“I have no objection to being an American if I can live in Europe. And all the Americans I have met seem to make no difficulty about that. I suppose your excellent father would not wish me to go into business with him?”
“I am sure he would not!”
“Sarolta,” murmured Prince Illehazy, “I have been uneasy for some time. Has not the moment come to speak?”
“I have spoken—this afternoon—and her philosophical calm staggered me.”
“I see no evidence of philosophical calm.”
“It is a transformation I do not understand—although I understand it as a manifestation better than the philosophy. I shall ask Mr. Abbott to go as soon as we reach Budapest, and doubtless he would be obliged to return to America very soon in any case; although I had a letter yesterday from his step-mother, and she seemed to take his long absence without protest. I do not care to do anything further without something more specific as an excuse than the young man’s devotion, and an expression of reckless defiance worn for one evening. Besides, we have Piroska to do the spying. The King will not remain too long unwarned. But Ranata’s love-affair hardly worries me as much as this perhaps too sudden popularity. I fear it may be overdone, and will alarm Franz, possibly the King. Ranata has not a thought of usurpation. I am convinced of that. But—”
“Exactly. I saw Königsegg when I was in Vienna last week, and he tried in his delicate way to pump me. He learned nothing, but I did. The wind is blowing the wrong way. If the Princess, in a moment of haughty forgetfulness, drops her policy of conciliation towards Königsegg, or he becomes suddenly fearful of American influence—for Mr. Abbott may go, but he will return, or I know nothing of men—or the minister fears to anger the heir—then our beautiful princess will go back to her cage in the Hofburg.”
“In that case I should not care to be the Emperor,” remarked the Princess Sarolta.
Ranata suddenly lifted her hand. “I hear such a peculiar noise,” she said. “Is a storm rising?”
The rest became aware of a deep low murmur, not unlike the rolling in of tides. Zrinyi left the table hastily and looked from one of the narrow windows at the upper end of the hall.