He set his teeth and walked on, turning deliberately from the thought of Ernestine to that of the difficulties which must be faced in the near future, although their exact nature was involved in some uncertainty owing to the ambiguous attitude assumed of late by M. Drakovics. In the secret of this attitude, Cyril felt convinced, there lay some advantage for him, if he could only discover it.
“It’s quite clear that he has been up to something,” he soliloquised. “I’m afraid he has taken good care to cover up his tracks; but if I can hunt him out, I will. Not that I bear any malice against him, of course; but I am badly in need of a fellow-criminal, with whom to exchange crimes and pardon. What nuts if I can spot any of his little dodges!”
Various ideas, springing from this aspiration, occupied his mind until he reached the castle, and was admitted by the armed doorkeeper into the great courtyard. On the raised terrace before the house sat Prince Mirkovics and the older members of his clan, smoking, drinking coffee, and talking. The Prince had spent his morning in performing the duties of his station. He had dispensed justice to the people of his district, inspected the work on his farm, given an eye to the construction of a new road, practically the first to be made in that part of the country, and enjoyed his siesta after the mid-day meal; and now he was watching the evolutions of his mounted retainers, who were going through a primitive form of drill, such as had no doubt preceded the operations against Roum in the war of independence. His astonishment on beholding Cyril was great.
“You here, Count?” he exclaimed, rising to greet him. “On a hunting expedition, I suppose?” looking with some perplexity at his garb. “But why not send to say you were coming, so that we might have got up a bear-hunt for you? Come, sit down with us,” and he dragged him towards the group. “You know my brother, the Bishop of Karajevo? and I think you have met most of these gentlemen before?”
“Pardon me, my dear Prince,” said Cyril, releasing himself with difficulty from the hospitable grip; “but I am not here on my own account. I have the honour to announce to you that her Majesty the Queen, in returning from Tatarjé to the capital with the King, has arrived at the boundary of your estate, and hopes to enjoy the shelter of your roof to-night.”
“The Queen in this district, and coming here!” cried Prince Mirkovics, his face growing red and his grey moustache bristling wrathfully. “Are you aware, Count, that when I last appeared at Court her Majesty barely acknowledged my presence, and would not so much as grant me her hand to kiss? Am I to be publicly insulted at Bellaviste, and then bearded in my own house?”
“So far as I am aware, her Majesty has no intention of the kind,” returned Cyril; “but in any case, Prince, you would not refuse hospitality to a lady, who is Regent of Thracia to boot?”
“What business has she to be Regent of Thracia?” growled the Prince. “Men should rule over men. Let her be content to make laws for her silly Court.”
“Come, Prince, this is treason,” and Cyril laughed forbearingly. “You don’t really wish me to return and tell the Queen that Prince Mirkovics forgets the loyalty of a lifetime in the pique of a day?”
“No, I don’t,” roared the Prince; “but am I to submit to have my authority set at naught before my own clan?”