Part 3 (2/2)
”And have you any plan arranged?”
The Count nodded ever so slightly, then looked the Duke steadily in the face-and the latter understood.
He turned to Madeline Spencer. ”Come nearer, my dear,” he said, ”we may need your quick wit-there is plotting afoot.”
She gave him a smile of appreciation, and came and took the chair he offered, and he motioned for Bigler to proceed.
”But, first, tell me,” he interjected, ”am I to go to Dornlitz openly or in disguise? I don't fancy the latter.”
”Openly,” said the Count. ”Having been in exile a month, you can venture to return and throw yourself on Frederick's mercy. We think he will receive you and permit you to remain-but, at least, it will give you two days in Dornlitz, and, if our plan does not miscarry, that will be quite ample.”
”Very good,” the Duke commented; ”but my going will depend upon how I like your plot; let us have it-and in it, I trust you have not overlooked my fiasco at the Vierle Masque and so hung it all on my single sword.”
”Your sword may be very necessary, but, if so, it won't be alone. We have several plans-the one we hope to--”
A light tap on the door interrupted him, and a servant entered, with the bright pink envelope that, in Valeria, always contained a telegram.
”My recall to Court,” laughed the Duke, and drawing out the message glanced at it indifferently.
But it seemed to take him unduly long to read it; and when, at length, he folded it, his face was very grave; and he sat silent, staring at the floor, creasing and recreasing the sheet with nervous fingers, and quite oblivious to the two who were watching him, and the servant standing stiffly at attention at his side.
Suddenly, from without, arose a mad din of horses' hoofs and human voices, as the returning cavalcade dashed into the courtyard, women and men yelling like fiends possessed. And it roused the Duke.
”You may go,” to the footman; ”there is no answer now.” He waited until the door closed; then held up the telegram. ”His Majesty died, suddenly, this afternoon,” he said.
Count Bigler sprang half out of his chair.
”Frederick dead! the King dead!” he cried-”then, in G.o.d's name, who now is king-you or the American?”
The Duke arose. ”That is what we are about to find out,” he said, very quietly. ”Come, we will go to Dornlitz.”
II TO-MORROW AND THE BOOK
Frederick of Valeria had died as every strong man wants to die: suddenly and in the midst of his affairs, with the full vigor of life still upon him and no premonition of the end. It had been a sharp straightening in saddle, a catch of breath, a lift of hand toward heart, and then, with the great band of the Foot Guards thundering before him, and the regiment swinging by in review, he had sunk slowly over and into the arms of the Archduke Armand. And as he held him, there was a quick touch of surgeon's fingers to pulse and breast, a shake of head, a word; and then, sorrowfully and in silence, they bore him away; while the regiment, wheeling sharply into line, spread across the parade and held back the populace. And presently, as the people lingered, wondering and fearful, and the Guards stood stolid in their ranks, the royal standard on the great tower of the Castle dropped slowly to half staff, and the mellow bell of the Cathedral began to toll, to all Valeria, the mournful message that her King was dead.
And far out in the country the Princess Dehra heard it, but faintly; and drawing rein, she listened in growing trepidation for a louder note. Was it the Cathedral bell?-the bell that tolled only when a Dalberg died! For a while she caught no stroke, and the fear was pa.s.sing, when down the wind it came, clear and strong-and again-and yet again.
And with blanched cheek and fluttering heart she was racing at top speed toward Dornlitz, staying neither for man nor beast, nor hill nor stream, the solemn clang smiting her ever harder and harder in the face. There were but two for whom it could be speaking, her father and her lover-for she gave no thought to Lotzen or his brother, Charles. And now, which?-which?-which? Mile after mile went behind her in dust and flying stones, until six were pa.s.sed, and then the outer guard post rose in front.
”The bell!” she cried, as the sentry sprang to attention, ”the bell, man, the bell?”
The soldier grounded arms.
”For the King,” he said.
But as the word was spoken she was gone-joy and sorrow now fighting strangely in her heart-and as she dashed up the wide Avenue, the men uncovered and the women breathed a prayer; but she, herself, saw only the big, gray building with the drooping flag, and toward it she sped, the echo of the now silent bell still ringing in her ears.
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