The Puppet Crown by Harlod MacGrath (e book reader online TXT) 📖

is such a great country."

"You are a patriot!" clapping her hands. "No other country is so fine and large and great as your own. But tell me, is it as large as Austria?"

"Austria? You will not be offended if I tell you?"

"No."

"Well," with fun in his eyes, "it is my opinion that I could hide Austria in my country so thoroughly that nobody would ever be able to find it again." He wondered how she would accept this statement.

She lifted her chin and laughed, and the bulldog wagged his tail, as he always did when mirth touched her. He jumped up beside Maurice and looked into his face. Maurice patted his broad head, and he submitted. The girl looked rather surprised.

"Are you a magician?" she asked.

"Why?"

"Bull never makes friends."

"But I do," said Maurice; "perhaps he understands that, and comes half-way. But it is rather strange to see a bulldog in this part of the country."

"He was given to me, years ago, by an Englishman."

"That accounts for it." He was experiencing a deal of cold, but he dared not mention it. "And may I ask your name?"

"Ah, Monsieur," shyly, "to tell you my name would be to frighten you away."

"I am sure nothing could do that," he declared earnestly. Had he been thinking of aught but her eyes he might have caught the significance of her words. But, then, the cold was numbing.

She surveyed him with critical eyes. She saw a clean-shaven face, brown, handsome and eager, merry blue eyes, a chin firm and aggressive, a mischievous mouth, a forehead which showed the man of thought, a slim athletic form which showed the man of action- all of which combined to produce that indescribable air which attaches itself to the gentleman.

"It is Alexia," she said, after some hesitation, watching him closely to observe the effect.

But he was as far away as ever. "Alexia what?"

"Only Alexia," a faint coquetry stealing into her glance.

"O, then you are probably a maid?"

"Y-es. But you are disappointed?"

"No, indeed. You have put me more at ease. I suppose you serve the princess?"

"Whenever I can," demurely.

He could not keep his eyes from hers. "They say that she is a very lonely princess."

"So lonely." And the coquetry faded from her eyes as her glance wandered waterward and became fixed on some object invisible and far away. "Poor lonely princess!"

Maurice was growing colder and colder, but he did not mind. He had wished for some woman to talk to; his wish had been granted. "I feel sorry for her, if what they say is true," having no other words.

"And what do they say, Monsieur?"

"That she and her father have been socially ostracized. I should be proud to be her friend." Once the words were gone from him, he saw their silliness. "A presumptuous statement," he added; "I am an obscure foreigner."

"Friendship, Monsieur, is a thing we all should prize, all the more so when it is disinterested."

He said rapidly, for fear she might hear his teeth chatter: "They say she is very beautiful. Tell me what she is like."

"I am no judge of what men call beauty. As to her character, I believe I may recommend that. She is good."

He was sure that merriment twitched the corners of her lips, and he grew thoughtful. "Alexia. Is that not her Highness's name also?"

"Yes, Monsieur; we have the same names." Her eyes fell, and she began to finger the pages of the book.

"I am rested now," he said, with a sudden distrust. "I thank you."

"Come, then, and I will show you the way to the gate."

"I am sorry to have troubled you," he said.

She did not reply, and together they walked up the path. The plants were dying, and the odor of decay hovered about them. Splashes of rich vermilion crowned the treetops, leaves of gold, russet and faded green rustled on the ground. The sun was gone behind the hills, the lake was tinted with salmon and dun, and Maurice (who honestly would have liked to run) was turning purple, not from atmospheric effect, but from the partly congealed state of his blood. Already he was thinking that his adventure had turned out rather well. It was but a simple task for a man of his imagination to construct a pretty romance, with a kingdom for a background. A maid of honor, perhaps; no matter, he would find means for future communication. A glamour had fallen upon him.

As to the girl, who had scarce spoken to a dozen young men in her life, she was comparing four faces; one of a visionary character of which she had dreamed for ten years, and three which had recently entered into the small circle of her affairs. It was little pleasure to her to talk to those bald diplomats, who were always saying what they did not mean, and meaning what they did not say. And the young officers in the palace never presumed to address her unless spoken to.

What a monotonous life it was! She was like a bird in a cage, ever longing for freedom, not of the air, but of impulse. To be permitted to yield to the impulses of the heart! What a delightful thought that was! But she, she seemed apart from all which was desirable to youth. Women courtesied to her, men touched their hats; but homage was not what she wanted. To be free, that was all; to come and go at will; to laugh and to sing. But ever the specter of royal dignity walked beside her and held her captive.

She was to wed a man on whom she looked with indifference, but wed him she must; it was written. A toy of ambition, she was neither more nor less. Ah, to be as her maids, not royal, but free. Of the three new faces one belonged to the man whom she was to wed; another was a tall, light-haired man whom she had seen from her carriage; the last walked by her side. And somehow, the visionary face, the faces of the man whom she was to wed and the light-haired man suddenly grew indistinct. She glanced from the corner of her eyes at Maurice, but meeting his glance, in which lay something that caused her uneasiness, her gaze dropped to the path.

"I shall be pleased to tell her Highness that a stranger, who has not met her, who does not even suspect her rebel spirit, desires to be her friend."

"O, Mademoiselle," he cried in alarm, "that desire was expressed in confidence."

"I know it. It is for that very reason I wish her to know. Have no fear, Monsieur;" and she laughed without mirth. "Her Highness will not send you to prison"

Close at hand Maurice discovered a cuirassier, who, on seeing them, saluted and stood attention. Maurice was puzzled.

"Lieutenant," said the girl, "Monsieur-Carewe?" turning to Maurice.

"Yes, that is the name."

"Well, then, Monsieur Carewe has met with an accident; please escort him to the gate. I trust you will not suffer any inconvenience from the cold. Good evening, Monsieur Carewe."

She retraced her steps down the path. The bulldog followed. Once he looked back at Maurice, and stopped as if undecided, then went on. Maurice stared at the figure of the girl unfil it vanished behind a clump of rose bushes.

"Well, Monsieur Carewe!" said the Lieutenant, a broad smile under his mustache.

"I beg your pardon, Lieutenant. May I ask you who she is?"

"What! You do not know?"

Maurice suddenly saw light. "Her Royal Highness?" blankly.

"Her Royal Highness, God bless her!" cried the Lieutenant heartily.

"Amen to that," replied Maurice, his agitation visible even to the officer.

They arrived at the gate in silence. The cuirassier raised the bar, touched his helmet, and said, with something like an amused twinkle in his eyes: "Would Monsieur like to borrow my helmet for a space?"

Maurice put up a hand to his water-soaked hair, and gave an ejaculation of dismay. He had forgotten all about his hat, which was by now, in-all probabilities, at the bottom of the lake.

"Curse the luck!" he said, in English.

"Curse the want of it, I should say!" was the merry rejoinder, also in English.

Maurice threw back his head and laughed, and the cuirassier caught the infection.

"However, there is some compensation for the hat," said the cuirassier, straightening his helmet. "You are the first stranger who has spoken to her Highness this many a day. Did the dog take to your calves? Well, never mind; he has no teeth. It was only day before yesterday that the Marshal swore he'd have the dog shot. Poor dog! He is growing blind, too, or he'd never have risked his gums on the Marshal, who is all shins. If you will wait I will fetch you one of the archbishop's skull caps."

"Don't trouble yourself," laughed Maurice. "What I need is not a hat, but a towel, and I'll get that at the hotel. George! I feel so like an ass. What is your name, Lieutenant?"

"Von Mitter, Carl von Mitter, at your service. And you are Monsieur Carewe."

"Of the American legation in Vienna. Thanks for your trouble."

"None at all. You had better hurry along; your nails are growing black."

Maurice passed into the street. "Her Royal Highness!" he muttered. "The crown princess, and I never suspected. Her name is Alexia, and she serves the princess whenever she can! Maurice, you are an ass!"

Having arrived at this conclusion, and brushing the dank hair from his eyes, he thrust his hands into his oozing pockets, and proceeded across the square toward the Continental, wondering if there was a rear entrance. Happily the adventure absorbed all his thoughts. He was quite unobservant of the marked attention bestowed on him. Carriages filled the Strasse, and many persons moved along the walks. It was the promenade hour. The water, which still dripped from his clothes and trickled from his shoes, left a conspicuous trail behind; and this alone, without the absence of a hat, would have made him the object of amused and wondering smiles.

A gendarme stared at him, but seeing that he walked straight, said nothing. Maurice, however, was serenely unaware of what was passing around him. He did not notice even the tall, broad- shouldered man who, with a gun under his arm, brushed past him, followed by a round-faced German over whose back was slung a game-bag. The man with the gun was also oblivious of his surroundings. He bumped into several persons, who scowled at him, but offered no remonstrance after having taken his measure. The German put his pipe into his pocket and advanced a step.

"The other gun, Herr," he said, "would have meant the boar."

"So it would, perhaps," was the reply.

"We've done pretty good work these two days," went on the German; but as the other appeared not to have heard he fell to the rear again, a sardonic smile flitting over his oily face.

When Maurice reached the hotel cafe he left an order for a cognac to be sent to his room, whither he repaired at once. As he got into dry clothes he mused.

"I wonder what sort of a man that crown prince is? Now, if I were he, an army could