IX
There was very little light in the compartment into which Max had so successfully dived. Some one had turned down the wicks of the oil lamps which hung suspended between the luggage-racks above, and the gloom was notable rather than subdued. So far as he was concerned he was perfectly contented; his security was all the greater. He pressed his face against the window and peered out. The lights of the city flashed by, and finally grew few and far between, and then came the blackness of the country. It would take an hour and a half to cross the frontier, and there would be no stop this side, for which he was grateful. He swore, mumbling. To have come all this way to study, and then to leg it in this ignominious fashion! It was downright scandalous! Whoever heard of such laws? Of course he had been rather silly in pulling his gun, for even in the United States—where he devoutly wished himself at that moment—it was a misdemeanor to carry concealed weapons. He felt of his cheek. He would return some day, and if it was the last thing he ever did, he would slash that lieutenant's cheeks. The insolent beggar! To be struck and not to strike back! He choked.
Gradually his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, and he cast about.
"The deuce!" he muttered.
He was not alone. Huddled in the far corner was a woman heavily veiled. Young or old, he could not tell. She sat motionless, and appeared to be looking out of the opposite window. Well, so long as she did not bother him he would not bother her. But he would much rather have been alone.
He took out his passport and tried to read it. It was impossible. So he rose, steadied himself, and turned up the wick of one of the lamps.
He did not hear the muffled exclamation which came from the other end.
He dropped back upon the cushion and began to read. So he was George Ellis, an American student in good standing; he was aged twenty-nine, had blue eyes, light hair, was six feet tall, and weighed one hundred and fifty-four pounds. Ha! he had, then, lost thirty pounds in as many minutes? At this rate he wouldn't cast a shadow when he struck Dresden. He had studied three years at the college; but what the deuce had he studied? If they were only asleep at the frontier! He returned the document to his pocket, and as he did so his fingers came into contact with the purse he had picked up in the road that morning—Hildegarde von Heideloff. What meant Fate in crossing her path with his? He had been perfectly contented in mind and heart before that first morning ride; and here he was, sighing like a furnace. She had been merely pretty on Monday, on Tuesday she had been handsome, on Wednesday she had been adorable; now she was the most beautiful woman that ever lived. (Ah, the progressive adjective, that litany of love!) Alas! it was quite evident that she had passed out of his life as suddenly and mysteriously as she had entered it. He would keep the purse as a souvenir, and some day, when he was an old man, he would open it.
There is something compelling in the human eye, a magnetism upon which Science has yet to put her cold and unromantic finger. Have you never experienced the sensation that some [Transcriber's note: someone?] was looking at you? Doubtless you have. Well, Max presently turned his glance toward his silent fellow traveler. She had lifted her veil and was staring at him with wondering, fearing eyes. These eyes were somewhat red, as if the little bees of grief had stung them.
"You!" he cried, the blood thumping into his throat. He tossed his hat to the floor and started for her end of the compartment.
She held up a hand as if to ward off his approach. "I can hear perfectly," she said; "it is not needful that you should come any nearer."
He sat down confused. He could not remember when his heart had beaten so irregularly.
"May I ask how you came to enter this compartment?" she asked coldly.
"I jumped in,"—simply. What was to account for this strange attitude?
"So I observe. What I meant was, by what right?"
"It happened to be the only door at hand, and I was in a great hurry." Where was his usual collectedness of thought? He was embarrassed and angry at the knowledge.
"Did you follow me?" Her nostrils were palpitating and the corners of her mouth were drawn aggressively.
"Follow you?" amazed that such an idea should enter into her head. "Why, you are the last person I ever expected to see again. Indeed, you are only a fairy-story; there is, I find, no such person as Hildegarde von Heideloff." Clearly he was recovering.
"I know it,"—candidly. "It was my mother's name, and I saw fit to use it." She really hoped he hadn't followed her.
"You had no need to use it, or any name, for that matter. When I gave you my name it was given in good faith. The act did not imply that I desired to know yours."
"But you did!"—imperiously.
"Yes. Curiosity is the brain of our mental anatomy." When Max began to utter tall phrases it was a sign of even-balanced mentality.
"And if I hadn't told you my name, you would have asked for it."
"Not the first day."
"Well, you would have on Tuesday."
"Not a bit of a doubt." He certainly wouldn't show her how much he cared. (What was she doing in this carriage? She had said nothing that morning about traveling.)
"Well, you will admit that under the circumstances I had the right to give any name it pleased me to give."
He came over to her end and sat down. Her protests (half-hearted) he ignored.
"I can not see very well from over there," he explained.
"It is not necessary that you should see; you can hear what I have to say."
"Very well; I'll go back." And he did. He made a fine pretense of looking out of the window. Why should this girl cross his path at this unhappy moment?
There was a pause.
"You are not near so nice as you were this morning," she said presently.
"I can't be nice and sit away over here."
"What made you jump into this compartment, of all others?"
"I wasn't particular what compartment I got into so long as I got into one. As I said, I was in a hurry."
"You said nothing this morning about going away from Barscheit."
"Neither did you."
Another pause. (I take it, from the character of this dialogue, that their morning rides must have been rather interesting.)
"You told me that you were in Barscheit to study nerves,"—wickedly.
"So thought I, up to half-past nine to-night; but it appears that I am not,"—gloomily.
"You are running away, too?"—with suppressed eagerness.
"Running away, too!" he repeated. "Are you running away?"
"As fast as ever the train can carry me. I am on the way to Dresden."
"Dresden? It seems that Fate is determined that we shall travel together this day. Dresden is my destination also."
"Let me see your passports,"—extending a firm white hand.
He obeyed docilely, as docilely as though he were married. She gave the paper one angry glance and tossed it back.
"George Ellis; so that is your name?"—scornfully. "You told me that it was Scharfenstein. I did not ask you to tell me your name; you took that service upon yourself." She recalled the duke's declaration that he should have her every movement watched. If this American was watching her, the duke was vastly more astute than she had given him the credit for being. "Are you in the pay of the duke? Come, confess that you have followed me, that you have been watching me for these four days." How bitter the cup of romance tasted to her now! She had been deceived. "Well, you shall never take me from this train save by force. I will not go back!"
"I haven't the slightest idea of what you are talking about," he said, mightily discouraged. "I never saw this country till Monday, and never want to see it again."
"From what are you running away then?"—skeptically.
"I am running away from a man who slapped me in the face,"—bitterly; and all his wrongs returned to him.
"Indeed!"—derisively.
"Yes, I!" He thrust out both his great arms miserably. "I'm a healthy-looking individual, am I not, to be running away from anything?"
"Especially after having been a soldier in the Spanish War. Why did you tell me that your name was Scharfenstein?"
"Heaven on earth, it is Scharfenstein! I'm simply taking my chance on another man's passports."
"I am unconvinced,"—ungraciously. She was, however, inordinately happy; at the sight of the picture of woe on his face all her trust in him returned. She believed every word he said, but she wanted to know everything.
"Very well; I see that I must tell you everything to get back into your good graces—Fräulein von Heideloff."
"If you ever were in my good graces!"
Graphically he recounted the adventure at Müller's. He was a capital story-teller, and he made a very good impression.
"If it hadn't been for the princess' eloping I should not have been here," he concluded, "for my friend would have had a waiter bring me that chair."
"The princess' eloping!"—aghast.
"Why, yes. It seems that she eloped to-night; so the report came from the palace."
The girl sat tight, as they say; then suddenly she burst into uncontrollable laughter. It was the drollest thing she had ever heard. She saw the duke tearing around the palace, ordering the police hither and thither, sending telegrams, waking his advisers and dragging them from their beds. My! what a hubbub! Suddenly she grew serious.
"Have you the revolver still?"
"Yes."
"Toss it out of the window; quick!"
"But—"
"Do as I say. They will naturally search you at the frontier."
He took out the revolver and gazed regretfully at it, while the girl could not repress a shudder.
"What a horrible-looking thing!"
"I carried it all through the war."
"Throw it away and buy a new one."
"But the associations!"
"They will lock you up as a dangerous person." She let down the window and the cold night air rushed in. "Give it to me." He did so. She flung it far into the night. "There, that is better. Some day you will understand."
"I shall never understand anything in this country—What are you running away from?"
"A man with a red nose."
"A red nose? Are they so frightful here as all that?"
"This one is. He wants—to marry me."
"Marry you!"
"Yes; rather remarkable that any man should desire me as a wife, isn't it?"
He saw that she was ironical. Having nothing to say, he said nothing, but looked longingly at the vacant space beside her.
She rested her chin upon the sill of the window and gazed at the stars. A wild rush of the wind beat upon her face, bringing a thousand vague heavy perfumes and a pleasant numbing. How cleverly she had eluded the duke's police! What a brilliant idea it had been to use her private carriage key to steal into the carriage compartment long before the train was made up! It had been some trouble to light the lamps, but in doing so she had avoided the possible dutiful guard. He had peered in, but, seeing that the lamps were lighted, concluded that one of his fellows had been the rounds.
The police would watch all those who entered or left the station, but never would they think to search a carriage into which no one had been seen to enter. But oh, what a frightful predicament she was in! All she possessed in the world was a half-crown, scarce enough for her breakfast. And if she did not find her governess at once she would be lost utterly, and in Dresden! She choked back the sob. Why couldn't they let her be? She didn't want to marry any one—that is, just yet. She didn't want her wings clipped, before she had learned what a fine thing it was to fly. She was young.
"Oh!"
"What is it?" she said, turning.
"I have something of yours," answered Max, fumbling in his pocket, grateful for some excuse to break the silence. "You dropped your purse this morning. Permit me to return it to you. I hadn't the remotest idea how I was going to return it. In truth, I had just made up my mind to keep it as a souvenir."
She literally snatched it from his extended hand.
"My purse! My purse! And I thought it was gone for ever!" hugging it hysterically to her heart. She feverishly tried to unlatch the clasps.
"You need not open it," he said quietly, even proudly, "I had not thought of looking into it, even to prove your identity."
"Pardon! I did not think. I was so crazy to see it again." She laid the purse beside her. "You see," with an hysterical catch in her voice, "all the money I had in the world was in that purse, and I was running away without any money, and only Heaven knows what misfortunes were about to befall me. There were, and are, a thousand crowns in the purse."
"A thousand crowns?"
"In bank-notes. Thank you, thank you! I am so happy!"—clasping her hands. Then, with a smile as warm as the summer's sun, she added: "You may—come and sit close beside me. You may even smoke."
Max grew light-headed. This was as near Heaven as he ever expected to get.
"Open your purse and look into it," he said. "I'm a brute; you are dying to do so."
"May I?"—shyly.
Then it came into Max's mind, with all the brilliancy of a dynamo spark, that this was the one girl in all the world, the ideal he had been searching for; and he wanted to fall at her feet and tell her so.
"Look!" she cried gleefully, holding up the packet of bank-notes.
"I wish," he said boyishly, "that you didn't have any money at all, so I could help you and feel that you depended upon me."
She smiled. How a woman loves this simple kind of flattery! It tells her better what she may wish to know than a thousand hymns sung in praise of her beauty.
But even as he spoke a chill of horror went over Max. He put his hand hurriedly into his vest-pocket. Fool! Ass! How like a man! In changing his clothes at the consulate he had left his money, and all he had with him was some pocket change.
The girl saw his action and read the sequence in the look of dismay which spread over his face.
"You have no money either?" she cried. She separated the packet of notes into two equal parts. "Here!"
He smiled weakly.
"Take them!"
"No, a thousand times, no! I have a watch, and there's always a pawnbroker handy, even in Europe."
"You offered to help me," she insisted.
"It is not quite the same."
"Take quarter of it."
"No. Don't you understand? I really couldn't."
"One, just one, then!" she pleaded.
An idea came to him. "Very well; I will take one." And when she gave it to him he folded it reverently and put it away.
"I understand!" she cried. "You are just going to keep it; you don't intend to spend it at all. Don't be foolish!"
"I shall notify my friend, when we reach Doppelkinn, that I am without funds, and he will telegraph to Dresden."
"Your friends were very wise in sending you away as they did. Aren't you always getting into trouble?"
"Yes. But I doubt the wisdom of my friends in sending me away as they did,"—with a frank glance into her eyes. How beautiful they were, now that the sparkle of mischief had left them!
She looked away. If only Doppelkinn were young like this! She sighed.
"Can they force one to marry in this country?" he asked abruptly.
"When one is in my circumstances."
He wanted to ask what those circumstances were, but what he said was: "Is there anything I can do to help you?"
"You are even more helpless than I am,"—softly. "If you are caught you will be imprisoned. I shall only suffer a temporary loss of liberty; my room will be my dungeon-keep." How big and handsome and strong he looked! What a terrible thing it was to be born in purple! "Tell me about yourself."
His hand strayed absently toward his upper vest-pocket, and then fell to his side. He licked his lips.
"Smoke!" she commanded intuitively. "I said that you might."
"I can talk better when I smoke," he advanced rather lamely. "May I, then?"—gratefully.
"I command it!"
Wasn't it fine to be ordered about in this fashion? If only the train might go on and on and on, thousands of miles! He applied a match to the end of his cigar and leaned back against the cushion.
"Where shall I begin?"
"At the beginning. I'm not one of those novel readers who open a book at random. I do not appreciate effects till I have found out the causes. I want to know everything about you, for you interest me."
He began. He told her that he was a German by birth and blood. He had been born either in Germany or in Austria, he did not know which. He had been found in Tyrol, in a railway station. A guard had first picked him up, then a kind-hearted man named Scharfenstein had taken him in charge, advertised for his parents and, hearing nothing, had taken him to America with him.
"If they catch you," she interrupted, "do not under any consideration let them know that you were not born in the United States. Your friend the American consul could do nothing for you then."
"Trust me to keep silent, then." He continued: "I have lived a part of my life on the great plains; have ridden horses for days and days at a time. As a deputy sheriff I have arrested desperadoes, have shot and been shot at. Then I went East and entered a great college; went in for athletics, and wore my first dress-suit. Then my foster-parent died, leaving me his fortune. And as I am frugal, possibly because of my German origin, I have more money than I know what to do with." He ceased.
"Go on," she urged.
"When the Spanish War broke out I entered a cavalry regiment as a trooper. I won rank, but surrendered it after the battle of Santiago. And now there are but two things in the world I desire to complete my happiness. I want to know who I am."
"And the other thing?"
"The other thing? I can't tell you that!"—hurriedly.
"Ah, I believe I know. You have left some sweetheart back in America." All her interest In his narrative took a strange and unaccountable slump.
"No; I have often admired women, but I have left no sweetheart back in America. If I had I should now feel very uncomfortable."
Somehow she couldn't meet his eyes. She recognized, with vague anger, that she was glad that he had no sweetheart. Ah, well, nobody could rob her of her right to dream, and this was a very pleasant dream.
"The train is slowing down," he said suddenly.
"We are approaching the frontier." She shaded her eyes and searched the speeding blackness outside.
"How far is it to the capital?" he asked.
"It lies two miles beyond the frontier."
Silence fell upon them, and at length the train stopped with a jerk. In what seemed to them an incredibly short time a guard unlocked the door.
He peered in.
"Here they are, sure enough, your Excellency!" addressing some one in the dark beyond.
An officer from the military household of the Prince of Doppelkinn was instantly framed in the doorway. The girl tried to lower her veil; too late.
"I am sorry to annoy your Highness," he began, "but the grand duke's orders are that you shall follow me to the castle. Lieutenant, bring two men to tie this fellow's hands,"—nodding toward Scharfenstein.
Max stared dumbly at the girl. All the world seemed to have slipped from under his feet.
"Forgive me!" she said, low but impulsively.
"What does it mean?" His heart was very heavy.
"I am the Princess Hildegarde of Barscheit, and your entering this carriage has proved the greatest possible misfortune to you."
He stared helplessly—And everything had been going along so nicely—the dinner he had planned in Dresden, and all that!
"And they believe," the girl went on, "that I have eloped with you to avoid marrying the prince." She turned to the officer in the doorway. "Colonel, on the word of a princess, this gentleman is in no wise concerned. I ran away alone."
Max breathed easier.
"I should be most happy to believe your Highness, but you will honor my strict observance of orders." He passed a telegram to her.
Search train for Doppelkinn. Princess has eloped. Arrest and hold pair till I arrive on special engine.
Barscheit.
The telegraph is the true arm of the police. The princess sighed pathetically. It was all over.
"Your passports," said the colonel to Max.
Max surrendered his papers. "You need not tie my hands," he said calmly. "I will come peaceably."
The colonel looked inquiringly at the princess.
"He will do as he says."
"Very good. I should regret to shoot him upon so short an acquaintance." The colonel beckoned for them to step forth. "Everything is prepared. There is a carriage for the convenience of your Highness; Herr Ellis shall ride horseback with the troop."
Max often wondered why he did not make a dash for it, or a running fight. What he had gone through that night was worth a good fight.
"Good-by," said the princess, holding out her hand.
Scharfenstein gravely bent his head and kissed it.
"Good-by, Prince Charming!" she whispered, so softly that Max scarcely heard her.
Then she entered the closed carriage and was driven up the dark, tree-enshrouded road that led to the Castle of Doppelkinn.
"What are you going to do with me?" Max asked, as he gathered up the reins of his mount.
"That we shall discuss later. Like as not something very unpleasant. For one thing you are passing under a forged passport. You are not an American, no matter how well you may speak that language. You are a German."
"There are Germans in the United States, born and bred there, who speak German tolerably well," replied Max easily. He was wondering if it would not be a good scheme to tell a straightforward story and ask to be returned to Barscheit. But that would probably appeal to the officer that he was a coward and was trying to lay the blame on the princess.
"I do not say that I can prove it," went on the colonel; "I simply affirm that you are a German, even to the marrow."
"You have the advantage of the discussion." No; he would confess nothing. If he did he might never see the princess again.… The princess! As far away as yonder stars! It was truly a very disappointing world to live in.
"Now, then, forward!" cried the colonel to his men, and they set off at a sharp trot.
From time to time, as a sudden twist in the road broke the straight line, Max could see the careening lights of the princess' carriage. A princess! And he was a man without a country or a name!