“Impossible, sir! You arranged the elopement with your equerry?”
“Oh no, not at all. I discovered that he was in love with her through his dropping a note of hers when we were fencing one day. After we had teased him about it a little, it occurred to me that since he had gone so far for his own pleasure, he might as well make himself useful. It was very hard to convince him, for he was quite contented to let things go on as they were, and I had to point out that the prospect for the future was not exactly to my taste. At last we came to terms, and I despatched him on a special mission, giving him credentials that would carry him anywhere (of course never dreaming of the use he would make of them), and this is the way he repays my confidence! Don’t you think we are well rid of him?”
Too much disgusted to speak, Prince Mirkovics bowed in answer. The King laughed. “Come, Prince, I must drink one last toast before I become a total abstainer, and you will join me in it with all your heart.” He touched the bell. “Bring a bottle of champagne,” he said to the servant who answered his summons. “Fill the glasses, Prince. To Queen Philippa!”
“To her Majesty Queen Philippa!” repeated Prince Mirkovics gravely, touching the glass which the King held out with his own.
King Michael was as good as his word. Twelve hours before Prince Soudaroff, despatched in hot haste to bear him the condolences of the Scythian Imperial family, and to discover how the loss of his bride seemed to affect him, could reach the hunting-box, its tenant was hastening homewards across Europe. The state of affairs in Thracia demanded his presence there, so he gave out. Arrived at his own capital, the King found that he had accidentally spoken the truth respecting the political situation, and that the course of events was all in his favour. The shock of the sudden rupture of the betrothal on which he had built all his hopes proved too much for Drakovics, the great Premier whom Cyril had driven from office, and who had in turn ousted him. The unholy compact with the Princess of Dardania which restored him to power had become void, and almost simultaneously with the arrival of the news, a stroke of paralysis dragged from his failing hands the reins which he had clutched with such persistent determination. The rest of the Ministry, deprived of their head, and painfully aware that they held their places merely at the pleasure of Scythia, were in no condition to combat the vigorous measures of their youthful monarch. Drakovics would have bowed to the storm and maintained his position, but his colleagues, left to themselves, resisted, and gave the King the excuse he wanted for dismissing them. Returning humbly, after an interview with the Scythian agent, to tender their submission, they found their places filled up. Prince Mirkovics had accepted office, and the scattered forces of Cyril’s supporters rallied round him with magical unanimity. They were of the King’s opinion. Prince Mirkovics was merely holding the premiership in trust for his leader, and very shortly the period of progress at home and high prestige abroad, which had ended with King Michael’s attainment of his majority, might be expected to return.
It was in vain that the Emperor of Scythia sought to conciliate the young King by removing Captain Roburoff’s name from the roll of his regiment, in vain that he despatched his brother, the Grand-Duke Eugen, on a special mission of friendship, in vain even that the Princess of Dardania sent her “beloved, deeply injured Michael” a heartrending message entreating him to return to Ludwigsbad, if only for a day, that she might know he had forgiven her. Prince Mirkovics pointed out to his master with a grim smile that the beautiful Grand-Duchess Sonya Eugenovna was now staying at the villa, and a polite refusal was returned. The opportunity of regaining her credit with Scythia by entangling King Michael a second time was not to be granted to the Princess.
CHAPTER XI.
EASTWARD HO!
Foiled in the hope of regaining her empire over King Michael, the Princess of Dardania turned with desperate vigour to the object which lay even nearer to her heart. It was not enough to count the days until she might hope to hear from Colonel Czartoriski of the success of his mission in acquainting Queen Ernestine with the villainy of the man who professed to love her—the Princess counted the very hours. At last the anxiously expected missive lay before her, but in the fulness of her triumph she allowed herself to gloat over her vengeance for a while before opening the envelope. When at length she drew out the letter and read it, the change that passed over her face was terrible to see. Colonel Czartoriski had not been successful. The Queen had positively refused to receive him when he presented himself at the Deaconesses’ Institution at Brutli. He tried bribery and cajolery in vain; and Princess Anna Mirkovics, the Queen’s maid of honour, who had acted as her Majesty’s mouthpiece throughout the negotiations, assured him that it was hopeless to attempt to obtain an interview. She offered to take charge of the letter of which he was the bearer; but in view of his mistress’s stringent order that he was to place it himself in the Queen’s hands, Colonel Czartoriski thought it well to ask for further instructions. The Princess of Dardania glanced through his formal phrases with a heart-sickening sense of bitter failure.
“He has been before me!” she said to herself, alluding not to Colonel Czartoriski, but to Cyril. “He has warned Ernestine that I shall try to prejudice her against him, and she is prepared to believe everything he says and nothing that I say. This explains his astonishing tardiness in first visiting Egypt and then Palestine, instead of going straight to Beyrout and the Lebanon. He has made things safe for himself already. Well, Czartoriski must wait at Damascus and watch for a chance of giving Ernestine my letter, and it may be possible to spoil their reunion in another way.”
That very day Colonel Czartoriski received a fiery telegram in cipher, which he read without astonishment as the hasty utterance of an outraged mother, dashed off in a moment of desperation. He would have been amazed to learn that the Princess had spent hours of anxious thought over the brief message.