Courtney flung his cigarette at the fireplace, and got up.
“Then, if you don’t know, I’ll tell you what I think,—throw that damn letter into the fire and stay right here in Dornlitz; if you let it lure you to Lotzenia, you are an unmitigated fool.”
“But the Book!—and Spencer only confirms what my own eyes told me.”
“Lies, lies, rotten lies!” said Courtney. “He hasn’t the Book—it’s all a plant—you escaped last night because Bigler blundered in, and because the Regent was with you—but in that wild land of the North, you will last about a day, or less. Why don’t you forget the miserable Book, for a while, and get to work on your vote in the House of Nobles?—there is where you will likely have to fight it out any way, even if Frederick did make your decree. Play politics a bit, and you will have Lotzen back in Dornlitz on the jump—and the Book with him, too, if he has it.”
The Archduke went over and put his hand on Courtney’s shoulder.
“Dick,” he said, “it’s something worth living for to have known a man like you, and to have had him for a friend and companion; and if I don’t follow your advice you will understand it is because I can’t. You have called me headstrong; I grant it, it’s bred in the bone I think; and I’m not of those who can sit, and wait, and play politics. I shall find the Laws of the Dalbergs, somewhere, somehow, long before the year is over; and if necessary I’m going to kill Lotzen in the finding—or be killed—” he broke off with a laugh and a shrug. “Positively, old man, I’m ashamed of myself; I seem to have become a braggart and a swash-buckler.”
“Who is the braggart and swash-buckler, my dear Marshal?” asked the Princess, entering suddenly, with Lady Helen Radnor, Mlle. d’Essoldé and Colonel Moore, “not Mr. Courtney I hope.”
“Unfortunately, no; Your Highness,” said Armand. “Candor compels me to admit that I was characterizing myself.”
She pointed her crop at the decanter, and nodded questioningly to the Ambassador.
“No,” said he, “no; it’s only a sudden rush of remorse for deeds past and to come.”