Robert Orange
character. The Archduchess, who is foolhardy and insolent, does not
deserve such a lover, and it is grievous to think that such a
termagant should have so much power over such a man. I regard her
as I would some poisonous reptile. Piety--which improves most
women--only seems to render her the more defiant, and love--which
softens most wills--makes hers the more hard. After parting with M.
de Hausee she swooned, and I thought what a merciful thing it would
be for all of us if she never regained consciousness. This
idea--which may have been an inspiration--was before me, when I
heard a slight rustling behind the curtains. I pulled out my
revolver (although I had no intention of firing), aimed it, and
said, "Who is there?"
To my amazement, Parflete himself came out.
"For God's sake, don't shoot," said he, "it is I."
He cried bitterly at the sight of the Archduchess--for she was
looking extraordinarily beautiful. He cursed himself loudly, put me
to terrible anxiety, and I repented of my recklessness in not
getting rid of such a fool long ago. With great presence of mind I
rang the bell, and we withdrew to my hiding-place while the
servant came in, raised a hue and cry, and finally carried the
insensible Archduchess to a bedroom. When the coast was clear we
emerged. I asked Parflete what he meant to do, why he was there,
and how he had got into the house.
"To sound the soul of another," said he, still maudlin. "You must
first have searched deeply your own. Remorse has brought me here.
My better nature reasserts itself." And more to that effect. "There
is nothing new under the sun!" he wound up.
"Why should there be?" said I, exasperated. "Come to the point."
"My wife is the purest, noblest of beings!" said he.
"You will defend any jade on earth, provided she be handsome," said
I, but seeing an ugly light in his eye, I added, "but H.I.H. is
certainly respectable. To this we have both been witnesses."
"What is to be done?" he cried, beating his head. "Can I forget her
interests? Who, better than I, should take the place of her
adviser, her Prime Minister? Affairs in Alberia cannot long remain
in this violent state. There must be a _denouement_."
I answered him sharply.
"You know quite well that the Archduchess can never hope for
official recognition from any Alberian Ministry--let alone the
sovereigns of Europe. An aggressive attitude on her part could at
most and at the worst, but lead to these things--a change of
dynasty, and the annexation of Alberia by one of the Powers, or its
partition among some of them. We wish Alberia to become another
Switzerland--a little Paradise of law-abiding, industrious, rich,
independent people!"
"All the same," said he, "my wife may not sell her birth-right.
Such a proceeding is directly opposite to the Will of God."
"She will be a good claimant--after all this scandal with the
Carlists and de Hausee," said I. "I can imagine the welcome
extended to her by Bismarck! We have seen enough of this kind of
thing in France and Spain."
We talked for an hour. He was as obstinate as a mule and as
incoherent as running water. I could grasp him nowhere. It was like
groping in a well for a lighted torch. No doubt he had formed in
his own mind some obscure, incalculable intrigue, but no reason can
guess the plans which are made by an unreasoning person.
"The Archduchess is rich, young, and handsome," said I; "it would
be folly to change her noble independence for a political slavery
fatal to her peace--perhaps her life."
"But duty is above such weak considerations," said he, rolling his
eyes. "My wife must remember the nation."
"Do you believe," I rejoined, "that you would get the nation's
sanction to the general upset which you propose? You must be mad."
"Nations go mad," said he, smiling; "why not to my advantage, then,
as well as yours?"
He refused to tell me how he got into the house, but it must have
been by bribery. His sneers and insults were insinuated with such
skill that retaliation on the spot was impossible. He made his
escape by suddenly extinguishing the lamp, which left the room in
pitch darkness. I felt it would be undignified to stumble about in
vain pursuit of a man so active and so _canaille_ in all his
methods. He must have been on good terms with the servants, for a
considerable time elapsed before they replied to my summons, and
when I asked them, each in turn, whether he had been seen, one and
all assumed the greatest astonishment and innocence, but none
appeared in any way alarmed, which they must have done had they not
been well aware of his presence in the house. I said no more, for,
by treating the matter lightly, I made them look--to
themselves--dupes and very ridiculous. I remained at the Villa
until the Archduchess and Lady Fitz Rewes departed for Paris. I had
a short interview with M. de Hausee in my character of the late
Archduke's Agent. Our conversation was purely in connection with
H.I.H.'s money matters, although he said with great firmness at the
close, "The Archduchess will never embarrass Alberian affairs. Her
taste is not for Courts or politics." I know this is his true
conviction, but he is in love, and he measures her by his own
unselfishness. He won my heart strangely. In all my experience, he
is the one honest man who is not a little idiotic into the bargain.
I deplore the influence of women on such a character, and I would
have saved him from that Judith.
Here, for the present, we must leave Mudara's narrative.
CHAPTER XVIII
The Alberian Ambassador, Prince d'Alchingen, considered himself a
diplomatist of the Metternich school. He had imagination,
sentimentality, and humour: he preferred to attack the strength rather
than the weaknesses of mankind, and in all his schemes he counted
inconsistency among the passions, and panic among the virtues. He still
hoped that Orange might be tempted by the prospect of immediate
happiness to press for the nullity of the Parflete marriage. Parflete
himself was indulging in the most extravagant demonstrations of remorse.
He behaved, as Disraeli said, more like a cunning woman than an able
man, and he was an agent of the kind most dangerous to his
employers--irregularly scrupulous, fond of boasting of his acquaintance
with princes and ministers, so vain that he would rather have had
notoriety without glory, than glory without notoriety. He had found the
means of ingratiating himself with many persons of high rank, and he
knew how to avail himself, with each, of his influence with the others.
Never did an intrigue require more urgently a sort of conduct quite out
of the common routine. The Prince, therefore, was much perturbed in
mind, and cast about him for a trustworthy associate. By an associate he
meant some one on whom he could test the quality of his deceit--in other
words, he liked to try his sword on gossamer and granite before he
struck out at commoner materials. Among his friendships, he prosecuted
none with such zeal as that with the Lady Sara de Treverell. As the
member of a great Russian house, she was especially attractive to
Alberian speculation, but her beauty and cleverness no doubt assisted
the Ambassador's determination to make himself agreeable. The two
constantly exchanged letters, and, as the Princess d'Alchingen was an
invalid who devoted her hours to spiritual reading, she gladly permitted
Lady Sara's influence, realising--with the priceless knowledge of a
spirit made reasonable through pain--that the girl was romantic and the
Prince incurably old. His flaxen wig heightened the tone of a complexion
much ravaged by gout and its antidotes. His nebulous eyes with twitching
lids were not improved by the gold-rimmed glasses which magnified their
insignificance. He possessed a striking nose and chin, but, as these
features were more characteristic than delightful, they offered his wife
no occasions for serious anxiety. Whenever His Excellency required
feminine advice, it was considered quite _en regle_ that Lady Sara
should be consulted. The Princess herself drove him to St. James's
Square on the afternoon following Mr. Disraeli's call. She sent _milles
tendresses_ to her _cherie_, and bitterly regretted that she was not
well enough to leave the carriage. The Prince kissed her hand, bowed
superbly, stood bareheaded in a draught till the brougham drove away (in
these matters he had no equal), and, having warned Sara of his intended
visit by a special messenger, he had the pleasure of finding the young
lady alone. Following her custom, she was appropriately dressed for the
occasion in prune-coloured velvet, which suggested dignity, and very
beautiful antique Spanish lace, which symbolized the long endurance of
things apparently too delicate, subtle, and trifling for the assaults of
time. The Prince kissed both of her white hands, and lamented the
obstacles which had kept them apart for so many insupportable weeks. He
had lived on her letters. They had been, however, few and short.
"What is troubling you, sir?" asked Sara, "you look pale."
"For once in my life I wish to do a foolish thing--_pour encourager les
autres_," was his reply. "I intend to meddle with a love-affair."
"Whose love-affair?"
"I will tell you presently. I never venture upon any work trusting alone
to my hopes. I am not of those who discover rifts in their harness only
on the morning of the battle! I prepare for all contingencies. First,
then, let me put you through a little catechism. Do men ever believe
evil reports about the women they love?"
"The _posse non peccare_ is not the _non posse peccare_," said Sara
quickly.
"Do you mean that they can believe the evil, but, as a rule, they
won't?" returned the Prince.
"You translate freely, but you have caught the spirit!"
"Very well. I come to my second question. Is a man better off with a
dangerous woman whom he adores than with a good woman who adores _him_?"
"All men who desire love, deserve it," said Sara. "The _means_ to this
are always, in a manner, certainties, the _end_ is always problematical.
But those who want love could never be satisfied with mere
welfare--never."
"You have a right to direct my opinion," he exclaimed; "where else do I
hear such sound good sense? The usual women one meets in our circle are
old, ugly, and proud--incapable of conversation with persons of
intelligence. My wife," he added smoothly, "makes this complaint about
her lady friends. It is very dull and very sad for her, although she is
a saint."
No conversation or letter was ever exchanged between Sara and the Prince
without some emphatic tribute to the sanctity, prudence, and charm of
the Princess.
"The dear Princess!" murmured Sara.
"And now," said His Excellency, drawing his chair an inch nearer, "I
must be serious. You have guessed, of course, that I am thinking about
Robert Orange and Mrs. Parflete. I stayed at Brookes's till after twelve
last night in hopes of seeing Orange. I was discussing him with Lord
Reckage."
"What did Reckage say?"
"Reckage doesn't mind raising a blister, but he won't often tell one
what he thinks."
Sara shivered a little and compressed her lips.
"Reckage is fond of Orange," she said, "yet there is a certain
jealousy.... Formerly, Orange had need of Reckage, and depended on him;