“There is a steamer leaving for Southampton in the morning?” he asked, eagerly.
“Yes,” answered Gerald Strong. Then he seated himself beside the prince, and said, gently:
“You will forgive me, Prince Carlo, if I take the liberty of a much older man, not well versed in the etiquette of courts, to ask you if your return at such a crisis as the present is not foolhardy?”
“Mayhap,” cried the prince, a note of recklessness in his voice. “But think not that I am friendless because a few of my people have been tools in a traitor’s hands. A hundred years ago the madmen of France informed the world that kings and their God were dead. Short-sighted, deluded dreamers! They slew in the name of Freedom, and brought forth—Napoleon. I shall go back, not to bring peace, but a sword. Fools that they are, to think that my people, loving me, will listen forever to the voice of Fejeravy.—Fejeravy, the Judas of my house! It is not for naught that we who hold the thrones of Europe are bound together by the ties of blood. What madness blinds my people? If I were dead, mayhap their crazy scheme would have some hope of victory. But behind me, as my allies, stand all the kings and emperors of the world. At my back are armies before which Rexania’s rabble rout would fly like chaff. Mad as was the scheme that sought to make me abdicate my throne to please the wishes of a few adventurous rebels in this New World that I shall never see again, it was not more futile than the effort of my people to set up for themselves a government against which every court in Europe will be arrayed.”
Prince Carlo arose and paced the room restlessly. Gerald Strong and his son remained silent. They seemed to be gazing from a mountain-top upon some wild and bloody scene in ancient history. To these calm, unimpressionable Americans the future that called to this pale-faced youth seemed to be made of the warp and woof that form the texture of the visions of the night. Of what did he speak? Of an alien army under his command, placing him upon a throne stained with the blood of his own countrymen! He represented the very incarnation of Reaction calling with confidence upon its ancient allies, Blood and Iron. And yet he was a gentle youth. His smile was charming as he took the hand of his silent host and said:
“Forgive me for boring you with my selfish thoughts. You have been very kind. How much I thank you, I cannot say. And now, time presses. I have much to do, in small ways, before the steamer sails. May I trouble you to ask Miss Kate if I may say farewell?”
Ned Strong left the room and returned a moment later.
“My sister will see you in the drawing-room,” he said as he re-entered the library. “And then, if you wish, I will place myself at your service, Prince Carlo, until your departure.”
A moment later father and son were left alone. They remained silent for several minutes, attempting to readjust their wandering thoughts to the quiet exigencies of their own environment.