They made their journey, as if by some tacit arrangement, exactly as they had made it, day by day, five years before; and the very day, five years before, that they had entered Orlamunde, on the eve of the anniversary of Michelle’s marriage, they reached the little capital and put up at an inn.
“For I would not accept even a lodging from the rascal Prince,” said Berwick, and Roger heartily agreed with him.
In the evening, though, having given notice of their arrival to the Prince, they must appear at Monplaisir at eight o’clock. All, all was the same. The straight, broad avenue of clipped trees, the fountains of the dolphins ever playing, the statues, the marble terrace, the white palace, beautiful in the evening glow; a deep blue sky, with a young moon and a single blazing star beside her; and the same mob of powdered lackeys, and the same miniature state as of five years before.
The Prince received them in that noble hall where the wedding banquet had been held. He was yellower, sicklier, wickeder, more dissipated-looking than before, which is saying much. He was attended by his old chum, Count Bernstein, and a new one, Baron Reichenbach, who seemed a bird of quite the same feather; and there were other gentlemen present, and among them,—oh, iniquity of iniquities!—was Hugo Stein, under the name and title of Sir Hugo Egremont of Egremont, in the County of Devon, England.
He had ever been a more strictly handsome man than his half-brother; and as the time that Roger had spent in camps Hugo had spent at courts, so was Hugo more delicately skinned, more soft and supple, than Roger. And he was magnificently dressed, wearing a superbly jewelled dress-sword, on the hilt of which sparkled an emerald set with diamonds, which Roger recognized as having once belonged to his own mother, and he also knew nearly every other jewel in the hilt.
It was the bitterest moment in Roger Egremont’s life when his eye, travelling around the company, fixed itself on Hugo; and when Hugo, ever adopting an attitude of conciliation, advanced, saying, “Welcome, brother!” Roger stood like a statue for one moment, and then advancing, with arms outstretched wide, cried,—
“Welcome, Hugo Stein. Never was I so glad to see you before. A great, a glorious thing has happened. We have come here to notify you that you have spent your own and your master’s money in vain. And likewise to make it so hot for you that you will be compelled to leave Orlamunde. I cannot forbear embracing you in my joy.” And seizing Hugo suddenly about the waist, Roger lifted him bodily off the floor, and flung him headlong through the open window. And as Hugo went tumbling out, head-foremost, Roger caught him by the leg, and wrenched the dress-sword from about him, then dropped him on to the flower-bed below the palace window.
Instantly there was an uproar. The Prince, white with rage, turned to Roger as he stood smiling and examining the hilt of Hugo’s sword.
“Sir, you forget yourself amazingly. This conduct cannot be tolerated.”
Roger bowed low, still smiling. The Prince, then turning to Berwick, said in a voice which trembled with excitement,—