CHRISTMAS morning came and with it came another box of flowers—glorious roses, this time, of a deep red and of a scent breathing sympathy to the lonely girl. Enclosed was a card bearing the one word, “Greetings.” She pressed the lovely flowers to her face as if kissing the hand that had sent them. The contact with the velvet petals soothed her troubled spirits. When she met Donald that day she asked after his master. Don shook his head—he had nothing to tell her.
“Why are you still in Weimar, McCormick?” she said.
McCormick grinned. “Weimar is all right, Miss,” he said, “and I’ve no home to go to. Besides, orders are orders, Miss, and I’ve got to stay here in case you might need me. Say the word, Miss, and I’ll be ready.”
She thanked him with a pathetic little smile. The roses and Don’s words were enough for one day. She re-entered the castle thinking that her Christmas had been a very happy one.
The next day the Princess came into her room looking greatly distressed and holding a periodical in her hand, which she held out to Helène.
“Here,” she said, “is the explanation of the malicious gossip.” It was a copy of an English society paper, three weeks old, which an English friend had sent the Princess. It contained a scurrilous article dealing with Morton and his adventure with the two ladies in Roumelia. As Helène read her heart seemed to turn to a stone—a feeling of nausea overcame her.
After stating the fact of their escape from Roumelia, the article went on to say that Morton, the hero of the adventure, had received but scant courtesy from the two ladies. They treated him with cold indifference, scarcely deigning to hold any conversation with him. As for Count Rondell-Barton, who was supposed to have planned and financed the expedition, he could not have been very active in the matter, since so far from being on the Roumelian border, he never came closer to it than Brindisi. When, however, the proud ladies arrived in Vienna and learned from the American Minister to Germany who and what their rescuer, Mr. Morton, was, their whole bearing and attitude towards that gentleman changed entirely. They became as friendly then as they had been cool before. The millionaire was quite a different person from the stranger who had risked his life for them. What a tale Mr. Morton would have to tell when he went back to America; and what would he think of Europe’s nobility!
And now, as she had finished the vile writing, she was filled with indignation.
“Who inspired this disgraceful composition?” she asked her friend. The Princess shook her head.
“I spoke to Count Radau about it and he said that no one would pay any attention to what this paper printed. It had a bad reputation in England and, no doubt, lived on purveying this kind of stuff to readers who like it. He advised me to forget it.”