“Yes, Marraine,” said Nadia, sedately, as the Princess ended her sentence rather hastily; but in her heart she knew that her godmother was anxious to see whether there was no possibility of bringing her and Caerleon together again. Her heart leaped at the thought, but calmer considerations succeeded to the momentary ecstasy. Was it likely that Caerleon would be willing to put his fate again to the touch after two refusals? It was scarcely probable.
CHAPTER XX.
TAKEN BY SURPRISE.
At the Thracian capital preparations were now being made a second time for the King’s coronation. The outer walls of the chapel of St Peter had risen from their ashes in the courtyard of the palace, and the decoration of the interior was almost complete; while the crown and other regalia had been subjected to a process of renovation, and were ready for service, though somewhat shorn of their original splendour. Many circumstances seemed to combine to enable the ceremony to take place under the happiest auspices. Cyril had been duly presented to the Legislative Assembly as Caerleon’s heir after the visit to Tatarjé, and the announcement was received with acclamation. An income was voted him from the public funds, and the title of Prince, already conferred informally by the people, granted him by a royal proclamation. Even M. Drakovics was content that the succession to the throne should thus be secured, for recent events had convinced him effectually that the King’s marrying was out of the question. The first steps had been taken towards putting into operation the new liquor laws; and, although there had been a good deal of discontent in the capital, in the country the people had grumbled and submitted. Most important of all, the Roumi Government had at length given way before the representations of Pannonia and her allies, and had agreed to recognise Caerleon’s election as king, safeguarding the suzerain rights of the Grand Signior by the stipulation that he should nominate a special commissioner to attend the coronation and invest the new ruler with a portion of his insignia.
“We are getting on swimmingly,” said Cyril, dropping into the Premier’s office late in the afternoon, three or four days before the date fixed for the ceremony. “One almost wishes that things wouldn’t all go quite so smoothly. It makes one think of chucking one’s watch into the river, or making some other sacrifice of that sort to avert misfortune, like the ancients, you know. I believe my brain would give way under the pressure if it went on much longer. When Caerleon is safely crowned and off my hands I shall breathe freely.”
“I have reason to believe,” said M. Drakovics, “that the pro-Scythian party are planning to strike some blow during the coronation proceedings. All the indications seem to point to that, although we have been unable to discover what course they intend to take. They would scarcely try to burn the chapel a second time, but they might use dynamite, or attempt to get up a military coup d’état.”
“And we must provide against those possibilities by rigorously excluding strangers from the ceremony, and associating the Carlino regiment with the city troops as guards,” said Cyril. “Well, we have three days left for making preparations. I’m glad I just looked in. I thought you would probably have something to say to me.”
“What is the King doing this afternoon?” asked M. Drakovics.
“Holding his review for the benefit of Prince Otto Georg, of course, with General Sertchaieff in attendance. When one has a foreign Prince to entertain, and a little army doing nothing, one may as well trot out one to amuse the other. By the bye, I believe that I have a crumpled rose-leaf in the fact that we can’t get away from the Schwarzwald-Molzaus. One meets them all over Europe, and the meeting is neither unexpected nor a pleasure.”
It may be noted, as sadly characteristic of the littleness of human nature, that neither Caerleon nor Cyril could find a good word to say of the Princess of Dardania. One had been deceived by her, the other had helped her to deceive him, but they made common cause against her.
“You would not think, looking at Prince Otto Georg now, that at the time of the Franco-Prussian war his name was in every one’s mouth, would you?” said M. Drakovics. “He was a dashing young cavalry officer—very young—and I remember distinctly the incident which brought him into special notice. Our friend General Sertchaieff was, I believe, at the German headquarters at the time, and it was he who, when we were first compelled to seek a king, suggested, from his recollection of the matter, that the crown should be offered to Prince Otto Georg. The Prince was carrying despatches—for Moltke, I think—and was taken prisoner by a small body of French cavalry. He managed to destroy the despatches, but he had been made acquainted with the contents, and this his captors guessed. They were too far from their headquarters to take him there that night, and therefore they halted in a stable, put their prisoner in the empty loft and took away the ladder, and sat down round a fire underneath. They must have got hold of some wine—at any rate, they went to sleep one by one, and the fire burned low. Prince Otto Georg watched his opportunity, and let himself drop from the entrance to the loft. He fell among the embers of the fire, and burnt his hands badly, but he crept past the Frenchmen to the spot where their horses were tied, unfastened them all, and led them across the grass until they were out of hearing. Then he mounted one, driving the rest before him for a short distance, after which he turned them loose and rode for his life, reaching his destination safely and delivering his message.”