He regarded me with the old amused twinkle in his eyes, and then with a glance at the chess-board, a thought struck him and he crossed to me. "You are fond of chess problems, by the way. I'll set you one."
He swept all the black pieces off the board except the king and one pawn, and then left the white king and five white pawns, two of the latter so placed that but one move for each was necessary for them to become queens.
"Could you win that game if you were white?" he asked.
"It is but childish; of course these pawns become queens."
"Exactly. In chess any pawn that can get far enough can be a queen—but not in life, you know. Good-night, Christabel."
I scarcely heard his good-night, but sat staring down at the little pieces where he had placed them.
"You think that any such thing was in his thoughts?"
"What I think is—that orange-blossoms have a very charming scent, Christabel, and Count Gustav is the hope of the Patriots. Again, good-night, child. You have won your victory—by your own wits mainly, although other things have been fighting for you. Go to bed and dream of it, and remember—the first obligation of a conqueror is magnanimity. No—no more to-night, child, except—God bless you and give you happiness."
I lay a long time thinking over the events of that full day, and wrestling with the problem which his Excellency's last words had set me: "The first obligation of a conqueror is magnanimity."
So that was the secret. I had won in the struggle. Not only was my father's fame to be righted, but I was to be honoured, not from any recognition of justice, but in order that I might be a fit wife for a duke's son.