imagined his auditor to be labouring under the delusion that the marriage would be a voluntary one on the part of Princess Ottilie. It was agreed that the important interview should take place the day after the signing of the treaty, at a hunting-party to be given by the King at Schloss Herzensruh, the previous day’s business having been conducted on the strip of territory which belonged at present to Thracia, but which would pass to Mœsia by the treaty. This settled, the King rose, and signed to Cyril to accompany him.

“Now that is all arranged, I will present you to the Queen and the Princess,” he said; and Cyril, divining that the presentation was intended as a token of defiance to the Queen, followed him from the room with lively interest as he marched across the corridor and entered by the door which a servant threw open.

“This is the Lord Cyril Mortimer, brother and envoy extraordinary of the King of Thracia,” announced King Johann, in a voice which was in itself a declaration of war; but Cyril saw at a glance that the Queen and her daughter had no intention of taking up the gauntlet. Both were perfectly calm and very friendly, and inquired graciously after people they had met in England. Princess Ottilie was taller and thinner than when he had last seen her, and it struck him that she had lost the loud manner which had aroused Caerleon’s dislike. She was growing more like her mother; but Cyril felt that it would be long before the impulsive dark-eyed girl would attain to the stately calmness of the unintellectual, placid-looking lady who was said to possess one of the wisest heads in Europe. She had foiled M. Drakovics once, at a period of acute crisis, and the Thracian Premier had never forgiven her for her victory, although he was wont to consider it a feather in his cap, as in that of the statesman whom he most wished to resemble, that he had all the ladies against him. A few minutes’ confidential communication with the Queen would throw light on many things, Cyril thought; but this was impossible so long as the King remained in the room, moving about uneasily. Her parting words, however, surprised him not a little.

“Tell his Majesty that I am looking forward to renewing my acquaintance with him,” she said. “Among our many English friends, there is none that I remember with so much admiration. I feel that one can have the most perfect confidence in him.”

“Your Majesty is too good,” said Cyril, astonished. “I am sure my brother has never ventured to hope that he held such a place in your recollection.”

“He is the most perfect gentleman I ever knew,” she said emphatically, and Cyril pondered over her words as he rode away from the castle. The last sentence he felt at liberty to disregard. It was a taunt flung at her husband by the Queen as a reply to his challenge; but he scented danger in the expressions she had used at first.

“She’s up to something,” he said to himself, “but I can’t for the life of me see what it is. It’s all very well for Drakovics to say that women will do such and such things; but that’s where he and fellows of his stamp always go wrong--in imagining that they can generalise about women. It’s scarcely ever possible to judge of a woman’s probable conduct from precedents. She is quite capable of striking out a new line each time. I wonder now whether the Queen thinks she will be able to get round the old man, and make him break off the match? Well, so long as we get the treaty signed, and they don’t set to work too soon, it doesn’t much matter. If only the King had not hung about as he did, I could have found out a good many interesting things. But he was afraid they would let on about Prince Alexis, and so he has effectually stopped my giving the Princess a warning as to Caerleon’s little game. It’s his own fault if the scheme goes wrong. I wonder whether he will be able to carry through the business with Pannonia properly.”

This unpleasant doubt exercised Cyril’s mind frequently during his long ride. He had devoted the concluding portion of his interview with the King to coaching him delicately for the part he was to play, without actually making any suggestions as to the means to be used. King Johann flattered himself that he was an accomplished diplomatist, but his young visitor could scarcely have ventured to leave him to act alone if he had not felt the issue to be so clear that the worst bungling could hardly succeed in obscuring it. The King’s duty was merely to intimate to his uncle, the Grand-Duke of Schwarzwald-Molzau, that if Caerleon’s position in Europe were secured, and he were allowed to marry Princess Ottilie, the succession to the Mœsian throne would be left open for one of the younger princes of the parent house. There could be little doubt that he would welcome the suggestion, and contrive to bring about the desired change in the policy of the Powers by influencing Pannonian diplomacy through his daughter the Empress. Thus Cyril’s mind was tolerably at ease when, after nearly a day and a half of riding--for he had started too late to complete the return journey in one day--he reached the neighbourhood of Bellaviste. They were passing through a small village when the first distant glimpse of the city was obtained, and Wright urged his horse up to Cyril’s.

“Beg your pardon, my lord, but p’raps you’d like to rest ’ere for a hour or so, and give these ’ere ’orses a feed and a bit of a rub-down. It looks as though we didn’t know ’ow to treat a ’orse to bring ’im in like this, and me always a-jawin’ the stable-boys about it.”

“I am sorry that the stable-boys will have to lose their object-lesson to-day, Wright,” said Cyril, with a smile of the utmost gentleness, “for it is important for us to hurry. But you need not think I am ashamed of the state the horses are in. If you like to ride yours through the next puddle, and get him well splashed, I have no objection.”

Wright touched his hat, and fell back with an inarticulate grunt, making no attempt to profit by the permission accorded him. At Schloss Herzensruh he had fallen in with a fellow-exile in the person of King Johann’s coachman, who was also an Englishman, and he had informed him, in the course of a long and generally lugubrious exchange of confidences, that “a straighter rider than ’is Majesty, nor a pleasanter master, I don’t wish to see--and it do take something like a ’orse to carry ’is Majesty,” he added with professional pride; “but Lord Cyril--there! ’e’s beyond me.” Cyril smiled to himself over the groom’s look of bewilderment as he rode on, and reflected that it would have been a thousand pities to spoil the effect of their return by care for the appearance of the horses. As it was, when the dusty and travel-stained riders and their weary beasts entered the gates of Bellaviste, they created a sensation. A keen curiosity had been rife ever since Cyril’s departure, to account for which the wildest theories had been started, and his return promised fresh interest to the townsfolk. They gathered about him in crowds, and inquired anxiously the object of his journey, and whether all was well. To the first question he professed himself unable to give an answer; but on the subject of the second he was able to reassure his questioners, although the most audacious hints as to the King’s possible marriage could gain no confirmation from his lips until he met Mr Hicks.

“Well, Lord Cyril, guess his Majesty’s about got over his disappointment, anyway?” remarked the journalist confidentially.

Cyril responded in two words of the American’s own language, “You bet!” and rode on to the palace. Dismounting hastily, he forbade the servants to announce him, and hurrying up the steps, staggered into Caerleon’s study, and collapsed upon the sofa.

“What! back already?” said Caerleon, looking up from his papers.

Cyril sat up. “_Already_!” he remarked, tragically; “I have ridden night and day for the sake of a fad of yours, and this is all I get for it!”

“My dear fellow, what made you do such a thing?” cried Caerleon, rising and coming towards him. “I never thought of your rushing to Mœsia and back like this. We shall have you ill again. Let me get you some brandy.”

“You had better call one of the servants, and let me give the order,” said Cyril, with crushing irony. “_You_ are a temperance man. Well, at any rate I hope you will be pleased to know that I have made arrangements for you to meet the Princess.”

“Is it really necessary for me to meet her?” asked Caerleon, anxiously. “I have been hoping you would manage to nip the scheme in the bud without that.”

“When you forbade me to mention the matter!” cried Cyril, with natural indignation. “I had plenty of opportunities for telling the King your story, but you had hinted that I should misrepresent it, so I said nothing. Of course I did the wrong thing. Well, I have done all I can, and I am dead beat. Just let me alone, that’s all I want.”

He turned over on the sofa and went to sleep, for it was perfectly true that he was very tired after the three days’ ride, while Caerleon stood looking at him in much apprehension and self-reproach. To cover his brother with a rug and send for the Court physician to see him were obviously the only things for the King to do; but when the doctor averred that there was nothing amiss with the patient but fatigue, and prescribed merely rest and mental relaxation, he could not accept the comfort thus conveyed. When Cyril had been roused with much difficulty from the sofa, and persuaded to go to bed, Caerleon went round to the stables to speak to Wright, whom he found engaged in superintending the grooming of one of the horses, which he conceived had been neglected during his absence.

“Glad to see you looking so fit, Wright,” said his master, as Wright straightened himself against the wall, and touched his cap. “I was afraid I should find you dead beat. Lord Cyril seems to be tired out.”

“Do ’e, your Majesty?” responded Wright. “I ’adn’t noticed it. If you’ll believe me, I think as ’is lordship’s ’avin’ a little joke with you. ’E’s always tryin’ on them sort of games, beggin’ your Majesty’s pardon.”

This was added as an afterthought, in response to Caerleon’s look of astonishment, as the King turned on his heel, and walked away in displeasure. Wright was getting disgustingly impudent, he reflected. No doubt too much had been made of him, and he felt that he had a right to put on side, as the only Englishman among the servants, but he must be taught his place. Caerleon was painfully conscious that there was not always a complete unity of aims and agreement as to means between Cyril and himself, but that Wright should venture to notice the fact was insufferable. He should learn that being the King’s fellow-countryman did not necessarily make him his confidant, and a studied repressiveness of manner in addressing him for some days would go far to make him forget that he had been chosen as Cyril’s sole companion on his important mission--an honour which seemed to have encouraged him to presume. And upon this decision Caerleon proceeded to act, to the signal discomfiture of Wright, whose natural enemies the stable-boys asserted themselves unmercifully when they saw that the royal favour had forsaken him.

Cyril, in the meantime, was enjoying himself. In obedience to the orders of the physician, he spent several days on a sofa in his room, and had all the papers brought him for his amusement. In this way he was enabled to exercise a very effectual press censorship, weeding the journals carefully, and sending down for Caerleon’s perusal only such old-fashioned and painfully respectable prints as never hint at an approaching royal marriage until the betrothal is actually announced. Thanks to Mr Hicks, all the more modern and go-ahead papers were teeming with reports and rumours on the subject of an anticipated Mœsio-Thracian alliance, and two days after his return Cyril noted with satisfaction a paragraph in a semi-official German paper to the effect that the Emperor of Pannonia appeared inclined to recede from the policy he had adopted of giving Scythia a free hand with regard to Thracia, and to maintain an attitude of reserve. This in itself was cheering, but for several days the situation continued to be extremely unsettled, constant rumours of _rapprochements_ and coolnesses coming to make matters doubtful. At last it was accepted as fairly certain that Scythia and Pannonia were unable to agree on the Thracian question, and that neither would trust the other to interfere; but before things had reached this dead-lock, which left matters as they had been before the two countries had arrived at their temporary agreement, Cyril had received a cipher message from King Johann Casimir to say that all was well.

This prepared the way for the signing of the treaty, which M. Drakovics had been drafting in accordance with Cyril’s notes of his conversation with the Mœsian sovereign; and when everything was ready, Caerleon and Cyril left Bellaviste for the frontier, in order to entertain the Prince of Dardania for a week’s hunting. The visit was a purely informal one, M. Drakovics only coming down twice to discuss various questions of policy, and the little party in the hunting-lodge found their stay very pleasant. The Prince of Dardania was young and athletic, and a mighty hunter, and displayed as much delight over his escape from the cares of State and the supervision of his Prime Minister as did Caerleon. The two became great friends, and their intimacy caused Cyril much apprehension, owing to his constant fear that they might discuss together the situation with respect to Mœsia. He gave himself endless trouble, and caught several colds, in accompanying them on all their expeditions, when he would much rather have remained sitting over the fire at the hunting-lodge or lounging about the little village; but he felt the absolute necessity of preventing their coming to an understanding. He knew that he was a hindrance to their enjoyment, for long walks were obliged to be curtailed, and bridges sought instead of fords, in consideration of his physical weakness; but Caerleon could not bring himself to suggest that he should remain at home, and Prince Alexis smiled and said nothing.

At times it struck Cyril that all his trouble was unnecessary, for that the Prince could not be aware that Caerleon was his rival; but it seemed impossible that the European gossip as to the approaching disposal of Princess Ottilie’s hand should not have reached his ears. More than once, also, Cyril caught him looking Caerleon over, in a musing, business-like fashion, as though he were taking stock of him, and after moments such as this he always redoubled his efforts to keep the two from being alone together. He felt sure that Prince Alexis knew what was going on when, in response to a question from Caerleon as to whether he intended to join the hunting-party at Schloss Herzensruh the day after the signing of the treaty, he replied that he could not well intrude on the King of Mœsia at such a purely family gathering, but that he would no doubt be able to pay his respects later. And yet it seemed strange that he made no attempt to win Caerleon over to his side, a fact which left Cyril still troubled by uncertainty, even after the treaty was signed. The points of difficulty between Thracia and Dardania had been satisfactorily arranged by the two sovereigns and their Ministers, and they were incorporated into an addition to the Mœsian treaty, although Cyril almost feared that the negotiations would fall through when he saw the meeting between King Johann Casimir and Prince Alexis. The King’s manner was nervously triumphant, and inclined to be unfriendly, and most men would have taken offence at it, especially after the rupture which had already occurred between them; but the Prince passed it by without notice, and all went off peaceably.