“I beseech you, Comtesse, not to do anything rash! I implore you to be calm and to listen to me! I assure you, nothing was further from my thoughts than disrespect towards the Princess or yourself. Will you not oblige me by permitting me to reason with you?”
Helène, somewhat calmed, looked piteously at Morton. Her resentment had vanished and in place of the proud royalist there stood the helpless woman-child. Her lips quivered and the tears fell uncontrollably. She collapsed rather than sat in the chair, her head sank upon her arm.
“Oh, papa—why did you abandon me?” she moaned. “Why didn’t you come for us yourself—why did you leave me here without anyone to advise me?”
Anguish in face and heart, John stood gazing at her in pitiful sympathy. He realized what a hard fight the child must have gone through—pleading and persuading with the Princess. He began to think quickly. He must abandon reasoning and plead—plead and beg for a favor. He remembered some words his father had once said to him: “Never argue with a woman, my boy; kneel down to her, confess you have been wrong, throw yourself upon her mercy—beg forgiveness. She will follow you then.”
“Comtesse, I beg you once more to forgive me! Pray listen to what I have to say.” He broke off with a catch in his voice.
“I have traveled five thousand kilometers—to get here. I have disobeyed the call of my loving parents, of a father who is ill, of a mother who has not seen me—her only son—in years. I have come here with other brave and loyal men, to bring you out of this dangerous land. Be just to me, dear lady. I may not have the fervor of loyalty for royalty, for I am an American—a republican. In my country kings and queens are but as other men and women. It is their worth that counts with us there. I wish I could have brought your dear father with me. But that was impossible. He sent me to act for him. Your father is most devoted to Her Royal Highness, and I—I am ready to do all that he would have done. But first in his heart is his child. He enjoined me, Comtesse, to think of the Princess first; but, if I could not prevail there, I was to think of you. ‘For God’s sake,’ he said, ‘help my child.’ That is why I am here, and that is why I spoke as I did. If I have done wrong I beg you to pardon me.”
John had put his whole heart into his words. Helène lifted her head and turned her eyes on him in questioning wonderment. But he left her no time to interpolate.
“Can you blame me, dear lady, if your words unbalanced me? Faithful to my promise to your noble father, I have made every preparation. My men are ready and waiting. They will perish if the Princess fails us at this the eleventh hour. And after to-day there will be no hope; for to-morrow the tyrant of Bucharest will inaugurate a reign of terror and God alone knows what will happen to us all, then.”
Helène’s eyes showed the remorse she was feeling. She gazed with awed look at the man who had thus unselfishly taken upon himself a duty which should have concerned her own kin. She was ashamed of her words and knew not how to express her changed feelings.
“Comtesse, will you not speak with the Princess again? Tell her of what I have said now. Convey to her your father’s earnest desires. She should think of that, for your father was her father’s most devoted friend. A new duty has devolved on her; in addition to the duty she owes to herself, she owes a duty to Count Rondell, to you and, I will say it, to me, who has her honor at heart. I am now, I must say it, the one hope left. Assure her that she may trust me implicitly. Your noble father, the Count, would not otherwise have sent me. Go back to the Princess and use your most persuasive powers. If she consents, all will be well, and I shall be very happy. But give me, first, your solemn promise that, come what may, Princess or no Princess, you will be at the chapel at six o’clock this evening, and that you will come to the gate where I shall be waiting for you. Comtesse, I cannot let you go without that promise.”