“I see, I see,” interrupted the Bishop hastily. “But is there no hope of sowing dissension among the Jews? If those of one country alone could be brought to detach themselves from this infamous alliance, its power would be broken. I would support—even propose—concessions, substantial concessions, for the Jews in Thracia, if they would consent to abandon Count Mortimer’s scheme.”
“It would be useless. By means of some extraordinary system of terrorism, the originators of the plan have contrived to force all the Jews in the world to enter into combination with them. I questioned Speyerl, the Princess’s Vindobona banker, on the subject as I came out here, but he would tell me nothing. I could see that his mouth watered at the thought of the profit he might make if he broke loose from his countrymen, but he assured me he durst not do it.”
“The thought of the next world has little terror for a Jew,” said the Bishop, with a laugh. “Count Mortimer has probably made use of very mundane threats.”
“As mundane as his own hopes,” agreed Colonel Czartoriski. “Has your Greatness guessed who is to share with him the throne he intends to establish in Jerusalem? No other than your late beloved and venerated regent, her Majesty Queen Ernestine!”
Bishop Philaret sprang to his feet, and an exclamation broke from him which in a layman would have been called an oath, but from his ecclesiastical lips was doubtless a solemn curse. If there was one person whom he hated more than Cyril, it was Queen Ernestine, who had refused him the Metropolitical mitre thirteen years before, preferring to dismiss M. Drakovics and risk a revolution rather than consent to his appointment. For some minutes he strode up and down the room, alternately muttering anathemas and gnawing his beard, then halted abruptly before Colonel Czartoriski.
“See here,” he said rapidly, “I will force my way into this convent at Brutli, and demand an interview with the Queen. She knows me of old—that I do not hesitate to strike—and I will make her understand that if she desires to see her lover again alive, he must give up both the Jews and his schemes of self-aggrandisement.”
“It is useless,” said Colonel Czartoriski again. “Her Majesty will not receive your Greatness. She refuses even to see me, although I am the bearer of a letter from my august mistress. There can be no doubt that Mortimer has warned her to receive only visitors accredited by himself. You would see no one but Mlle. Mirkovics, who will tell her mistress just as much or as little as she chooses.”
“Yes, the Mirkovics girl would face the devil and all his angels in the Queen’s behalf,” said the Bishop, not perceiving with what unpleasant company he was associating Colonel Czartoriski and himself; “but,” he spoke lightly, “if this is the case, my conscience is clear. I was merely desirous of warning her Majesty to keep her lover out of harm’s way. Curiously enough, it is a fact that the pilgrims with whom I hope to travel southwards from Haifa are extremely enthusiastic—even fanatical—in their attachment to our holy and orthodox faith.”
“True,” said Colonel Czartoriski, “and Count Mortimer is travelling northwards from the Egyptian frontier. It would be sad indeed if he met with any accident.”
“Nothing could be more lamentable,” agreed the Bishop. “In fact, I feel it my duty to take precautions lest anything of the kind should occur. The simple pilgrims may quite possibly have imbibed wrong ideas of his doings, and I will therefore make a point of explaining his true character to them. I need scarcely say that I shall warn them expressly and in set terms against using any violence if they should happen to find themselves in his neighbourhood.”