“Oh, come, that’s an old story. Drakovics set it afloat just before his dismissal, in order to prejudice Count Mortimer in the eyes of the world. But there was no truth in it. Your brother went to Bellaviste to inquire into the matter, and was quite satisfied that there was nothing wrong.”
“My dear cousin, I know all about my brother’s visit to Thracia, and if there was nothing wrong then, M. Drakovics is all the more to blame, for he must have put the idea into their heads. I learn now, from an authority I cannot doubt, that it is probable—almost certain—that they are married already, but that if this is not the case, they will marry as soon as Michael comes of age.”
“This is a serious matter, Tant’ Amalie. Who is your informant?”
“My niece—oh, I forgot. I must not give you her name. But I assure you that she has the best means of knowing the truth.”
“Perhaps you would not object to my seeing her letter?”
Princess Amalie congratulated herself on the foresight which had prepared her for this demand as she handed over the mutilated letter without demur. The merest glance at the opposite page showed the Emperor from whom the news had come, and the discovery gave him no surprise. Passing from the Princess of Dardania’s description of her rural life at Praka, he read the important paragraph carefully, and restored the letter to its owner.
“Now, can you doubt it any longer?” asked the old lady vehemently. “I know you did not believe me just now—you thought that I was exaggerating, or had made some mistake—but you see that it is quite clear. One cannot even give Ernestine the benefit of the doubt. Is it not shameful?” and the black lace of Princess Amalie’s headgear seemed to bristle with indignation as she prepared to pass on and denounce the culprit before a new audience. But the Emperor made no movement to allow her to leave him.
“I must ask you to spare me a moment longer, Tant’ Amalie. What steps would you suggest ought to be taken in such a matter as this?”
“Steps, my dear cousin!” The word was far too mild. Princess Amalie would have expected the Emperor to ask what punishments ought to be inflicted on the two offenders. “I suppose——” she realised suddenly that it was not easy at the present day to order a presumptuous Minister to the block, and hesitated. “Of course you can imprison him in a fortress,” she said, more confidently, “and deprive Ernestine of her regency and sentence her to live in retirement. All her family will support you, I am sure. She, a Princess of Weldart, and willing to disgrace herself by marrying beneath her!”
“I fear there might be difficulties in the way of executing this salutary discipline,” said the Emperor, with a perfectly grave face. “Count Mortimer has relations in high places in England, you see, and they might think we were going beyond our powers in dealing so severely with the sovereign and Prime Minister of an independent state. On the whole, Tant’ Amalie, I think it will be well if you leave the matter in my hands for the present.”