“My thanks, cousin!” he said, “I can accept from her what I could not from you. You have bested me—the game is over. I shall not be needed at the reading of the decree.—Your Royal Highness—Messieurs of the Council—I bid you fare-well.” He held out his hand to Madeline Spencer. “Come, my Duchess, we will to your Paris and the Rue Royale.—Monsieur le Comte, the door!”—and with all the stately grace and courteous deference of a minuet he led her down the room, and bowed her out, and himself after.
There was a moment of silence; then the Archduke spoke.
“My lords, the Book of Laws is found, or so much of it as the fire has spared. How we chanced to come upon it here will best be told another time; enough now that but for the daring and quick wit of Her Royal Highness, it would have been forever lost.” He glanced at the clock. “The hour for the Council has already passed. Your Excellency, the Laws are before you, will you do us the favor to read the decree?”
The Count stepped forward and lifted the Book from the rug; of the heavy cover little remained but the brass hinges; the first few pages were scorched and half consumed, and all the edges charred and split and eaten into by the flames; but otherwise it seemed to be without hurt.
Yet Dehra’s hand went to her heart, and her breath came sharply, as slowly and carefully Epping turned the leaves, holding them together the while, lest they break apart. Was the decree there! Might Lotzen have destroyed it—torn it from the Book, before they came upon him!
Then the Count stopped, and bending down read for a moment. When he looked up there was a strange expression on his face; he did not speak at once; and when he did his voice was repressed and almost trembling.
“It is here,” he said; “executed the day before King Frederick died. I read it:
“‘Section one hundred thirty-first.—It is hereby decreed that His Royal Highness the Archduke Armand shall be eligible to the Crown of Valeria, and he is herewith restored to his proper place in the Line of Succession, as the right heir male of Hugo, second son of Henry the Third.’”
For an instant Armand’s brain whirled—then he awoke to Dehra’s hands in his, and her voice in his ear, and the shouts and waving blades of the Ministers.
“The ritual, Epping! the ritual!” the Princess cried, and caught up the sword she had tossed aside to rescue the Book—then gasped in wondering fear, as the old Count raised his hand and shook his head.