I held out my hand, Michael took it, and I embraced him.
Then I drew him with me into the inner room.
"Brother," I said, "if I had known you were here, you should not have waited a moment before I asked the princess to permit me to bring you to her."He thanked me, but coldly.The man had many qualities, but he could not hide his feelings.A mere stranger could have seen that he hated me, and hated worse to see me with Princess Flavia;yet I am persuaded that he tried to conceal both feelings, and, further, that he tried to persuade me that he believed I was verily the King.
I did not know, of course; but, unless the King were an impostor, at once cleverer and more audacious than I (and I began to think something of myself in that role), Michael could not believe that.
And, if he didn't, how he must have loathed paying me deference, and hearing my "Michael" and my "Flavia!""Your hand is hurt, sire," he observed, with concern.
"Yes, I was playing a game with a mongrel dog" (I meant to stir him), "and you know, brother, such have uncertain tempers."He smiled sourly, and his dark eyes rested on me for a moment.
"But is there no danger from the bite?" cried Flavia anxiously.
"None from this," said I."If I gave him a chance to bite deeper, it would be different, cousin.""But surely he has been destroyed?" said she.
"Not yet.We're waiting to see if his bite is harmful.""And if it is?" asked Michael, with his sour smile.
"He'll be knocked on the head, brother," said I.
"You won't play with him any more?" urged Flavia.
"Perhaps I shall."
"He might bite again."
"Doubtless he'll try," said I, smiling.
Then, fearing Michael would say something which I must appear to resent (for, though I might show him my hate, I must seem to be full of favour), I began to compliment him on the magnificent condition of his regiment, and of their loyal greeting to me on the day of my coronation.
Thence I passed to a rapturous description of the hunting-lodge which he had lent me.But he rose suddenly to his feet.
His temper was failing him, and, with an excuse, he said farewell.
However, as he reached the door he stopped, saying:
"Three friends of mine are very anxious to have the honour of being presented to you, sire.They are here in the ante-chamber."I joined him directly, passing my arm through his.The look on his face was honey to me.We entered the ante-chamber in fraternal fashion.Michael beckoned, and three men came forward.
"These gentlemen," said Michael, with a stately courtesy which, to do him justice, he could assume with perfect grace and ease, "are the loyalest and most devoted of your Majesty's servants, and are my very faithful and attached friends.""On the last ground as much as the first," said I, "I am very pleased to see them."They came one by one and kissed my hand--De Gautet, a tall lean fellow, with hair standing straight up and waxed moustache;Bersonin, the Belgian, a portly man of middle height with a bald head (though he was not far past thirty); and last, the Englishman, Detchard, a narrow-faced fellow, with close-cut fair hair and a bronzed complexion.He was a finely made man, broad in the shoulder and slender in the hips.A good fighter, but a crooked customer, I put him down for.I spoke to him in English, with a slight foreign accent, and I swear the fellow smiled, though he hid the smile in an instant.
"So Mr.Detchard is in the secret," thought I.
Having got rid of my dear brother and his friends, I returned to make my adieu to my cousin.She was standing at the door.
I bade her farewell, taking her hand in mine.
"Rudolf," she said, very low, "be careful, won't you?""Of what?"
"You know--I can't say.But think what your life is to--""Well to--?"
"To Ruritania."
Was I right to play the part, or wrong to play the part?
I know not: evil lay both ways, and I dared not tell her the truth.
"Only to Ruritania?" I asked softly.
A sudden flush spread over her incomparable face.
"To your friends, too," she said.
"Friends?"
"And to your cousin," she whispered, "and loving servant."I could not speak.I kissed her hand, and went out cursing myself.
Outside I found Master Fritz, quite reckless of the footmen, playing at cat's-cradle with the Countess Helga.
"Hang it!" said he, "we can't always be plotting.
Love claims his share."
"I'm inclined to think he does," said I; and Fritz, who had been by my side, dropped respectfully behind.
