The Puppet Crown - Harlod MacGrath (nice books to read TXT) 📗

used to words," replied the Englishman.

"You are used to orders. I am simply obeying mine. If I took you off your guard it was because I had to, and not because I liked that method best. Look alive, men; it's down hill from now on."

A quarter of an hour later the troop arrived at the duchy's frontier post. There was no sleep here. The Colonel flung himself from his horse and exercised his legs.

"Sergeant," he said, "how far behind the others?"

"They passed two hours ago, Excellency. And all is well?" deferentially.

"All is indeed well," with a gesture toward the prisoners.

"I've a flask of brandy in my hip pocket," said Maurice. "Will you help me to a nip, Colonel?"

"Pardon me, gentlemen; I had forgotten that your hands were still in cords. Corporal," to a trooper, "relieve their hands."

The prisoners rubbed their wrists and hands, which were numb and cold. Maurice produced his flask.

"I was bringing it along for your sprained ankle," he said, as he extended the flask to Fitzgerald, who drank a third of it. "I'd offer you some, Colonel, only it would be like heaping coals of fire on your head; and, besides, I want it all myself." He returned the emptied flask to his pocket, feeling a moderate warmth inside.

"Drink away, my son," said the Colonel, climbing into the saddle; "there'll be plenty for me for this night's work. Forward!"

The troop took up the march again, through a splendid forest kept clear of dead wood by the peasants. It abounded with game. The shrill cry of the pheasants, the rustle of the partridges in the underbrush, the bark of the fox, all rose to the ears of the trespassers. The smell of warm earth permeated the air, and the sky was merging from silver into gold.

When Napoleon humiliated Austria for the second time, one of his mushroom nobles, who placed too much faith in the man of destiny, selected this wooded paradise as a residence. He built him a fine castle of red brick, full of wide halls and drawing rooms and chambers of state, and filled it with fabulous paintings, Gobelin tapestries, and black walnut wainscot. He kept a small garrison of French soldiers by converting the huge stables partly into a barrack. One night the peasantry rose. There was a conflict, as the walls still show; and the prince by patent fled, no one knew where. After its baptism in blood it became known far and wide as the Red Chateau. Whenever children were unruly, they were made docile by threats of the dark dungeons of the Red Chateau, or the ghosts of the French and German peasants who died there. As it now stood, it was one of the summer residences of her Highness.

It was here that the long night's journey came to an end.

"Gentlemen," said the Colonel, dismounting, "permit me, in the name of her Highness, to offer you the hospitality of Red Chateau. Consider; will you lighten my task by giving me your word of honor to make no attempt to escape? Escape is possible, but not probable. There are twenty fresh men and horses in the stables. Come, be reasonable. It will be pleasanter on both sides."

"So far as I'm concerned," said Maurice, who needed liberty not half so much as sleep, "I pass my word."

"And you, sir?" to Fitzgerald.

Fitzgerald gazed about him. "Very well," he said, as he saw the futility of a struggle.

"Your humble servant, Messieurs," touching his cap. "Take the ropes off their ankles, men."

When Maurice was lifted from his horse and placed on the ground, his legs suddenly bent under him, and he went sprawling to the grass. A trooper sprang to his assistance.

"My legs have gone to sleep!"

The Englishman was affected likewise, and it was some moments before either could walk. They were conducted to a chamber high up in the left wing, which overlooked the forest and the mountains. It was a large airy room, but the windows were barred and there were double locks on the doors. The Colonel followed them into the room and pointed to the table.

"Breakfast, Messieurs, and a good sleep for you till this noon. As for the rest, let that take care of itself." And he left them.

Maurice, after having tried all the bars and locks in answer to his conscience, gave his attention to the breakfast. On lifting the covers he found fish, eggs, toast and coffee.

"Here's luck!" he cried. "We were expected."

"Curse it, Maurice!" Fitzgerald began pacing the room.

"No, no," said Maurice; "let us eat it; that's what it's here for," and he fell to with that vigor known only to healthy blood.

"But what's to be done?"

"Follow Solomon's advice, and wait."

"You're taking it cursed cool."

"Force of habit," breaking the toast. "What's the use of wasting powder? Because I have shown only the exterior, our friend the Colonel has already formed an opinion of me. I am brave if need be, but young and careless. In a day or so-for I suppose we are not to be liberated at once-he'll forget to use proper caution in respect to me. And then, 'who can say?' as the Portuguese says when he hasn't anything else to say. They'll keep a strict watch over you, my friend, because you've played the lion too much. Just before I left the States, as you call them, a new slang phrase was going the rounds;-'it is better to play the fox some of the time than to roar all of the time.' Ergo, be foxy. Take it cool. So long as you haven't got that mint packed about your person, the game breaks even."

"But the king!"

"Is as secure on his throne as he ever was. If you do not present those consols, either for renewal or collection, on the twentieth, he loses nothing. As you said, let us hope that the chambermaid is a shifty, careless lass, who will not touch your room till you return." Maurice broke an egg and dropped a lump of sugar into his cup.

"Is this the way you fight Indians?"

"Indians? What the deuce has fighting Indians to do with this? As to Indians, shoot them in the back if you can. Here, everything depends not on fighting but the right use of words. A man may be a diplomat and not render his country any large benefit; still, it's a fine individual training. Thrones stand on precipices and are pushed back to safety by the trick of a few words. Have an egg; they're fresh."

Fitzgerald sat down and gulped his coffee. "They broke my monocle in the struggle."

Maurice choked in his cup.

"I've worn it twelve years, too," went on Fitzgerald.

"Everything is for the best," said Maurice. "You will be able to see out of both eyes."

"Confound you!" cried Fitzgerald, smiling in spite of himself; "nothing will disturb you."

"You mean, nothing shall. Now, there's the bed and there's the lounge. Since you are the principal, that is to say, the constituent part of this affair, and also the principal actor in this extravaganza, suppose you take the bed and leave me the lounge? And the deuce take the duchess, who is probably a woman with a high forehead and a pair of narrow eyes!" He threw down his napkin and made for the lounge, without giving any particular attention to the smile and frown which were struggling in the Englishman's eyes. In less than a minute Maurice was dozing.

Fitzgerald thought that the best thing he could do was to follow the philosophical example of his friend. "These Americans," he mused, as he arranged the pillow under his ear, "are `fifteen puzzles'; you can move them, or you can't."

As for Maurice, he was already dreaming; he was too tired to sleep. Presently he thought he was on a horse again, and was galloping, galloping. He was heading his old company to the very fringe of the alkali. The Apaches had robbed the pay train and killed six men, and the very deuce was to pay all around. . . . Again he was swimming, and a beautiful girl reached out a hand and saved him. Ah! how beautiful she was, how soft and rich the deep brown of her eyes! . . . The scene shifted. The president of the South American republic had accepted his sword (unbeknown to the United States authorities), and he was aiding to quell the insurrection. And just then some one whispered to him that gold would rise fifty points. And as he put out his hands to gather in the glittering coins which were raining down, the face of Colonel Beauvais loomed up, scowling and furious. . . . And yet again came the beautiful girl. He was holding her hand and the archbishop had his spread out in benediction over their heads. . . . A hand, which was not of dreamland, shook him by the arm. He opened his eyes. Fitzgerald was standing over him. The light of the sun spangled the walls opposite the windows. The clock marked the eleventh hour of day.

"Hang you!" he said, with blinking eyes; "why didn't you let me be? I was just marrying the princess, and you've spoiled it all. I-" He jumped to his feet and rubbed his eyes, and, forgetful of all save his astonishment, pursed his lips into a low whistle.


CHAPTER IX


NOTHING MORE SERIOUS THAN A HOUSE PARTY

Standing just within the door, smiling and rubbing the gray bristles on his lip, was the Colonel. In the center of the room stood a woman dressed in gray. Maurice recognized the dress; it belonged to Mademoiselle of the Veil, who was now sans veil, sans hat. A marvelous face was revealed to Maurice, a face of that peculiar beauty which poets and artists are often minded to deny, but for the love of which men die, become great or terrible, overturn empires and change the map of the world.

Her luxuriant hair, which lay in careless masses about the shapely head and intelligent brow, was a mixture of red and brown and gold, a variety which never ceases to charm; skin the pallor of ancient marble, with the shadow of rose lying below the eyes, the large, gray chatoyant eyes, which answered every impulse of the brain which ruled them. The irregularity of her features was never noticeable after a glance into those eyes. At this moment both eyes and lips expressed a shade of amusement.

Maurice, who was astonished never more than a minute at a time, immediately recovered. His toilet was somewhat disarranged, and the back of his head a crow's nest, but, nevertheless, he placed a hand over his heart and offered a low obeisance.

"Good morning, gentlemen," she said, in a voice which Maurice would have known anywhere. "I hope the journey has caused you no particular annoyance."

"The annoyance was not so particular, Madame," said Fitzgerald stiffly, "as it was general."

"And four of my troopers will take oath to that!" interjected the Colonel.

"Will Madame permit me to ask when will the opera begin?" asked Maurice.

"I am glad," said she, "that you have lost none of your freshness."

Maurice was struck for a moment, but soon saw that the remark was innocent of any inelegance of speech. Fitzgerald was gnawing his mustache and looking out of the corner of his eyes-into hers.

"My task, I confess,