The Princess of Dardania received this missive early in the afternoon. When she had read it, she glanced sharply at the telegram addressed to King Michael, which was lying on her writing-table awaiting his return. The young people had started out in the morning for a picnic, chaperoned by an elderly lady-in-waiting and Princess Lida’s French governess, and the Princess was to meet them with tea at a point agreed upon on their homeward way. As she realised the situation she stretched out her hand towards Ernestine’s telegram, but withdrew it again quickly.
“No, there is no need,” she said to herself. “Drakovics has given me all the information I require, and Ernestine will not attempt an explanation in a telegram. But I think, my dear Michael, that on the whole it will be as well for you not to receive your mother’s message until you return here.”
It was not, therefore, until the picnic-party had reached the villa again that the Princess informed King Michael casually that there was a telegram waiting for him. Before going out she had placed the envelope in the hall, so that it might appear to have arrived during her absence, and she passed on into her sitting-room as she spoke. She was still standing by the table and taking off her gloves when the door was flung open, and King Michael burst in.
“Tant’ Ottilie, my mother wants me to go home at once. She says there are so many things to arrange which she can’t settle without me. And I have only been here one day, and not seen you a bit. It’s shameful—intolerable!”
“Why, Michael, you ought to feel flattered that your mother can’t do without you. It seems very hard that you should be obliged to leave so soon, just when Lida and Bettine had been planning so many delightful excursions, too; but then——”
“I’m not going. My mother doesn’t really want me. She has Count Mortimer to help her with all her fads——”
“Oh, hush, my dear boy! I can’t allow you to speak of your mother in that way, nor can I keep you here when she sends for you. It would appear that I was encouraging you in disobedience. But it is quite evident that it is too late to start to-night, so telegraph to say that you will leave by the nine o’clock train in the morning. And I have a plan. I will come to Bellaviste with you, for I am not satisfied about the decorations I have ordered for the villa next week. I want this house to testify—even though we are away—how much we love our dear Michael and rejoice in his coming to his own, and therefore I must go and see how the devices look before they are quite finished. But don’t tell your mother I am coming. It will be a little surprise for her.”
“When I am really King, I shall stay here as much as I like,” grumbled the boy, moving unwillingly to the door; but as he reached it he found the Princess’s eyes fixed sadly upon him. “Tant’ Ottilie!” he cried, rushing back to her, “what is the matter? Why do you look so sad?”
“Dear Michael, it is nothing—merely that it grieves me to lose you again so soon,” but again and again during the evening King Michael found that fixed, sorrowful gaze upon him. As Cyril had remarked three years before, he cared as yet far more for the Princess of Dardania than for her daughter, and her evident sadness made him miserable. Not until the next morning, however, did an opportunity of asking an explanation offer itself, but as soon as the Princess and he were established in the royal saloon for the journey to Bellaviste, and the attendants dismissed to their separate car, he recurred to the subject immediately.
“Oh, Tant’ Ottilie, tell me what it is that makes you so unhappy. I cannot bear you to look sad. Is it anything that I have done?”