“Really, I am not a magician. We might mortgage the kingdom to Scythia for the required sum, no doubt; but that would not help matters much, even if Drakovics did not manage to let the Three Powers have an inkling of our little scheme.”
“Cyril, you are joking!” fiery indignation thrilled in her tones. “It is cruel, unmanly, shameful—at such a time.”
“My dearest, if I saw any hope of success I would say so. There is just one man from whom it might be possible to obtain the money; but I should be obliged to go to Vienna and interview him, and I dare not leave the kingdom for three days at this crisis. I am certain that I should find you and Michael and the Germans belonging to the Court encamped on the other side of the frontier when I returned. However, some opportunity may offer, and if it does, you may be sure I will take it.”
“Then you will do nothing now?” her voice was tragic.
“Yes, you very exacting person; I will resign my seat in the Cabinet for your sweet sake, for it will do no practical good whatever. When you have Vassili Drakovics comfortably established as Court Minister, perhaps you will regret the past. Adieu, madame; I kiss your hand for the last time as one of your Majesty’s Ministers!”
He almost expected a burst of remonstrance from her; but although her lips quivered, she looked at him steadily.
“I shall feel it more than I can tell you,” she said; “but it has come to this, that I must ask the sacrifice of you and of myself. I cannot accept Bishop Philaret as Metropolitan, for that would be to barter my boy’s prerogative for a few years of peace. Rather than do that I would abdicate.”
“Well, we shall be a pleasant party to cross the frontier,” said Cyril lightly, and took his departure. As he approached M. Drakovics’s house some one tapped him on the shoulder, and, looking round, he saw Prince Mirkovics.
“You have heard this rumour?” asked the old nobleman.
“About the archbishopric? Yes.”