The Princess Dehra
BY JOHN RF.ED SCOTT.
Coiiyrtsht, ISOS, by John Reed Seott
That was the question of the
eueceKsion was behind it all, she
was very well persuaded; t he
family laws of the Dalbergs were
aeeret, undisclosed to any hut the
ranking members of the house,
but the crown had always des
cended by male primogeniture.
The advent of Armaml, the eldest
male descendant of Hugo Pal
berg ( who had been banished by
bis father, the Great Henry,
when he had gone to America
and taken .service under Wash
ington) had tangled matters, for
Armarid was senior in line to
Jiotr.en. It. was known that
llenry, shortly be'we bis death,
bad revoked the lOrmer decree
1TmT resto.df Hugo and his chil
dren to their rank and estates;
and Frederick had proclaimed
this decree to the nation and
had executed it, in favor in
Armand, making him an Arch
duke and Colonel of the Red
liiiKrars. Put what no one knew
wah whether Tiotzon hsci *nor<*oy
been displaced as heir presump
live. How far did the Great
Henry’s decree of restoration ex
tend t How far had Frederick
made it effective? In short,
would the next king he Ferdi
nand, Duke of Lotzen, or
Armand, Archduke oi \aleria?
And to Madeline Spencer the
answer was ot deep concern ; and
she had he; n maneuvering to
draw it from the duke ever since
she had come to the castle. Hut
every time she had led up to it,
he had led away, and with evi
dent deliberation. Plainly there
was something in the laws that
made it well for him to drive 1he
king no further; and what could
it he hut the power to remove
him as heir presumptive.
Ami as Hotzen knew the ans
wer, she .would know it, too. If
he were not to he king, she had
no notion to entangle herself
further with him; he was then
too small game for her bow; and
there would be a very chill wel
come for her in Dornlitz from
Queen Debra. Hut should he get
the crown well, there are worse
positions than a king’s favorite—
for a few months the open
handed months.
So she slipped an arm about his
shoulders mol let a wliisp of per
fumed hair flirt across his face.
“Tell me, dear,” she said,
“why won’t, you go to Haris'/’’
IIo laughed and lightly
pinched her check. “Because
I’m surer of you here. Paris
breeds too many rivals.”
“Yet 1 left them all to come
here,” she answered.
“But now you would go
back.”
She smiled up at him. “Yes,
but with you, dear—not alone.”
Her hand stole into his. “Tell
me, sweetheart, why you will not
go- might it cause Frederick to
deprive you of the succession?”
For a space the duke made no
answer, gazing the whi! • steadily
into the distance, with eyebrows
slightly drawn. And sin*, hav
ing dared so far, dared further.
“Surely, dear he would not
wrong you by making Armand
king” she exclaimed, as though
the thought bail but that moment
come.
He turned to her with quick
sympathy, a'look of warm appre
ciation in his eyes. The answer
she had (played for tiemhled on
his lips—then died unspoken.
He bent down and kissed her
forehead.
• “We of the Dalbergs still be
lieve, n»y dear, that the king can
do no wrong,” he said, and
swung her to the floor. “Come,
let us walk on the wall, and for
get everything except that we
are together, and that I love
you.”
Hhe closed ner eyes to hide the
flarth of angry disappointment,
though her voice was palm and
easy. ■*
“Love!” she laughed; “love!
what is it? The infatuation of
the moment—the pleasure of an
hour.”
“And hence this eagerness for
Paris?”
She gave him a quick glance.
“May he, my lord, to prolong
our moment; to extend our
hour.”
He paused, his hand upon the
door.
“And otherwise are they
ended?” he asked quietly.
Sh^, iet her ej"js seek the door.
“No—not yet.”
He slowly closed the door and
leaned against it.
“My dear Madeline,” he said,
“let us deal frankly with each
other. I am not so sill,*' as to
think you love me, though I’m
willing to admit 1 wish you did.
^ ou have fascinated me—ever
since that evening in the Hang
ing Garden when you made the
play of being Archduke
A inland’s wife. Love may be
what you style it: ‘the infatu
ation of the moment; the
pleasure of an hour.’ If so, for
you, ray moment and my hour
still linger. But with you, I
know, there is a different motive;
you may like me passing well—I
believe you do—yet it was not
that which brought you here,
away from Baris—‘the boule
vards and the music.’ You came
because—well, what matters the
because: you came; and for that
I am very grateful; they have
been pleasant days for me—”
She had been gazing through
the window; now she looked
him in the eyes.
And for me as well, she said.
“I am glad,” he answered
gravely—“and it shall not he
I that ends them. You wish to
know if I am still the heir pre
sumptive. You shall have your
answer: I do not know. It rests
with the king. lie has the
power to displace me in favor of
Armand.”
She smiled comprehendingly.
It, was as she had feared.
“And the princess royal is
bothrothed to Armand,” she
commented.
Lotzen shrugged his shoulders.
“Just so,” he said. “Do you
wonder I may not go to Paris?”
She went over to the fireplace,
and sitting qn the arm of a chair
rested her slender feet on the
fender, her silk clad ankles
glistening in the firelight.
“I don’t quite understand,”
she said, “why, when the Amer
ican was restored to Hugo’s
rank, he did not, by that very
fact, become also heir presump
tive—his line is senior to yours.”
There was room on the chair
arm for another and he took it.
“You have touched the very
point,” he said. “Henry the
Third himself restored Hugo and
his heirs to rank and estate; but
it needs Frederick’c decree to
make him eligible to the crown.”
“ And has he made it?”
He shook his head. “1 do not
1> »
enow—
“Hut, surely, it would be pro
mulgated, if he had.”
“Very probably; but not
necessarily. All that is re
quired is a line in the big book
which for centuries has con
tained the laws of the Dalbergs.”
She studied the tip of her shoe,
tapping it the while on the fender
rod.
“When will this marriage be
solemnized?” she asked.
He laughed rather curtly.
“’Never, I hope.”
She gave him a quick look.
“So tin1 wound still hurts. T
1) 'g your pardon; I did not mean
to be unkind. 1 was only think
ing that, if the decree were pot
yet made, the wedding would
be sure to bring it.”
He put his arm around her
waist ’and drew .her over until
the black hair pressed his shoul
der.
“Nay, Madeline, you are quite
wrong,” he said. “The princess
is nothing to me now—nothing
but tin* king’s daughter and the
American’s chief advocate. I
meant what you did:—that the
marriage will lose me the
crown.”
For a moment she suffered his
embrace, watching him the while
through half closed eyes; then
she drew away.
“I suppose there is no way to
prevent the marriage,” she re
marked, her gaze upon the fire.
He arose and. crossing to the
table, found a eigaret.
“Can you suggest a way?” he
asked, his back toward her, the
match aflame, poised before his
face.
She had turned and was
watching him with sharp inter
est, but she did not answer, and
when he glanced around, in
- question, she was looking at the
fire.
“Want a eigaret? he said.
Sht> nodded, and he took it to
her and held the match for light
ing.
“ I asked you if you could sug
gest a way," he remarked.
She blew a smoke ring toward
the ceiling. “Vos, go back to
Dornlitz and kill the American.”
“Will you go with me? ban
teringly.
“Indeed I won't,” with a re
miniscent smile; “I have quite
too vivid a memory of iny recent
visit there.”
“And the killing—shall I do
it by proxy or in person?”
“Any way so it is done—
though one’s best servant is one's
self, you know.”
He had thought her jesting,
but now he leaned forward to
see her face.
“Surely, you do not mean it,”
he said uncertainly.
“Why not?” she asked. “It’s
true you have already tried both
ways—and failed; but that is no
assurance of the future. The
second, or some other try may
win.”
A tolerant smile crossed his
lips. “And meanwhile of course,
the American would wait pati
ently to be killed.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“You seem to have forgot that
steel vests do not protect the
head; and that several swords
might penetrate a guard which
one could not.”
Purely, he exclaimed,
“surely, you must have loved
this man!” ♦
She put his words aside with
a wave of her hand.
“My advice is quite imper
sonal,’’ she said—“and it is only
trite advice at that, as you know.
You have yourself considered it
already scores of times, and have
been deterred only by the danger
to yourself.”
He laughed. “I’m glad you
cannot go over to my enemies.
You read my mind too accurate
ly.”
“Nonsense,” she retorted;
“Armand knows it quite as well
as I, though possibly he may not
yet have realized horn timid you
have grown.”
“Timid!”
She nodded. “Yes, timid; you
had plenty of nerve at first,
when the American came, but it
seems to have run to water.”
“And l shall lose, you think?”
She' tossed the cigaret among
the red ashes and arose.
“Why should you win* Ferdi
nand?” she asked—then a sly.
smile touched her lips—“so far
as 1 have observed, you haven’t
troubled even so much as to pray
for success.”
He leaned forward and drew
her back to the place beside him.
“Patience, Madeline, pati
ence,” said he; “some day I’m
going back to Dornlitz.”
“To see the Archduke Armand
crowned?” she scoffed.
He bent his head close to her
ear. “I trust so—with the dia
dem that never fades.”
She laughed. “Trust and hope
are the weapons of the apathetic.
Why don’t you, at least, deal in
predictions; sometimes they in
spire deeds.”
“Very good,” he said smiling
ly. “I predict, that there is an
other little game for you and me
to play in Dornlitz, and that we
shall be there before many days.’
“You are an absent minded
prophet,” she said; “I told you I
would not go to Dornlitz.”
“But if I need you, Madeline.”
She shook her head. “Transfer
the game to Paris, or any place
outside of Valeria, and I will
gladly be your partner.”
He took her hand. “Will notli
persmide you?”
“he faced him instantly.
“Nothing, my lord, nothing, so
long as Frederick is king.”
The Duke lifted her hand and
tapped it softly against his cheek.
“Tres bien ma eliere, tres
bien,” he said; then frowned, as
Mrs. Spencer’s maid entered.
“Pour Monsieur le Due,” she
eurtsidd.
Lotzen took the card from the
salver and turned it over.
“I will see him at once,” he
said; “have him shown to my
private cabinet—It is Bigler,” he
explained.
“Why not have him here?”
He hesitated.
“Oh, very well; I thought you
trusted me.”
- He struck the bell. “Show
Count Bigler here,” he ordered.
Then when th^maid had gone:
“There, Madeline, that should
satisfy you, for I have no idea
what brings him.”
She went quickly to him, lean
ing over his shoulder lightly
kissed his cheek.
“I knew you trusted me, dear,’
she said, “but a woman likes to
have it demonstrated, now and
then.”
He turned to catch her; but
she sprang away.
“No, Ferdinand, no,” as* he
pursued her; “the Count is com
•ing—go and sit down.”—she
tried to reach her boudoir, hut
with a laugh he headed her off,
and slowly drove lier into a cor
ner.
“Surrender,” he said; “I’ll be
merciful.”
, , *
r or answer there came a swish
of high-held skirts, a vision of
black silk stockings, white lace,
»«ui she was across a huge sofa,
and, with a flushed lace and
merry eyes had turned and
faced him.
And as they stood so, Count
Bigler was announced.
“Welcome, my dear Bigler,
welcome!” tlie Duke exclaimed,
| hurrying over to greet him;
I “you are surely Heaven sent—
{Madame Spencer, i think you
know the Count.”
! She saw the look of sharp
{surprise that Bigler tried to hide
by bowing very low, and she
j laughed gayly.
“Indeed, you do come in good
time, my lord,” she said; “we
[were so put to for amusement we
! were reduced to playing tag
around the room—don't be
{shocked; you will be playing it
too, if you arc here for long.”
“If it carry the usual penalty,’
he answered, joining in her
laugh, “I am very ready to help
it now.”
Doubtless,” said the Duke
dryly, motioning him to a chair.
‘‘But first, tell us the gossip of
the Capital; we have heard noth
ing for weeks. What’s my dear
cousin Armand up to—not dying,
I fear?”
“Dying! Not he—not while
there are any honors handy, with
a doting kin gto shower them o.i
him, and a Princess waiting for
wife.”
The Duke’s face, cold at best,
went yet colder.
“Has the wedding date been
announced?” he asked.
“Not formally, but I under
stand it has been fixed for the
twenty-seventh.”
Lotzen glanced at a calendar.
“Three weeks from tomorrow—
well, much may happen in that
time. “Come,” he said good
naturedly, shaking off the irri
tation, “tell us all you know—
—everything—from the newest
dance at the opera to the tattle of
the Clubs. I said you were
Heaven sent—now prove it. But
[first—was it wise for you to
I come here? What will Freder
ick say ?’ ’
The Count laughed. “Oh, I’m
not here; I’m in Paris, on two
weeks leave.”
“Paris!” the Duke exclaimed.
“Surely, this Paris fever is the
very devil; are you off tonight
or ill the morning?”
Bigler shot a quick glance at
Mrs. Spencer, and understood.
“I’m not to Paris at all,” he
said, “unless you send me.” ,
% “He won’t do that, Monsieur
le Comte,” the lady laughed ; and
Lotzen, who had quite missed the
hidden meaning in their words,
nodded in affirmance.
“Come,” he said, “yourbud
get—out with it. I’m athirst for
news. ’ ’
The Count drew out a cigar,
and, at Mrs. Spencer's smile of
permission, he lighted it, and be
gan his tale. And it took time in
! the telling, for the Duke was con
! stant in his questions, and a
i month is very long for such as he
to be torn from his usual life and
haunts.
And, through it all, Mrs.
•Spencer lay back in sinous in
[dolence among the cushions on
the co/ch before the fire, one
[hand behind her shapely head,
j her eyes, languidly indifferent,
'upon the two men, her thoughts
'seemingly far away. And while
[he talked, Count Bigler watched
! her curiously, ‘but discreetly.
[This was the first time he had
seen the famous “Woman in
Black” so closely, and her strik
ing beauty fairly stunned him.
He knew his Paris and Vienna
well, but her equal was not there
—no, nor elsewhere, he would
swear. Truly, he had wasted his
sympathy on Lotzen—he needed
me of it with such a companion
for his exile.
And she, unseeing, yet seeing
all, read much of his thoughts;
anti presently, from behind her
heavy lashes, she flashed a smile
upon him—half challenge, half
rebuke—then turned her face
from him, nor shifted it until the
fading daylight wrapped her in
its shadow.
Then*, my tale is told, the
Count ended. “I’m empty as a
broken bottle—and as dry,” and
he poured himself a glass of wine
from the decanter on a side table.
“You are a rare gossip, truly,”
said the Duke; “but you have
most carefully avoided the one
matter that interests me most:—
what do they saw of me in Dorn
lit/?”
Bigler shrugged his shoulders.
“Why ask?” he said. “You know
quite well the Capital does not
love you.”
“And, therefore, no reason for
me to be sen i; ;ve. Come, out with
it. What do they say?”
“Very well, saut Bigler, “if
you want it, here it is:—they
have the notion that you are no
longer the Heir Presumptive, and
it, seems to give them vast de
light.”_
(To Be Continued Next Week)
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