CHAPTER XI.
KNOWN TOO LATE.
The Grand-Duke and Duchess of Schwarzwald-Molzau were entertaining a strictly family party at dinner in their appartement at the Hôtel des Rois. King Michael and his mother were naturally the chief guests, and the Queen’s presence involved Cyril’s. Usk had also the honour of being invited, owing to the service he had rendered to the Princess Helene, and there was a vacant place at the table, no explanation of which was at first offered. Usk felt supremely uncomfortable, and was very conscious of being an outsider, though reflection, or policy, or his wife’s influence, had induced the Grand-Duke to show himself gracious, if not cordial. Cyril’s help was desirable, even indispensable, in solving the problems which lay before King Michael’s relations at this moment, and there was a widespread belief that it was not wise to show any discourtesy to “the Mortimer,” however defenceless he might appear. Not that Cyril displayed any disposition to insist upon his rights. With the tact which always distinguished him, he claimed nothing that his hosts might not be willing to concede, and in spite of his delicate position exerted such a genial influence that before the end of the meal the Grand-Duke was addressing him with absolute friendliness. It was Queen Ernestine who was nervously on the look-out for slights offered to her husband, so that throughout the evening she was clearly ready, as he told her afterwards, to sail magnificently out of the room at a moment’s notice, sweeping Usk and himself in her train. Her vigilance was not without its effect upon the Grand-Duke, beside whom she sat, and as he hoped much from her influence over the King, he took pains, in a rough and somewhat tactless fashion, to show her that her fears were unnecessary.
King Michael sat next to the Grand-Duchess, a stout, comfortable-looking lady whose sole anxiety seemed to be her husband’s temper. When she had satisfied herself that he was desirous of pleasing the Queen, and exhibited no active antipathy to Cyril, she settled down to enjoy the King’s society. Usk, judging by her occasional exclamations and generally shocked expression, thought that he was probably entertaining her with the recital of some of the escapades with which he daily edified the population of Nice, and that she, regarding him as a possible son-in-law, was listening indulgently, if with a certain amount of gratifying horror.
Sitting solitary, since the empty place happened to be next him, Usk had plenty of opportunity of observing his fellow-diners, and he took a special delight in watching the pair opposite him. The Princess Helene was looking very small and shy, and as young as ever, in her simple white gown, with her hair coiled round and round the small head, which seemed overweighted by the heavy plaits. She was not pretty, thought Usk, looking at her dispassionately, she was too thin and pale, but the over-abundant hair was of a warm brown, and the large eyes a deep hazel. If she was with people who were kind to her, and was not in constant fear of being snubbed or called to order, she would be a jolly little girl. To this conclusion he was led by observing her demeanour to Cyril, which reminded him of the way she had talked to himself under the protection of her mask two days before. At first she was almost too shy to speak, on finding herself in the actual presence of her idol, but the barrier was soon removed. There were few people that Cyril could not set at ease, and this little romantic girl was no exception to the rule.
“He talked to me about interesting things, as if I was quite old,” she said to Usk in the drawing-room afterwards; and when Usk hinted that this would not generally be considered a compliment, she was almost angry. “People always will think that girls want compliments, and simply to talk about balls and stupid things of that kind,” she cried, “instead of books, and politics, and life; but the dear Count is not like that. I have often thought that some day I might see him and listen to him, but I never, never dreamed that he would talk to me, and let me talk to him. And I should have lost it all if he had not been so rude and come in too late for dinner.”
She was sitting at the piano, which was isolated from the rest of the room in a recess, and Usk was standing beside her to turn over the pages of her music. As she spoke she threw a little scornful glance in the direction of the defaulting guest, who had made his appearance, with profuse apologies, when the meal was just over. A man of uncertain age, looking young in a dim light, but considerably older when the glare of the electric lamps fell upon him, he was presented to the Queen as the Grand-Duke Ivan Petrovitch of Scythia. At first he had appeared to think it his duty to hover round Helene with talk of the very kind she despised, but when the four elders of the party drew together for conversation, he seemed to find a more congenial companion in King Michael, who had taken no notice of his little cousin save to tease her with reminiscences of their childhood which made her blush painfully. Usk, whose Welsh blood had boiled under the calmly inquiring glance turned upon him by the new-comer, was glad enough to follow Helene to the piano, where she tried over the accompaniments of various songs, and played now and then a few bars of one musical composition or another, “just to encourage conversation,” as she put it.
“Don’t you hate him?” she inquired presently, under cover of the music, with a turn of her head in the direction of the visitor.
“I don’t much like his looks,” Usk agreed.
“He may say that he lost his train from Monte Carlo, but I am quite certain that he stayed at the tables too long on purpose.”
“But that seems rather aimless, doesn’t it?”