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, is a most disagreeable one," she resumed, lightly beating her gauntlets together; "but when one serves high personages one is supposed not to have any sentiments." To Fitzgerald she said: "You are the son of the late Lord Fitzgerald.""For your sake, I regret to say that I am.""For my sake? Worry yourself none on that point.As the agent of her Highness I am inconsiderable.""Madame," said Maurice, "will you do us the honor to inform us to whom we are indebted for this partiality to our distinguished persons?""I am Sylvia Amerbach," quietly.
"Amerbach?" said Maurice, who was familiar with the great names of the continent."Pardon me, but that was once a famous name in Prussia.""I am distantly related to that house of princes," looking at her gauntlets.
"Well, Madame, since your business doubtless concerns me, pray, begin;" and Fitzgerald leaned against the mantelpiece and fumbled with the rim of his monocle.
Maurice walked to one of the windows and perched himself on the broad sill.He began to whistle softly:
Voici le sabre de mon pere! Tu vas le mettre a ton cote....
Beyond the window, at the edge of the forest, he saw a sentinel pacing backward and forward.Indeed, no matter which way he looked, the autumnal scenery had this accessory.Again, he inspected the bars.These were comparatively new.It was about thirty feet to the court below.On the whole, the outlook was discouraging.
"Count," said the distant relative of the house of Amerbach, "how shall I begin?""I am not a diplomat, Madame," answered the Colonel."If, however, you wish the advice of a soldier, I should begin by asking if my lord the Englishman has those consols about his person.""Fie, count!" she cried, laughing; "one would say that was a prelude to robbery.""So they would.As for myself, I prefer violence to words.If we take these pretty papers by violence, we shall still have left our friend the Englishman his self-respect.And as for words, while my acquaintance with our friend is slight, I should say that they would only be wasted here."The whistle from the window still rose and fell.
"Monsieur, I have it in my power to make you rich.""I am rich," replied Fitzgerald.
"In honors?"
"Madame, the title I have is already a burden to me." Fitzgerald laughed, which announced that the cause of the duchess was not getting on very well.Once or twice he raised the tortoiseshell rim to his eye, but dropped it; force of habit was difficult to overcome.
"Your father nourished a particular rancor against the late duke.""And justly, you will admit."
"Her Highness has offered you five millions for slips of paper worth no more than the ink which decorates them.""And I have refused.Why? Simply because the matter does not rest with me.You have proceeded with a high hand, Madame, or rather your duchess has.Nothing will come of it.Had there been any possibility of my considering your proposals, this kidnaping would have destroyed it."She smiled.Maurice saw the smile and stopped whistling long enough to scratch his chin, which was somewhat in need of a razor.He had seen many women smile that way.He had learned to read it.It was an inarticulate "perhaps.""The rightful successor to the throne--"
"Is Madame the duchess," Fitzgerald completed."I haven't the slightest doubt of that.One way or the other, it does not concern me.I came here simply to fulfill the wishes of my father; and my word, Madame, fulfill them I shall.You are holding me a prisoner, but uselessly.On the twentieth the certificates fall due against the government.If they are not presented either for renewal or collection, the bankruptcy scheme of your duchess will fall through just the same.I will tell you the truth, Madame.My father never expected to collect the moneys so long as Leopold sat on the throne."The whistle grew shrill.
