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

the hotel, and it is extra."

The Colonel and Fitzgerald lay back in their chairs and roared with laughter.

But Madame did not even smile.


CHAPTER X


BEING OF LONG RIDES, MAIDS, KISSES AND MESSAGES

Fitzgerald was first into bed that night.

"I want to finish this cigar, Jack," said Maurice, who wished to be alone with his thoughts. He sat in the chair by the window and lifted his feet to the sill. The night wind was warm and odorous. He had found a clue, but through what labyrinth would it lead him? A strange adventure, indeed; so strange that he was of half a mind that he dreamed. Prisoners. . . . Why? And these two women alone in this old chateau, a house party. There lay below all this some deep design.

Should he warn his friend? Indeed, as yet, of what had he to warn him? To discover Madame to Fitzgerald would be to close the entrance to this labyrinth which he desired to explore. How would Madame act, now that she knew he possessed her secret? Into many channels he passed, but all these were blind, and led him to no end. Madame had a purpose; to discover what this purpose was Fitzgerald must remain in ignorance. What a woman! She resembled one of those fabulous creatures of medieval days. And why was the countess on the scene, and what was her part in this invisible game?

He finished his cigar and lit another; but the second cigar solved no more than the first. Mademoiselle of the Veil! He knew now what she meant; having asked her to lift her veil, she had said, "Something terrible would happen." At last he, too, sought bed, but he did not sleep so soundly as did Fitzgerald.

Ten days of this charming captivity passed; there was a thicker carpet of leaves on the ground, and new distances began to show mistily through the dismantling forest. But there were no changes at the Red Chateau-no outward changes. It might, in truth, have been a house party but for the prowling troopers and the continual grumbling of the Englishman when alone with Maurice.

During the day they hunted or took long rides into the interior of the duchy. Both women possessed a fine skill in the saddle. In the evenings there were tourneys at chess, games and music.

Each night Fitzgerald learned a little more about chess and a little less about woman. The countess, airy and delicate as a verse of Voiture's, bent all her powers (and these were not inconsiderable) toward the subjugation of Maurice. She laughed, she sang, she fascinated. She had the ability to amuse hour after hour. She offered vague promises with her eyes, and refused them with her lips. Maurice, who was never impregnable under the fire of feminine artillery, was at times half in love with her; but his suspicions, always near the surface, saved him.

Sometimes he caught her hand and retained it over long; and once, when he kissed it, there was no rebuke. Again, when she sang, he would lean so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek, and her fingers would stumble into discords. Often she would suddenly rise from the piano and walk swiftly from the room, through the halls, into the park, where, though he followed, he never could find her. One day she and Madame returned from a walk in the forest, the one with high color and brilliant eyes, the other impassive as ice. Now, all these things did not escape Maurice, but he could not piece them together with any result.

On the morning of the tenth day the two prisoners came down to breakfast, wondering how much longer this house party was going to last.

"George! I wish I had a pipe," said Maurice.

"So do I," Fitzgerald echoed glumly. "I am tired of cigars and weary of those eternal cigarettes. How the deuce are we going to get out of this?"

"What's your hurry? We're having a good time."

"That's the trouble. Hang the duchess!"

"Hang her and welcome. But why do you complain to me and not to Madame? Are you afraid of her? Does she possess, then, what is called tamer's magnetism? O, my lion, if only you would roar a bit more at her and less at me!"

"I don't know what she possesses; but I do know that I'd give a deal to be out of this."

"Is the chambermaid idea bothering you?"

"No, Maurice, it is not the chambermaid. I feel oppressed by something which I can not define."

"Maybe you are not used to tokay forty years old?"

"Wine has nothing to do with it."

He was so serious that Maurice dropped his jesting tone. "By the way," he said, "do you sleep soundly?"

"No. Every night I am awakened by the noise of a horse entering the court-yard."

"So am I. Moreover, Madame seems to be troubled with the same sleeplessness.

"Madame?"

"Yes. She is so troubled with sleeplessness that nothing will quiet her but the sight of the man who rides the horse: all of which is to say that a courier arrives each night with dispatches from Bleiberg. Now, to tell the truth, the courier does not keep me awake half so much as the thought of who is eating three meals a day at the end of the east corridor on the third floor. But there are Madame and the countess; we have kept them waiting,"

"Good morning," said Madame, smiling as they came up. "And how have you slept?"

"Nothing wakes me but the roll of the drum or thunder," answered Fitzgerald diffidently.

"I dream of horses," said Maurice carelessly.

"Bon jour, M. le Capitaine!" cried the countess. Then she added with a light laugh: "Come, let me try you. Portons armes! Presentons armes! -How beautifully you do it!-Par le flanc gauche! En avant-marche!"

Maurice swung, clicked his heels and, with a covert glance at Madame, led the way into the dining hall, whistling, "Behold the saber of my father!"

"Ah, I do not see the Colonel," said Maurice; for night and day the old soldier had been with them.

"He has gone to Brunnstadt," said Madame, "but will return this evening."

The breakfast was short and merry. Words passed across the table that were as crisp as the toast. Maurice remarked the advent of two liveried servants, stolid Germans by the way, who, as he afterward found, did not understand French.

"So the Colonel has gone to Brunnstadt?" said Maurice; which was a long way of asking why the Colonel had gone to Brunnstadt.

"Yes," said Madame; "he has gone to consult Madame the duchess to see what shall be done to you, Monsieur."

"To be done to me?" ignoring the challenge in her eyes.

"Yes. You must not forget that you promised me your sword, and I have taken the liberty of presenting it to her Highness."

"I remember nothing about promising my sword," said Maurice, gazing ceiling-ward.

"What! There was a mental reservation?"

"No, Madame. I remember my words only too well. I said that I loved adventure, thoughtless youth that I was, and that I was easy to be found. Which is all true, and part proved, since I am here."

"Still, the uniform fits you exceedingly well. The hussars hold a high place at court."

"Madame," replied he pleasantly, "I appreciate the honor, but at present my sword and fealty are sworn to my own country. And besides, I have no desire to take part in the petty squabble between this country and the kingdom."

The forecast of a storm lay in Madame's gray eyes.

"Eh? You wish to placate me, Madame?" thought Maurice.

"He is right, Madame," interposed the countess. "But away with politics! It spoils all it touches."

"And away with the duchess, too," put in Fitzgerald, reaching for a bunch of yellow grapes. "With all due respect to your cause and beliefs, Madame the duchess, your mistress, is a bugbear to me. The very sound of the title arouses in my heart all that is antagonistic."

"You have not seen her Highness, Monsieur," said Madame, quietly. "Perhaps she is all that is desirable. She is known to be rich, her will is paramount to all others. When she sets her heart on a thing she leaves no stone unturned until she procures it. And, countess, do they not say of her that she possesses something- an attribute-more dangerous than beauty-fascination?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Madame the duchess," said Maurice dryly, "has a stanch advocate in you, Madame."

"It is not unnatural."

"Be that as it may," said Fitzgerald, "she is mine enemy."

"Love your enemies, says the Book," was the interposition of the countess, who stole a sly glance at Maurice which he did not see.

"That would not be difficult-in some cases," replied the Englishman.

"Ah, come," thought Maurice, "my friend is beginning to pick up his lines." Aloud he said: "Madame, will you confer a favor on me by permitting me to inform my superior in Vienna of my whereabouts?"

"No, Monsieur; prisoners are not allowed to communicate with the outside world. Are you not enjoying yourself? Is not everything being done for your material comfort? What complaint have you to offer?"

"A gilded cage is no less a cage."

"It is but temporary. The duchess has commanded that you be held until it is her pleasure to come to the chateau. O, Monsieur, where is your gallantry? Here the countess and I have done so much to amuse you, and you speak of a gilded cage!"

"Pretty bird! pretty bird!" said Maurice, in a piping voice, "will it have some caraway?"

Madame laughed. "Well, I hear the grooms leading the horses under the porte coch,re. Go, then, for the morning ride. I am sorry that I can not accompany you. I have some letters to write."

Fitzgerald curled his mustache. "I'll forswear the ride myself. I was reading a good book last night; I'll finish it, and keep Madame company."

Madame trifled with the toast crumbs. Fitzgerald's profound dissimulation caused a smile to cross Maurice's lips.

"Come, countess," said Maurice, gaily; "we'll take the ride together, since Madame has to write and my lord to read."

"Five minutes until I dress," replied the countess, and she sped away.

"What a beautiful girl!" said Madame, fondly. "Poor dear! Her life has not been a bed of roses."

"No?" said Maurice, while Fitzgerald raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"No. She was formerly a maid of honor to her Highness. She made an unhappy marriage."

"And where is the count?" asked Fitzgerald in surprise. He shot a glance of dismay at Maurice, who, translating it, smiled.

"He is dead."

Fitzgerald looked relieved.

"What a fine thing it is," said Maurice, rising, "to be a man and wed where and how you will!" He withdrew to the main hall to don his cap and spurs. As he stooped to strap the latter, he saw a sheet of paper, crinkled by recent dampness, lying on the floor. He picked it up-and read it.

"The plan you suggest is worthy of you, Madame. The
Englishman is fair game, being a common enemy. Let
us gain our ends through the heart, since his purse
is impregnable to assaults. But the countess?