“Princess,” said Cyril, standing up and shaking himself, “you have the most extraordinary faculty for making a man uncomfortable that I ever came in contact with. Your prophecies of evil make me feel quite superstitious, and I don’t like it. I tell you what I will do for you, more than I would do for any other woman—even Ernestine herself. You may tell her from me that I place myself unreservedly in her hands. If she asks it of me, I will throw up everything and marry her, and do my best to make her a good husband. Perhaps she will kindly let me have an answer as soon as possible, as I must begin to formulate a scheme for getting round Drakovics if that treaty is to be entered into.”
“You are confiding in the Queen’s generosity,” said Princess Soudaroff. “You feel convinced that she will shrink from founding her happiness on the ruins of your career, although you do not fear to found your career on the loss of her happiness.”
“Now you are looking a gift-horse in the mouth, Princess, which is an ungracious thing to do. At any rate, I deserve to be released from your reproaches now; and if Ernestine refuses my offer my conscience will be absolutely clear.”
“I will request her to give her answer quickly. She asked me to mention to you that it was always safe to trust Princess Anna Mirkovics, in whom she has found it advisable to confide.”
“Yet another person? Well, may I entreat you to impress upon her on no account to trust Drakovics in the very smallest degree—not if he goes down on his knees and implores her with tears in his eyes to confide in him. Let her keep up the tone she adopted at first. And now I must really get back to work, Princess. You cannot conceive how refreshing it has been to see you. I don’t know when I have enjoyed a call so much.”
But when Cyril was in his office again the thought of the step on which he had ventured fairly staggered him. If Ernestine should take him at his word! He gazed round on the familiar pigeon-holes and despatch-boxes like a man under sentence of death. They were the outward and visible signs of his career, and he might be called upon to leave them to-morrow! How he spent the hours between the sending of his message and the receipt of the answer he could not have told afterwards from his own recollection; but the amount of business which he found had been disposed of inclined him to suppose that he had sat up working all night. It was about noon of the next day that Ernestine’s answer arrived, placed in his hands by Anna Mirkovics with a bundle of less important papers. She gave it to him without any indication of the value of the parcel; but as soon as she and her maid had left the office he tore open the roll and took out Ernestine’s note with hands that literally shook. One glance assured him that his fears were groundless.
“My Beloved,”—she wrote,—“Princess Soudaroff has just informed me of your generous offer. I know what it must have cost you; and although I have never for a moment dreamed of accepting it, I love you more, if that were possible, for making it. Dearest, I am ashamed of myself for the way in which I received your decision the other day. I know that it is wise and right, and that it is as painful to you as to me. Forgive me, and I will try to use these long years of waiting in becoming more worthy of you. You will let me see you alone sometimes? I will not cry or complain; but there are always so many things on which I want to consult you. I feel so lonely when I do not see you.—Your own
Ernestine.”
“Well, it is something to be believed in,” said Cyril to himself, passing a hot hand over his damp forehead. “I felt sure I could depend upon her, and yet my nerves are all to pieces. There is one thing, my dear Ernestine, which it is unnecessary under present circumstances to mention to you, and that is, that if you had failed me, I believe your devoted lover would have blown out his brains.”
He tore up the note, and burned every fragment of it with scrupulous care, then turned again with a sigh of satisfaction to the business of everyday life. This was particularly engrossing just at present, and it did not become less so as days went on. The chief subject of interest—and difficulty—was the trial of the Tatarjé conspirators, which was now being conducted by the various tribunals convened for the purpose, and which presented features of great complexity. It appeared natural enough that officers of the army, and state officials like the Bishop and Mayor of Tatarjé, found in arms against their sovereign, should be treated and sentenced as rebels; but the case was complicated to an extraordinary degree by the fact that all the prisoners declared stoutly that they had believed themselves to be fighting under the orders of the Queen and her Government. So far as they knew, the Queen was in their midst during the whole of the time that they were under arms, having taken refuge among them of her own free will, and the commandant had assured them that he had full warrant and support from M. Drakovics for all that he did. It was true that the Premier’s letter, that which his nephew had received from the Bishop, in whose charge the commandant had placed it, did not justify this assertion; but it was quite easy to believe that the arch-conspirator who had perverted its meaning had also exaggerated its terms. Hence it was evident that these men would be punished for obeying what they honestly believed to be their legal orders, a result which would be likely to lead to much difficulty with the army in future, while to leave them without punishment would be to open a door for the fabrication of similar excuses in other cases.