“I am indeed distressed to hear it, sir. Am I right in supposing that the circular foreshadowed some rapprochement between ourselves and Scythia?”
“Well, not exactly; but there seems to be little doubt that it was issued in response to a Scythian initiative. Gods of Hellas! I am no use in matters of diplomacy. Tell me, Count—you have had more opportunity of studying my daughter’s character of late than I have—have you seen anything to make you imagine that she cherishes a tendresse for that blatant Philistine, Nikifor of Klausenmark?”
“Nothing whatever, sir,” responded Cyril, with the most perfect truth. “So far as I am aware, her Majesty has never even seen his Highness.”
“Ah!” said the Prince, obviously much relieved. “Then the whole thing may be a mare’s nest evolved by Drakovics out of his own inner consciousness. For the moment we—that is, the Emperors—I should say, the Western Powers—were really perturbed. But this will reassure them. After all, it is sometimes best to ask a plain question instead of beating about the bush. By the bye, what is your opinion as to the likelihood of the Queen’s marrying again?”
This was a question so plain as to be startling in its suddenness; but Cyril met the half-suspicious eyes of the artist-Prince without blenching as he replied, “I heard the other day, sir, from one who ought to know, that her Majesty had declared her intention of remaining unmarried, at any rate until the King is of age.”
“A very good idea, indeed. But that does not lessen the difficulty about Drakovics. Since he has taken it into his head that she is likely to marry again, he may go on stirring up uneasiness for years by circulars of this kind. He is growing old, and we—I—greatly fear that he is scarcely capable of taking the necessary broad view of the political situation. Such affairs as this of the circular, for instance, only disturb the harmony of Europe, and play into the hands of Scythia, and we—I—could not allow the indiscretion to be repeated. Could he not be induced to give up a portion of his labours, even if he will not retire altogether? Is there no friend who would suggest it to him? You are the person with whom he is on the most confidential terms, I believe?”
“Your Highness does me too much honour. The only person with whom the Premier is on confidential terms is his nephew—and political heir.”
“Ah, M. Vassili Drakovics?”
“The same, sir. The office of Mayor of the Palace has a tendency to become hereditary, as you will remember.”
“Those days are past, Count. Be good enough to mark my words. There is no room for hereditary Mayors of the Palace in the modern state. Europe has tolerated Milos Drakovics as the liberator of Thracia; but a Drakovics dynasty would not be borne. By the immortal gods! what a view! Be good enough, Count, to summon here my secretary and the servant who is carrying my sketch-book.”