The Princess Sonia

by Julia Magruder

“Because, my dear, it is out of the question. If you knew how sick to death I am of men, you would not ask it. Please, if you love me, don’t speak of it again.”

This, of course, was final, and Martha was compelled to bear her disappointment with what patience she could summon. She got a promise from the princess, however, that she would come to the wedding, which was to take place in the American church. At least this would give her the satisfaction of feeling in the future that her friend had seen her brother, and she hoped she might contrive in some way that the latter should see the princess, since it was now decreed that the intercourse could go no further.

Great as Martha’s disappointment was, she forced herself to recognize the fact that, as things were, it might be all for the best that these two should not meet. She could imagine but one result of that meeting, and that, under existing circumstances, might be disastrous to both. Neither of them had fully confided in her, but both of them had told her plainly that a second love was the thing which they most strongly repudiated. In Harold’s case, she knew that this feeling was one that his conscience, no less than his heart, ordained; and in the case of the princess, she somehow felt that it was the same.

The princess, for some reason, did not tell Martha what a notable exception to her rule she made in going to this wedding. The fact was, she had never been to any wedding since her own; and it may have been that fact which accounted for the state of intense excitement which she was in as she drove alone in her carriage through the streets of Paris to the church in the Avenue de l’Alma.

As she got out, and instructed her coachman where to wait, this inward excitement showed in every rapid movement and word. Afterward, when she entered the church, and walked, with a definiteness of manner which would seem to have indicated a prearranged plan, straight down the left-hand aisle to the choir-stalls, her face was flushed and her eyes were brilliant. It was early, and few people had come as yet.

The princess wore a long, dark cloak, which concealed her figure, and on her large hat, which hid the outline of her head, a rather thick Russian veil was fastened, so that her features were scarcely distinguishable.

There was a shaded corner near the organ, behind the chorister-stalls, that was quite screened from the congregation, and so situated as to be almost out of view from the chancel also, if one chose to protect one’s self behind the great pillar that stood there. The day was dark and cloudy, but the chancel was brilliant with lighted candles. The princess with firm confidence walked to this place, and took her seat. She did not seem to care whether the church was filling up or not. She scarcely noticed when some people came and took the seats near her. In these moments she was so lost in thoughts and reminiscences that the furious beating of her heart almost suffocated her.

When, from just behind her, a great organ-note swelled forth, and filled the church with tremulous vibrations, the princess gave a little fluttered start. No one was near enough to observe this, however, or to see the crouching back into her seat which followed it. The music seemed to heighten her emotion, and she trembled visibly. She quite lost count of time, and did not know how long it was before she saw a clergyman enter the chancel and stand there, waiting. Then, as two officers in rich uniforms came and took their places in front of him, the sonorous chords of the old familiar Mendelssohn march swelled from the organ, and the heart within her seemed to stop and sink. It was the sound and influence to which, in perfect joy, she had walked to her own wedding.

She knew that the bridal procession was coming up the aisle, but she did not turn her head to get a view into the church. She felt the people about her rise to their feet, but she sat still. Her trembling limbs would not have held her up; but she did not even know that she was trembling. She knew only that she was waiting—that all her heart and all her soul were wrapped in a bewildering suspense until the coming of what was very near her now. They passed close to her, the girls in their white dresses, and the officers in their glittering uniforms, and stood in divided ranks, leaving the space between them clear.

Into this space, directly in front of the clergyman, there now advanced a woman covered with a cloud of gauzy tulle. She leaned upon the arm of the only man in the party who was not in uniform.