“He is in love with our princess,” whispered Piroska scornfully. “Not but that it is quite natural everybody should fall in love with her, but I should think it would be a sensation to be avoided by any one under an archduke; and as for Molnár, he is not to be pitied, he is too ludicrous.”
“I don’t fancy you waste much pity on any one,” said Fessenden.
“I pity you,” said Piroska softly.
“Indeed?” he asked innocently. “What have I done that I should be pitied?”
“Done? Ah—but I understand American better since I have had the pleasure to know Miss Abbott. I mean—I think you are too fine to waste your love on a woman who is no more achievable than the polar star.”
“Oh— Do you think I am in love with the Archduchess? Well, I will confide to you that I am, but don’t—don’t betray me, or the Emperor will be ordering me out of the Dual Monarchy; and I have a theory that it is a good thing for a young man to be in love with the polar star. It keeps him out of much mischief.”
Piroska was nonplussed, and turned her wide gaze upon him. He was eating with every appearance of appetite, and Piroska, although a sordid soul, had her idea of what a lover should be.
“You never have eyes for any one else,” she murmured, at a loss.
“Remember the limited time at my disposal. One month—two, perhaps, and I must walk a tread-mill in a land without polar stars.” He was thinking, “Shall I throw her off the track, or would she be more useful as an enemy? I should use her without scruple, for I am convinced that she is here to spy, and she has a ledger where her heart ought to be. It will not do to be too precipitate; she might act before we are ready. All I want is her added weight at the right moment.” He determined to be guided by events, and turned to her with his frank smile, which seemed at once to establish a personal relation. “I should like to show you America—that is a large order!—New York, rather,” he said. “You must come over some time with my sister.” And then, to the mystified but delighted little intrigante, he made himself as agreeable for the next half-hour as he knew how; and his spirits were so plainly unaffected that the Zápolya thought less of Ranata’s power to charm.
The rising voice of Molnár gave him the excuse he wanted to assist the Archduchess in her difficult task.