"Good-bye," I said simply.
"Good-bye," she answered with corresponding brevity, and, as I looked into her face, I saw what I felt sure were tears rising in her eyes.
"What could it mean?" I asked myself, as we made our way downstairs. As far as I could see, nothing had occurred to cause her so much emotion.
That evening Max was my guest at mess, and afterwards we went on to two or three houses together, at none of which were we fortunate enough to meet the Princess. Next morning, however, we encountered her in the Row, and in the evening at a succession of dances. From that time forward, during the remainder of Max's stay in town, we seemed to be continually in her company. That Max had followed my example, and was by this time as madly in love with the Princess as I was myself, I am quite convinced. Never by word or deed, however, did he try to make me aware of the fact. But I could see that it existed. Of my own feelings I am not going to say anything. All things considered, it is better I should not. Those who have the wit to understand will be able to read between the lines.
It was during Max's stay in town that he completed the formalities connected with his decision to resign his commission in the Lancers.
At this juncture it is necessary that I should depart from the direct course of my narrative, in order to offer a few remarks upon Max's own personal condition during the few weeks he was with me in town. This, I must frankly confess, was at times of such a nature as to cause me the greatest possible alarm. He was as changeable as the summer breezes. At one moment he seemed all happiness; the next he was plunged into the depths of despair. At one time he would talk of Pannonia with the greatest affection, and appear to be sanguine as to his chance of some day ascending the throne; the next he would assure me that the Republic would last longer than we expected, and that, even if it did not, he would never live to be king. Extravagant though it may seem to say so, I feel bound to confess that there were occasions when I wondered whether the troubles of our unhappy House had not exercised an undue influence upon his mind. As may be supposed, my position at this particular time was far from being a happy one. To make it worse, the Princess had, for some reason or other, taken it into her head to be vexed with me. What I had done to offend her I could not see, but that she was angry with me was quite clear. It may possibly have been that she thought I was growing tired of the acquaintanceship, inasmuch as I was not quite so often with her. But I was resolved that, happen what might, Max should have a fair chance. He was the elder, and, if he were going to be king, their marriage would be only fit and proper. Therefore, if she preferred him to myself, he should have her, and I would do my best to appear delighted. If not, well, then it would be my turn to put my fortune to the test. It took some time to arrive at this decision, but that once done, the rest was easy. Oh, that dreadful time! It has often struck me as extraordinary that Max and I should have managed to come through it as satisfactorily as we did. Surely he must have guessed something of what was in my mind. But it is quite certain that, if he did, he never for one moment allowed me to suspect it. We met continually, discussed the various topics of the day with well-simulated interest, occupied ourselves with our round of amusements, as if the wolves were not all the time gnawing at our heartstrings, and to each other and the world in general were as friendly as two brothers could hope to be. Meanwhile, we both knew that every day was bringing us nearer the inevitable end.
To be precise, it was on Monday, the fourteenth day of July, that the climax came. Max had left me soon after lunch to ride in the Park with the Princess Ottilie. I was on duty that afternoon, so was unable, even had I desired to do so, to accompany them. Indeed, it was after six o'clock before I returned to my house, where I expected to find Max awaiting me. To my surprise, however, he was not there.
"Has not the Crown Prince returned?" I inquired of Felix, my imperturbable groom of the chambers.
"His Royal Highness left the house nearly an hour and a half ago," the man replied. "I thought your Highness was aware of his intention to leave London."
"To leave London!" I cried in astonishment. "What do you mean? What reason have you for supposing that he has left London?"