He was, as usual, clean-shaven, handsomely dressed, and debonair. He bowed low to Michelle, and said, with his crafty smile,—
“I have the honor to bid your Highness welcome to Orlamunde once more. Prince Karl has been anxiously expecting your Highness. So has the Countess Bertha von Kohler. So have I, Sir Hugo Egremont, ever since my return from England.”
Michelle made no reply, either in words or in expression. Truly was she a great lady, for in the presence of her enemy she maintained without the least effort a calmness, a coolness, a composure that robbed that enemy of half his joy in insulting her. She looked at him without the smallest agitation. He might have been a stock or a stone for all the notice she took of him.
“Your Highness is probably surprised to see me at Orlamunde again, after my pointed invitation to leave, by the Duke of Berwick and my half-brother; and without wishing to wound your Highness, I must say Prince Karl did not back me up as he should considering how much money I had paid him for my master, King William, to say nothing of what I had lost to him at cards. However, I only went away that I might return again. I went to England, and on the very day I arrived I had the satisfaction of denouncing an escaped felon and convict, Richard Egremont, some time of the order of the Jesuits. He was hanged, as he should have been. Then, on explaining my affairs to the Government, I was permitted to return to Orlamunde with more power, more money than before, to say nothing of money I brought with me; for, my dear lady, to be without money at Monplaisir is like standing before a soup-pot without a spoon. I arrived but a week ago. I had no trouble in explaining to his Highness that there had never really been anything between your Highness and me, and that what I said was simply meant to pay your Highness off as well as my half-brother. The Prince has kindly forgotten it all, and he has won over a thousand louis d’or from me since I came back. We have had a glorious week of play, of music, of intrigue, of champagne. The palace is just the same, except that the Countess Bertha has a rival in a couple of dancing dogs, given the Prince by Madame Marochetti. ’Tis thought they will go far toward restoring Madame Marochetti’s empire.”
Still, no word, no sign from Michelle. Not the slightest tinge of color appeared upon her pale face, nor a flash of indignation in her dark eyes. Hugo Stein was more angry with her for her composure than for any one thing she had ever done in her life.
He had been standing before her, but he then seated himself upon the bench with her, in the very spot in which Roger had sat.
“I thought your Highness’s running away with my half-brother a mistake, a great mistake. If you loved him, you could have kept him at Orlamunde, in peace and quiet. No one would have objected.”
What was this? Michelle, leaning back wearily, put up her hand as she yawned slightly. Hugo Stein stopped a full minute. There was no sound except the faint movement of the wind among the fallen leaves at their feet, and the call of a wood pigeon, lonely and mateless.
Then, however, the silence was broken. Down the highroad came galloping a motley crew, the dust from their horses’ hoofs obscuring the October sun, their housings and trappings and clothes and swords shining bravely. They were singing and shouting as they rode, Prince Karl at their head, swaying back and forth as he urged his horse on, striking the poor beast with his sword in his drunken frenzy; for they were all very drunk, the Countess Bertha and Madame Marochetti among them. As Michelle recognized them her pale face grew paler, and she looked about her for a moment in despair, like a hunted creature seeking escape. Seeing this, Hugo Stein smiled.
“Yonder is his Highness, come to meet your Highness,” he said. “He will be pleased at the attention I have shown you by being the first person to welcome you to Orlamunde.”