The hall was of immense proportions, and the dining-room being far off, beyond many chill corridors, the table was spread at the end farthest from the doors that opened directly upon a platform in front of the castle. The cannon were still in the embrasures. In the light of the many, yet insufficient, lamps the room with its battle-flags and weapons, its skins and dim hangings embroidered with the old arts of Hungary, so recently revived, was feudal enough to please the most exacting American.
“Count,” murmured Alexandra, “if you could only provide an earthquake shock among other phenomena I believe I should no longer resist.”
“You need an earthquake,” he replied. “But, of course, I am gratified, and hopeful, at the conquest of the castle.”
“I shouldn’t care to live here all the year round, however.”
“Heaven forbid! even with the most adored of women. Give me the capitals of the world in winter.”
“It is a great comfort to feel that our tastes are so much alike!” And she thought, “The Hungarians may be two-thirds fire and impulse, but no American could take his cues more quickly.”
Zrinyi, who was not in a sentimental mood, continued: “I have a surprise for this night, if not an earthquake. I find that the peasantry all through these mountains have been much excited since they heard the Princess was coming here—that is to say, the sister of Rudolf. Most of the young men were beaters at one time or another for him, and those who were not, and the old and the women, invariably managed to see him when he came to Görgény. His delightful manners, combined with the halo of monarchy, made them worship him in a manner which few modern princes have known—Ludvig II. perhaps furnishes the only parallel. Nor will they believe him dead. They know that our princess resembles him in many respects, and doubtless they have some sort of hope that she can give them definite news of him, that perhaps she has come to announce his return from the dim unknown. So I have sent men about inviting them to come here to-night. She has another opportunity to draw to herself the love that has been wasted since Rudolf’s death. I am grateful that she is looking her best to-night, for although she is always beautiful, she has appeared less brilliant of late.”
“She wears color to-night,” said Alexandra dryly; “that is the whole secret.”
“I am not a fool, mademoiselle; I understand quite well, and sincerely wish she could be happy. But unhappiness is the fate of princes. They are born in sacrifice, and they die in it, having known little else. But our princess has so much to give—it is a great pity I don’t waste my sympathies on them as a rule. And your brother—it is his first disappointment? It will go hard with him, but any man worth the name can get over anything.”
“That is comforting! If Ranata and Fessenden suddenly made up their minds to run off, should you help them?”