CHAPTER XII.

TO OBLIGE A LADY.

The next day was that appointed for the fateful hunting-party, and when Caerleon and Cyril bade farewell to Prince Alexis, who was returning for a few days to his capital of Bashi Konak, they were both conscious of concealing a good deal of excitement under a veil of calmness. Cyril fancied that there was a twinkle in the Prince’s eye as he wished them good sport, and he was roused again to wonder whether their guest knew anything of the affair in hand. However this might be, he departed without making any allusion to it, and Cyril awoke to the fact that Caerleon, who now realised for the first time the full falseness of his position, was in a state of misery and nervousness only to be described as pitiable. When Cyril recognised this fact he was appalled, for it seemed to him that the mere sight of his brother’s face was enough to betray to King Johann the artifice which had been employed against him; but presently he reflected that Caerleon’s disquietude and evident unhappiness fitted in exactly with the story he had told the King, and his mind was at ease as they rode through the forest together. At Schloss Herzensruh every one was waiting to start for the forest, and the lawn in front of the windows was occupied by a confused group of jägers, dogs, and beaters. The Queen did not appear on this occasion, but the King hurried to greet the brothers, and presented Caerleon at once to Princess Ottilie, who was looking sportsmanlike and ready for business in a French _costume de chasse_, with leather-faced skirt and many-pocketed jacket all complete, while a jäger behind her was holding her neat little rifle.

“I know how fond of sport you English are, and therefore I gave my daughter directions to wear this dress to-day in compliment to your brother,” said the King, complacently, to Cyril, when they had withdrawn a step or two from the pair, leaving Caerleon to devise and utter incoherent remarks on the weather, which were received by the Princess with demure politeness.

“And Caerleon bars a shooting woman above all things!” was Cyril’s agonised mental comment, even while he was assuring the King that although the Princess would look charming in anything, she was absolutely irresistible in hunting costume. But as he spoke, his thoughts were wandering, for it struck him that Princess Ottilie appeared to be very favourably inclined towards Caerleon. There was a hint of pleased excitement in her manner, which even the delight of wearing the most _chic_ and becoming of new dresses seemed inadequate to produce; and when, in response to one of her companion’s laboured remarks, she raised her eyes smilingly and scanned his face, it appeared to Cyril that the expression in them was more than friendly. The thought almost made him giddy. What if the whim of a strong-willed, fickle girl should succeed in doing what he and M. Drakovics, with all their statesmanship, had failed to achieve, and bring about Caerleon’s marriage with her? Although he had suggested the possibility of such a thing in order to comfort the Premier, he had never regarded it seriously himself; but now it struck him as by no means unlikely that Princess Ottilie might refuse to grant her unwilling suitor the dismissal he craved, in which case, Cyril decided, his brother would feel himself compelled to marry her. At this point the voice of King Johann broke in on his meditations.

“I am about to desire my daughter to show his Majesty the path through the forest which leads to the withered pine, a familiar landmark here,” said the King. “You and I will then lead the hunt in the opposite direction.”

“Excuse me,” said Cyril, hastily, “but I am afraid that such evident assistance would simply render my brother incapable of addressing himself to her Royal Highness at all. If we keep to our present order, your Majesty and I and the servants can easily turn into a fresh path when we are once in the wood.”

The King agreed to this plan, although not without some hesitation, and Cyril manœuvred the army of beaters so adroitly that before they had been ten minutes in the forest Caerleon and the Princess found themselves alone. The result of the discovery was absolutely to deprive Caerleon of the power of speech, and he walked on in silence beside his companion, who was firing off nervous little sentences at intervals. We are told, by those who should be well qualified to speak on the subject, that words are apt to fail him who desires to offer his hand and heart to the girl of his choice; but what is his difficulty compared with that of the man who finds it his duty to explain to an expectant lady why he does _not_ propose? The cold sweat stood on Caerleon’s brow as the Princess ceased her spasmodic remarks abruptly, and appeared from her silence to be expecting him to speak; but after an awful five minutes, in the course of which he twice cleared his throat and made a vain attempt to say something--it did not matter what--she herself, to his astonishment, broke the ice.

“I--I have something to say to your Majesty,” she began. “You have come here with the intention of--of marrying me----”

This was more and more terrible. It rushed into Caerleon’s tortured mind that Princess Ottilie must belong to a German variety of the New Woman, and that she was going to propose to him. How was he to manage to refuse her? She must be stopped at any cost.

“On the contrary,” he interrupted, floundering desperately into what he had to say--“your Highness is mistaken. I have no desire--no intention--no--no hope of marrying you.”

“Indeed!” cried Princess Ottilie, facing him with crimson cheeks and flashing eyes. “Then pray understand that your feelings are entirely reciprocated. I have no desire--no intention of marrying your Majesty,” and she made him an elaborate curtsey, which was rather incongruous when taken in conjunction with her gaiters and short skirts. But Caerleon was far too deeply impressed with the conviction that he had blundered horribly in beginning his delicate task to notice anything of the kind.

“I assure you,” he said, earnestly, “that nothing could be further from my mind than to wish to insult your Royal Highness. I can only ask you to pardon my bungling way of expressing myself. I came here intending to throw myself upon your mercy, and beg you to release me from an engagement which was entered into without my consent.”

Princess Ottilie still stood angry and irresolute, darting distrustful glances at him, but it seemed to Caerleon that she was more disposed to listen than at first. He hurried on--

“I will speak to you freely, Princess--not that I am ashamed of what I have to say; quite the contrary. There is a lady whom I love, and whom I would give anything to marry. But she has refused me--she is not of royal blood, and she considers that it would be prejudicial to the interests of Thracia were she to marry me. I have no hope of getting her to change her mind so long as I remain on the throne, but I will never marry any one else. It would be perjury. When I heard that Drakovics had set on foot negotiations for my marriage with you I was horror-struck, and tried to break them off at once. But it was pointed out to me that this might seem to cast a slur on you, and so--I didn’t do it. I think you will see that if I acted wrongly it was because I was desirous of doing nothing to hurt your feelings. I am truly sorry if what I said at first sounded rude, but I was anxious to get you to refuse me. You see that I could not possibly marry you, since I love Nadia.”

“Nadia--is that her name?” asked the Princess, sharply. She had been standing motionless, biting her glove, during Caerleon’s laboured and stammering harangue, her brows contracted into an anxious frown, but now her face relaxed. “I like to hear you say it. Your voice sounds as if you loved her. If I wished to tease you, I might insist on holding you to your engagement, but I don’t, for”--and she mimicked the words he had uttered some minutes before--“I also came here intending to throw myself on your mercy, and beg you to release me from an engagement which was entered into without my consent. Only,” and her voice took a tone of entreaty, “I have more to ask than you.”

“If I can help you in any way, pray command me,” said Caerleon, inexpressibly relieved to find himself transformed from a suppliant into a possible benefactor.

Princess Ottilie smiled anxiously. “You don’t know what you are promising, but I shall hold you to your offer. I am going to confide to you something that no one knows except my mother. It is she who has advised me to consult you, for she has the greatest confidence in your honour and discretion.”

This was spoken very quickly, as if it was a lesson, and Caerleon could only say that, in so far as it rested with him, the Queen and Princess should have no cause to repent of the honour they were doing him.

Almost before the words were out of his mouth, the girl went on speaking hurriedly, walking fast with her face turned away from him, and her hands twisting themselves nervously together: “I also have a romance, your Majesty--a love-story, you call it. After I had visited England with my parents two years ago, we spent some weeks at Pavelsburg, and there I met some one--a distant relation of my mother’s. All these political troubles had not happened then”--she looked up at him piteously--“and I might follow the dictates of my own heart. My father and mother were delighted; the Emperor was pleased. We could not help loving one another; but what happened afterwards would not have seemed so hard if all had not been so bright at first. He had spoken to my mother; she had told my father; but our engagement was not to be announced until we returned home, and the betrothal could take place publicly. But when we reached Eusebia, everything was changed. Your revolution--the Thracian revolution--had taken place; Scythia and Pannonia had quarrelled; the statesmen were playing chess on the map of Europe, and he and I were two of the pawns. He is related to the imperial family of Scythia, and Pannonia could not allow Scythian influence in the Balkans to be strengthened by his marriage with me. They did not tell us plainly that our duty compelled us to part,--they worked underground, through the Grand Duke, my father’s uncle; they sowed dissension between my father and mother; they made our home miserable; they have parted my Prince and me. That is my story, and no one has any pity for us.”

She paused and wrung her hands, her dark eyes searching Caerleon’s face, her lips quivering painfully.

“Don’t cry,” he said in alarm. “If I can help you I will. What is it that you want me to do?”

“There is no one I can trust, no one who will help me. My father orders me to marry you, and Pannonia and the whole of our own family are behind him. I could not escape; they would track me all over the world. My only hope is to divert their attention altogether for a time--for a few days, and so to obtain the chance of marrying my Prince.”

“But who is he--this happy man?” asked Caerleon.

“Alexis Alexievitch,” she replied, with a vivid blush.

“The Prince of Dardania!” cried Caerleon. “Why, we have been hunting together for a week, and he has never said a word about this.”

“He was to leave it all to me, unless he found some unexpected opportunity,” said the Princess. “He is making all the preparations. It is a difficult matter, because we must be married both by Greek and Lutheran rites, and he has found it best to bring a pastor from Weldart, from my mother’s people. The pastor cannot arrive for a week, and we must bridge over that time until I can escape into Dardanian territory, and be married. Now, do you see what I want you to do?”

“I really don’t,” said Caerleon, the wildest ideas of personation, elopement, and abduction chasing one another through his brain.

“I should have thought it was simple enough,” said the Princess, with a certain amount of contempt. “That week must be filled up, and therefore I want you to engage yourself to me for that time.”

“Oh!” said Caerleon, stupidly. “But I thought you made a very solemn ceremony of your betrothals here?”

“And you think your Mdlle. Nadia might object? Well, I will promise you by anything you like that I will not hold you to the engagement.”

“It’s not that,” he said, gruffly. “I am not going to tell a pack of lies.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the Princess in her turn. “But I’m afraid I can’t tell them for you. Do you really mind going through the form of betrothal, knowing that neither of us means it? You can say the words without intention, or with a mental reservation, you know. No? Well, I see what we must do. The betrothal must be put off for a week. I have sent for a new dress from Paris, and I will not appear at the ceremony until I have it to wear. My father will allow that plea. Have you not noticed that men who will calmly break a woman’s heart in a great matter, will let her have her way without difficulty in a little one, especially if it has anything to do with dress? It will be generally understood that we are engaged, and that will put the Schwarzwald-Molzaus off the scent.”

“But I can’t say that I want to marry you when I don’t,” objected Caerleon.

“Did they teach your Majesty that story about George Washington very carefully when you were a little boy? I have toiled through his history often, but it never left such a deep impression on me. Very well, you must say that you will marry me if I am willing, and I will say the same about you. That will make us both safe.”

“But, excuse me,” said Caerleon, “is all this really necessary? Don’t you think that if I spoke to your father, and told him what your feelings were, and interceded with him on behalf of Prince Alexis, he might relent?”

Princess Ottilie’s eyes flashed. “Your Majesty,” she said, “my mother went down on her knees to my father to entreat his pity for me, his only child, and without avail. Do you think that a stranger’s intercessions would have more effect on him?”

“But have you tried telling him that your happiness depends on this marriage, and refusing to have anything to say to any one but the Prince?”

“No; I have not done so lately,” said the Princess, in a peculiar tone. “I did at first; but do you know what the consequence would have been if I had persisted? They would have banished my mother from the kingdom, or imprisoned her in a fortress, and what could I have done then? Therefore I said no more. Of late we have endeavoured to appear resigned to our fate, confiding in your honour and generosity.”

“But would it not put things right if I were to withdraw from my proposal at once?”

“So far right that my father would oblige me to marry one of my cousins, the Schwarzwald-Molzaus, instead of you, and I could look for no mercy from him. You must help me. You cannot leave me to my misery, when I have trusted you in this way. Help me for the sake of your own Nadia, as you would wish another man to help her if she were in my place. Oh, your Majesty, you cannot refuse me!”

“Very well. I’ll do what I can,” said Caerleon, rather grudgingly, as it seemed even to himself, but the idea of the suggested deception was hateful to him.

“And you will tell no one what has passed between us?”

“Of course I won’t repeat your confidences without your permission.”

“Not even to your brother?”

“Not even to him, if you would rather not, though I don’t think I have ever kept anything secret from him before.”

“Your brother above all,” repeated the Princess, emphatically. “On your honour?”

“You don’t seem to trust him,” said Caerleon, feeling hurt.

“Not at all. It is simply that I owe him a little grudge. You know that he visited my father here nearly three weeks ago? I want to play him a trick in return for some things he did then. You understand, it is a whim of mine?”

“Yes,” returned Caerleon, only half satisfied.

“Ah! well, your Majesty, we are engaged--for a week. It will be necessary for us to appear in public together, but I will do my best not to be a very exacting companion. I know that you English do not make as much of betrothal as we Molzäuers do. Still, one must keep up appearances. I look to you to play your part.”

“In this way?” asked Caerleon, provoked by her mischievous tone, as he raised her hand to his lips.

“Ah, that is your custom? We in Germany should think it a little cold. If anything more is requisite, pray do the proper thing, without considering my feelings.”

“If my brother was here he would make a pretty speech about the honour’s being too great for safety,” said Caerleon. “I am not a good hand at compliments, and so, Princess, I must simply ask you not to tempt me.”

“Which is a polite way of saying that you decline the honour,” said the Princess, pouting slightly, and trying to withdraw her hand. At this interesting moment King Johann and Cyril, followed by the jägers, appeared at the end of the path. Cyril and the servants drew back hastily, but the King advanced with much dignity, and approached the pair.

“Is it possible that the dearest wish of my heart is granted me?” he asked in a voice broken by emotion. “You have arrived at an understanding?”

“If the Princess will take me, I hope--er--er--I am ready--er--I will marry her,” stammered Caerleon.

“And if his Majesty will have me, I shall welcome the honour of marrying him,” said Princess Ottilie boldly, a mischievous light in her black eyes.

“Then you really are engaged to her?” asked Cyril, incredulously, when the brothers next found themselves alone together.

“I suppose so,” returned Caerleon, gruffly enough.

“Well I am most extraordinarily delighted to hear it, of course. Congrats, and all that sort of thing, old man. I suppose she wouldn’t let you off?”

“That’s about it.”

“You ought to feel flattered by that, at any rate. She’s an awfully good-looking girl,--any amount of go in her. I shouldn’t wonder if you find her rather overpowering though, just at first. I’ll take her off your hands now and then if you do. She’ll think a heap more of you if you are busy sometimes.”

“I should have thought you would have recommended me to try and get used to her if I have got to marry her,” growled Caerleon.

Cyril laughed.

“What, in these progressive days?” he asked. “You are behind the age, old man. You will contrive to exist very happily together by making sure of never finding yourselves in the same place at the same time.” And he went away to draw up an official announcement to be sent to M. Drakovics for insertion in a special Gazette, stigmatising the circumstantial reports which had appeared of late on the subject of the King’s approaching marriage as absurdly premature, since the date even of the betrothal was not yet fixed. As for Caerleon, he prepared with a failing heart for his interview with the Queen, who had expressed a desire to see her daughter’s _fiancé_. The King himself led him into the boudoir where the Queen sat knitting, and was much relieved to see her kiss him on the forehead when he stooped to kiss her hand. He had feared that although Princess Ottilie had proved unexpectedly pliable, her mother would be more difficult to persuade; and he ascribed the gratifying reality partly to the Queen’s sense of his own masterful personality, and partly to the liking she had already expressed for her future son-in-law. Pitying the young man’s evident shyness and misery, King Johann volunteered to leave him alone with the Queen for a time lest his presence should prove a restraint on their mutual confidences, and the moment that he had left the room the Queen dropped her knitting and sat upright.

“I can never thank you sufficiently for what you have done to-day,” she said, in a quick sharp whisper. “You have helped me to save my child.”

“I am very glad if I have been so fortunate as to please you,” said Caerleon, lamely.

“My daughter has told me your story,” the Queen went on. “Your confidence in her has touched us both extremely. If ever I can in any way serve or befriend the young lady whom you love, I rely upon you to turn to me without hesitation.”

“Your Majesty is too good,” stammered Caerleon.

“There is one thing I wish to say while we are alone,” continued the Queen, rapidly. “It is uncertain when Prince Alexis will be able to complete the arrangements for the wedding, and even when I know the day I will not tell you. You are to be completely ignorant. The news must surprise you as much as any one. I am afraid that your engagement must last at least eight days; but you know that it is not now proposed to celebrate the betrothal until ten days hence. I hope you will not find the time very irksome, but my child is a little wayward occasionally. Here comes the King.”

When Caerleon went out from the Queen’s boudoir, with the King’s arm in his, it was to begin the most horrible fortnight of his life. If he had done wrong in yielding to Princess Ottilie’s entreaties, he was amply punished for it as the days went on. He loathed the idea of deceiving the King, tyrannical and weak-minded though he was; he loathed the delighted congratulations which came pouring in through M. Drakovics from all Thracia as soon as it became known that the date of the betrothal was actually fixed. He was deceiving the man whose bread he was eating, for on the return from the hunt the King had insisted that the brothers should take up their quarters at Schloss Herzensruh; he was deceiving Cyril, who had never, so he fondly believed, concealed a thought from him; he was deceiving his simple-minded subjects, and he was laying up a store of self-loathing which became in course of time almost unbearable. And, worst of all, he was turning his back on Nadia, forsaking her, and, so far as the world could see, preparing to marry another girl, exactly as she had begged him to do, and prophesied that he would do. This last aspect of the case would have made the situation intolerable to a woman, but Caerleon was possessed of a dogged patience which forced him to go on to the bitter end, having once given his promise to Princess Ottilie. But he discovered very soon that, although it had been easy enough to offer her his help in the forest, with her tearful eyes fixed upon him and her indignant voice ringing in his ears, it was much more difficult to carry out his promise gracefully.

He did his best, although it must be confessed that that best was but poor. When Cyril suggested mildly that it was usual to send presents to the lady in the course of an engagement, he followed his advice, and telegraphed to Paris and Vienna orders for jewellery and objects of art; but he did so with the bitter recollection that he had never given Nadia so much as a keepsake, while here he was showering costly gifts upon a girl for whom he did not care a straw. It was the same with the rides, on which it was the Princess’s will and pleasure that he should accompany her at least once a-day. He had never had the chance of riding with Nadia; but he had little opportunity of forgetting that Princess Ottilie had a splendid seat, and rode like an Englishwoman, as Cyril told her once, assuring her at the same time that it was the highest compliment he could pay her. At first, indeed, Caerleon welcomed the prospect of the rides, as likely to restrict his intercourse with his _fiancée_ to the polite and friendly terms on which he felt it was both right and reasonable they should meet. But he had reckoned without Princess Ottilie, even as he had left out of his calculations the enterprising photographers who travelled from Bellaviste and Eusebia, and arranged cameras in ambush by the side of the road along which the riders were to pass, and the enthusiastic amateurs who took snap-shots at them with kodaks. The Princess had eyes like a hawk, and could detect the most artfully concealed camera some minutes before she came abreast of it, and distinguish a photographic maniac at any distance, and at the crucial moment she would begin a confidential low-toned conversation, which obliged Caerleon to lean politely towards her in order to hear what she said; or she would drop her riding-whip. It was against his principles, she had discovered, to allow the groom to pick it up, and thus she had the pleasure of seeing him dismount and rescue it himself, while the lurking enemy gloated over the negative he had secured, which was destined to appear after the lapse of a week or two, in a more or less appalling guise, in one of the Continental illustrated journals.

“It isn’t the riding I mind, but I do bar her tricks,” Caerleon bemoaned himself one day to Cyril, who had witnessed an incident of this kind.

“Never mind,” said Cyril. “She only wants to show you off.”

“If she carries on much more, I shall cut,” said the victim, gloomily.

“Beastly mean, if you do,” said Cyril. “The girl’s awfully gone on you. When I get her alone sometimes, and sing your praises to her, you should see how pleased she is. Don’t be a fool, old man. Any other chap would think himself in clover to have a smart, good-looking girl, and a princess too, in love with him to such an extent.”

“Well, I shall get thrown, then. That will stop the rides, at any rate.”

“Don’t, if you take my advice. She will insist on nursing you--rather like it than otherwise. As to your finding it a bore to go out with her----”

“I shouldn’t, if I wasn’t engaged to her,” groaned Caerleon.

“Oh, Lothario!” laughed Cyril, but he forbore to pursue the subject further. He was so highly delighted by the unexpected success of his diplomacy that he could afford to be generous. How the Princess had managed to draw Caerleon into the engagement he could not guess, but he was the last man in the world to quarrel with the accomplished fact. He could stand a good deal from Caerleon in these days, he told himself, taking credit for extraordinary forbearance towards a fellow who was as bad as a bear with a sore head. Why couldn’t he put a good face on it, as the Princess did? She had been obliged to discard her old love, but she didn’t let the fact spoil all her enjoyment of life--not she.

As will have been observed, Caerleon’s task was not made easier by his _fiancée_. Princess Ottilie saw the full comedy of the situation, where he perceived only its tragic irony, and she took a lively pleasure in emphasising the details of the plot. A born actress, no mere tame acceptance of facts would content her, and she played shamelessly to the gallery. Ordinary love-making was poor,--everything for her must be intense, and surcharged with meaning. She never left Caerleon alone. Loving epithets flowed from her lips in a way that made him feel that he must be blushing scarlet a dozen times a-day. She claimed his time and attention as a right, obliged him to assist her in the most incongruous tasks, made him turn over the pages of her music for her during what seemed interminable hours (she was a most accomplished musician), and appealed in an injured tone to Cyril, or the Queen, or the ladies-in-waiting, if he showed signs of fatigue or preoccupation. The general effect produced was that of a modern and substantial Titania wooing a singularly unresponsive clown, to the great edification of the beholders.