The irrepressible triumph which animated these words betrayed the exultation of the weak-minded man who had gained a victory over a strong-minded woman; but Cyril discreetly took no notice of the tone, wondering only whether the King had intended to conduct his daughter by main force to the altar, and whether he imagined his auditor to be labouring under the delusion that the marriage would be a voluntary one on the part of Princess Ottilie. It was agreed that the important interview should take place the day after the signing of the treaty, at a hunting-party to be given by the King at Schloss Herzensruh, the previous day’s business having been conducted on the strip of territory which belonged at present to Thracia, but which would pass to Mœsia by the treaty. This settled, the King rose, and signed to Cyril to accompany him.
“Now that is all arranged, I will present you to the Queen and the Princess,” he said; and Cyril, divining that the presentation was intended as a token of defiance to the Queen, followed him from the room with lively interest as he marched across the corridor and entered by the door which a servant threw open.
“This is the Lord Cyril Mortimer, brother and envoy extraordinary of the King of Thracia,” announced King Johann, in a voice which was in itself a declaration of war; but Cyril saw at a glance that the Queen and her daughter had no intention of taking up the gauntlet. Both were perfectly calm and very friendly, and inquired graciously after people they had met in England. Princess Ottilie was taller and thinner than when he had last seen her, and it struck him that she had lost the loud manner which had aroused Caerleon’s dislike. She was growing more like her mother; but Cyril felt that it would be long before the impulsive dark-eyed girl would attain to the stately calmness of the unintellectual, placid-looking lady who was said to possess one of the wisest heads in Europe. She had foiled M. Drakovics once, at a period of acute crisis, and the Thracian Premier had never forgiven her for her victory, although he was wont to consider it a feather in his cap, as in that of the statesman whom he most wished to resemble, that he had all the ladies against him. A few minutes’ confidential communication with the Queen would throw light on many things, Cyril thought; but this was impossible so long as the King remained in the room, moving about uneasily. Her parting words, however, surprised him not a little.
“Tell his Majesty that I am looking forward to renewing my acquaintance with him,” she said. “Among our many English friends, there is none that I remember with so much admiration. I feel that one can have the most perfect confidence in him.”
“Your Majesty is too good,” said Cyril, astonished. “I am sure my brother has never ventured to hope that he held such a place in your recollection.”
“He is the most perfect gentleman I ever knew,” she said emphatically, and Cyril pondered over her words as he rode away from the castle. The last sentence he felt at liberty to disregard. It was a taunt flung at her husband by the Queen as a reply to his challenge; but he scented danger in the expressions she had used at first.
“She’s up to something,” he said to himself, “but I can’t for the life of me see what it is. It’s all very well for Drakovics to say that women will do such and such things; but that’s where he and fellows of his stamp always go wrong—in imagining that they can generalise about women. It’s scarcely ever possible to judge of a woman’s probable conduct from precedents. She is quite capable of striking out a new line each time. I wonder now whether the Queen thinks she will be able to get round the old man, and make him break off the match? Well, so long as we get the treaty signed, and they don’t set to work too soon, it doesn’t much matter. If only the King had not hung about as he did, I could have found out a good many interesting things. But he was afraid they would let on about Prince Alexis, and so he has effectually stopped my giving the Princess a warning as to Caerleon’s little game. It’s his own fault if the scheme goes wrong. I wonder whether he will be able to carry through the business with Pannonia properly.”
This unpleasant doubt exercised Cyril’s mind frequently during his long ride. He had devoted the concluding portion of his interview with the King to coaching him delicately for the part he was to play, without actually making any suggestions as to the means to be used. King Johann flattered himself that he was an accomplished diplomatist, but his young visitor could scarcely have ventured to leave him to act alone if he had not felt the issue to be so clear that the worst bungling could hardly succeed in obscuring it. The King’s duty was merely to intimate to his uncle, the Grand-Duke of Schwarzwald-Molzau, that if Caerleon’s position in Europe were secured, and he were allowed to marry Princess Ottilie, the succession to the Mœsian throne would be left open for one of the younger princes of the parent house. There could be little doubt that he would welcome the suggestion, and contrive to bring about the desired change in the policy of the Powers by influencing Pannonian diplomacy through his daughter the Empress. Thus Cyril’s mind was tolerably at ease when, after nearly a day and a half of riding—for he had started too late to complete the return journey in one day—he reached the neighbourhood of Bellaviste. They were passing through a small village when the first distant glimpse of the city was obtained, and Wright urged his horse up to Cyril’s.
“Beg your pardon, my lord, but p’raps you’d like to rest ’ere for a hour or so, and give these ’ere ’orses a feed and a bit of a rub-down. It looks as though we didn’t know ’ow to treat a ’orse to bring ’im in like this, and me always a-jawin’ the stable-boys about it.”
“I am sorry that the stable-boys will have to lose their object-lesson to-day, Wright,” said Cyril, with a smile of the utmost gentleness, “for it is important for us to hurry. But you need not think I am ashamed of the state the horses are in. If you like to ride yours through the next puddle, and get him well splashed, I have no objection.”