The Prince of Graustark

CHAPTER XXIII — PINGARI'S CHAPTER XXIII — PINGARI'S Nine o'clock of a rainy night, on the steep, winding road that climbed the mountain-side from the walled-in city to the crest on which stood the famed monastery of St. Valentine,—nine o'clock of a night fraught with pleasurable anticipation on the part of one R. Schmidt, whose eager progress up the slope was all too slow notwithstanding the encouragement offered by the conscienceless Jehu who frequently beat his poor steeds into a gallop over level stretches and never allowed them to pause on the cruel grades. Late in the afternoon there had come to the general post-office a letter for Mr. R. Schmidt. He had told her that any message intended for him would reach his hands if directed to the post-office. Since his arrival in the city, three days before, he had purposely avoided the main streets and avenues of Edelweiss, venturing forth but seldom from the Castle grounds, and all because he knew that he could not go abroad during the day-time without forfeiting the privileges to be enjoyed in emulation of the good Caliphs of Baghdad. His people would betray their prince because they loved him: his passage through the streets could only be attended by respectful homage on the part of every man, woman and child in the place. If Bedelia were there, she could not help knowing who and what he was, with every one stupidly lifting his hat and bowing to him as he passed, and he did not want Bedelia to know the truth about him until she had answered an all-important question, as has been mentioned before on more than one occasion in the course of this simple tale. Her letter was brief. She merely acquainted him with the fact that she had arrived in Edelweiss that day from Ganlook, twenty miles away, and was stopping at the Inn of the Stars outside the city gates and half way up the mountain-side, preferring the quiet, ancient tavern to the stately Regengetz for reasons of her own. In closing she said that she would be delighted to see him when it was convenient for him to come to her. On receipt of this singularly matter-of-fact letter, he promptly despatched a message to Miss Guile, Inn of the Stars, saying that she might expect him at nine that night. Fortunately for him, the night was wet and blustering. He donned a rain-coat, whose cape and collar served to cover the lower part of his face fairly well, and completed his disguise by pulling far down over his eyes the villainous broad-brimmed hat affected by the shepherds in the hills. He had a pair of dark eye-glasses in reserve for the crucial test that would come with his entrance to the Inn. Stealing away from the Castle at night, he entered the ram-shackle cab that Hobbs had engaged for the expedition, and which awaited him not far from the private entrance to the Park. Warders at the gate looked askance as he passed them by, but not one presumed to question him. They winked slyly at each other, however, after he had disappeared in the shadows beyond the rays of the feeble lanterns that they carried. It was good to be young! The driver of that rattling old vehicle was no other than the versatile Hobbs, who, it appears, had rented the outfit for a fixed sum, guaranteeing the owner against loss by theft, fire or dissolution. It is not even remotely probable that the owner would have covered the ground so quickly as Hobbs, and it is certain that the horses never suspected that they had it in them. The mud-covered vehicle was nearing the Inn of the Stars when Robin stuck his head out of the window and directed Hobbs to drive slower. "Very good, sir," said Hobbs. "I thought as how we might be late after losing time at the city gates, sir, wot with that silly guard and the—" "We are in good time, Hobbs. Take it easy." The lights of the Inn were gleaming through the drizzle not more than a block away. Robin's heart was thumping furiously. Little chills ran over him, delicious chills of excitement. His blood was hot and cold, his nerves were tingling. The adventure! "Whoa!" said Hobbs suddenly. "'Ello, wot the 'ell is—" A dark figure had sprung into the road-way near the horses' heads, and was holding up a warning hand. "Is this Mr. Schmidt's carriage?" demanded a hoarse, suppressed voice. "It is," said Hobbs, "for the time being. Wot of it?" Robin's head came through the window. "What do you want?" "Some one is coming out here to meet you, sir. Do not drive up to the doors. Those are the orders. You are to wait here, if you please." Then the man shot away into the darkness, leaving the wayfarers mystified by his words and action. "Wot am I to do, sir?" inquired Hobbs. "Most hextraordinary orders, and who the deuce is behind them, that's wot I'd like to know." "We'll wait here, Hobbs," said Robin, and then put his hand suddenly to his heart. It was acting very queerly. For a moment he thought it was in danger of pounding its way out of his body! Below him lay the lighted city, a great yellow cloud almost at his feet. Nearer, on the mountain-side were the misty lights in the windows of dwellers on the slope, and at points far apart the street lamps, dim splashes of light in the gloom. Far above were the almost obscured lights of St. Valentine, hanging in the sky. He thought of the monks up there. What a life! He would not be a monk, not he. "My word!" exclaimed Hobbs, but instantly resumed his character as cabby. A woman came swiftly out of the blackness and stopped beside the cab. She was swathed in a long gossamer, and hooded. The carriage lamps gleamed strong against the dripping coat. "Is it you?" cried Robin, throwing open the door and leaping to the ground. "It is I, M'sieur," said the voice of Marie, Miss Guile's French maid. Bleak disappointment filled his soul. He had hoped for—but no! He might have known. She would not meet him in this manner. "What has happened?" he cried, grasping the girl's arm. "Has she—" "Sh! May we not speak in French?" said Marie, lowering her voice after a significant look at the motionless cabman. "He may understand English, M'sieur. My mistress has sent me to say to M'sieur that she has changed her mind." "Changed her mind," gasped Robin. "Yes, M'sieur. She will not receive you at the Inn of the Stars. She bids you drive to the end of this street, where there is a garden with a Magyar band, and the most delicious of refreshments to be had under vine-covered—" "A public garden?" exclaimed Robin in utter dismay. "Pingari's, sir," said Hobbs, without thinking. "I know the place well. It is a very quiet, orderly place—I beg pardon!" "So he understands French, eh?" cried Marie sharply. "It doesn't matter," cried Robin impatiently. "Why, in heaven's name, did she select a public eating-house in which to receive me?" "If M'sieur chooses to disregard the wishes of—" began the maid, but he interrupted her. "I am not accustomed to meeting people in public gardens. I—" "Nor is my mistress, M'sieur. I assure you it is the first time she has committed an indiscretion of this kind. May I put a flea in M'sieur's ear? The place is quite empty to-night, and besides there is the drive back to the Inn with Mademoiselle. Is not that something, M'sieur?' "By jove!" exclaimed Robin. "Drive on,—you! But wait! Let me take you to the Inn, Marie. It—" "No! I may not accept M'sieur's thoughtful invitation. Bon soir, M'sieur." She was off like a flash. Robin leaped nimbly into the cab. "Pingari's, driver!" he said, his heart thumping once more. "Very good, sir," and they were off at a lively rate, rattling quite gaily over the cobble-stones. Pingari's is the jumping-off place. It stands at the sharp corner of an elbow in the mountain, with an almost sheer drop of a thousand feet into the quarries below. A low-roofed, rambling building, once used as a troop-house for nomadic fighting-men who came from all parts of the principality on draft by feudal barons in the days before real law obtained, it was something of a historic place. Parts of the structure are said to be no less than five hundred years old, but time and avarice have relegated history to a rather uncertain background, and unless one is pretty well up in the traditions of the town, he may be taken in nicely by shameless attendants who make no distinction between the old and the new so long as it pays them to procrastinate. As a matter of fact, the walls of the ancient troop-house surround what is now considered the kitchen, and one never steps inside of them unless he happens to be connected in a somewhat menial way with the green grocer, the fish-monger, the butcher or the poultry-man. The wonderful vine-covered porches, reeking with signs of decay and tottering with age, are in truth very substantial affairs constructed by an ancestor of the present Signor Pingari no longer ago than the Napoleonic era—which is quite recent as things go in Graustark. Hobbs drove bravely into the court yard, shouted orders to a couple of hostlers and descended from the box. The Magyar band was playing blithely to the scattered occupants of the porches overlooking the precipice. "'Ere we are, sir," said he to the Prince, as he jerked open the door of the cab. "Shall I wait, sir?" "Certainly," said Robin, climbing out. "I am a long way from home, my good man." He hurried up the steps and cast an eye about the place. There were no ladies unattached. As he was about to start on a tour of investigation, a polite person in brass buttons came up to him. "Alone, sir?" he inquired pityingly. "Quite," said Robin, still peering into the recesses. "Then come with me, if you please. I am directed to escort you to one who is also alone. This way, sir." Robin followed him through a door, down a narrow hallway, up a flight of stairs and out another door upon a small portico, sheltered by a heavy canvas awning. Two men were standing at the railing, looking down upon the impressionistic lights of the sunken city. The Prince drew back, his face hardening. "What does this mean, sirrah? You said—" At the sound of his voice the two men turned, stared at him intently for an instant and then deliberately strode past him, entered the door and disappeared. The person in brass buttons followed them. A soft, gurgling laugh fell upon his ears—a laugh of pure delight. He whirled about and faced—one who was no longer alone. She was seated at the solitary little table in the corner; until now it had escaped his notice for the excellent reason that it was outside the path of light from the open doorway, and the faint glow from the adjacent porches did not penetrate the quiet retreat. He sprang toward her with a glad cry, expecting her to rise. She remained seated, her hand extended. This indifference on her part may have been the result of cool premeditation. In any event, it served to check the impulsive ardour of the Prince, who, it is to be feared, had lost something in the way of self-restraint. It is certain—absolutely certain—that had she come forward to meet him, she would have found herself imprisoned in a pair of strong, eager arms,—and a crisis precipitated. He had to be content with a warm hand-clasp and a smile of welcome that even the gloom could not hide from his devouring eyes. "My dear, dear Bedelia," he murmured. "I had almost given you up. Three long days have I waited for you. You—" "I have never broken a promise, Rex," she said coolly. "It is you who are to be commended, not I, for you see I was coming to Graustark anyway. I should not have been surprised if you had failed me, sir. It is a long way from Vienna to this out-of-the-way—" "The most distant spot in the world would not have been too far away to cause an instant's hesitation on my part," said he, dropping into the chair opposite her. "I would go to the end of the world, Bedelia." "But your personal affairs—your business," she protested. "Can you neglect it so—" "My business is to find happiness," said he. "I should be neglecting it indeed if I failed to pursue the only means of attaining it. You are happiness, Bedelia." "What would you sacrifice for happiness?" she asked softly. "All else in the world," he replied steadily. "If I were a king, my realm should go if it stood between me and—you, Bedelia." She drew back with a queer little gasp, as if suddenly breathless. "Wait—wait just for a moment," she said, with difficulty steadying her voice. "This night may see the end of our adventure, Rex. Let us think well before we say that it is over. I know, if you do not, that a great deal depends upon what we are to say to each other to-night. You will ask me to be your wife. Are you sure that you appreciate all that it means to you and to your future if I should say yes to that dear question?" He looked at her intently. "What do you know, Bedelia?" "I know that you are the Prince of Graustark and that it is ordained that you shall wed one whose station is the equal of your own. You must think well, dear Rex, before you ask Bedelia Guile to be your wife." "You know that I am—" he began, dully, and then burst into a mirthless laugh. "And knowing who I am, why do you not leap at the chance to become the Princess of Graustark? Why not realise an ambition that—" "Hush! You see how well I considered when I advised you to think before speaking? You are now saying things that are unworthy of you. You are forgetting that it is my privilege to say no to the am in search of happiness. I too—" He stood up, leaning far over the table, a penetrating look in his eyes. "How long have you known, Bedelia?" "Since the second day out on the Jupiter ," she replied serenely. He slowly resumed his seat, overwhelmed by the sickening realisation that his bubble had burst. She had known from the beginning. She had played with him. She had defied him! "I know what you are thinking, Rex," she said, almost pleadingly. "You are thinking ill of me, and you are unjust. It was as fair for me as it was for you. We played a cautious game. You set about to win my love as you saw fit, my friend, and am I to be condemned if I exercised the same privilege? I was no more deliberate, no more reprehensible than you. Am I more guilty of deceit than you?" He gave a great sigh of relief. "You are right," he said. "It is my turn to confess. I have known for many days that you are not Bedelia Guile. We are quits." She laughed softly. "I rather like Bedelia. I think I shall keep it as a good-luck name. We have now arrived at the time for a profound contemplation of the results of our experiments. In the meantime, I have had no dinner. I trust that the Prince of Graustark has dined so lightly that he will not decline to share my repast with me. It has already been ordered—for two." "By jove, you—you amaze me!" he exclaimed. "Please remove that dreadful mackintosh and touch the bell for me. You see, I am a very prosaic person, after all. Even in the face of disaster I can have a craving for food and drink. That's better." In a sort of daze, he tapped the little table bell. A waiter appeared on the instant. "Give us more light, waiter," was her command, "and serve dinner at once." The lights went up, and Robin looked into her soft, smiling eyes. "It doesn't matter," he whispered hoarsely. "I don't care what happens to me, Bedelia, I—I shall never give you up. You are worth all the kingdoms in the world. You are the loveliest, most adorable—" "Hush! The eyes of your people are upon you. See! Even the waiter recognises his prince. He is overcome. Ah! He falters with the consomme. It is a perilous moment. There! I knew something would happen, poor fellow. He has spilled—but, all is well; he has his wits again. See! He replenishes from the steaming tureen. We are saved." Her mood was so gaily satiric, so inconsequential, that he allowed a wondering, uncertain smile to banish the trouble from his eyes as he leaned back in the chair and studied the vivid, excited face of the girl who had created havoc with his senses. She was dressed as he had seen her on board the Jupiter during those delightful days on deck: the same trim figure in a blue serge suit and a limp white hat, drawn well down over her soft brown hair, with the smart red tie and the never-to-be-forgotten scent of a perfume that would linger in his nostrils forever and forever. "Do you think it strange that I should have asked you to meet me here in this unconventional way instead of at the Inn?" she inquired, suddenly serious. Again the shy, pleading expression stole into her eyes. "I did think so, but no longer. I am glad that we are here." "Mrs. Gaston is inside," she informed him quickly. "I do not come alone. An hour ago the Inn became quite impossible as a trysting place. A small party from the Regengetz arrived for dinner. Can you guess who is giving the dinner? The great and only William W. Blithers, sir, who comes to put an obstinate daughter upon the throne of Graustark, whether she will or no." "Did he see you?" cried Robin. "No," she answered, with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "I stole out through the back door, and sent Marie out with one of the porters to head you off. Then I came on here. I didn't even stop to change my gown." "Hide and seek is a bully game," said he. "It can't last much longer, Bedelia. I think it is only right that we should go to your father and tell him that—everything is all right. It is his due. You've solved your own problem and are satisfied, so why not reveal yourself. There is nothing to be gained by further secrecy." She was watching him closely. "Are you, after all is said and done, sure that you want to marry the daughter of William Blithers, in the face of all the bitter consequences that may follow such an act? Think hard, my dear. She is being forced upon you, in a way. Mr. Blithers' money is behind her. Your people are opposed to the bargain, for that is the way in which they will look upon it. They may act very harshly toward you. The name of Blithers is detested in your land. His daughter is reviled. Are you sure that you want to marry her, Re—Robin?" "Are you through?" he asked, transfixing her with a determined look. "Well, then, I'll answer you. I do want to marry you, and, more than that, I mean to marry you. I love—" "You may tell me, Robin, as we are driving back to the Inn together—not here, not now," she said softly, the lovelight in her eyes. Happiness blurred his vision. He was thrilled by an enchantment so stupefying that the power of speech, almost of thought, was denied him for the time being. He could only sit and stare at her with prophetic love in his eyes, love that bided its time and trembled with anticipation. Long afterward, as they were preparing to leave Pingari's she said to him: "My father is at the Inn, Robin. I ran away from him to-night because I wanted to be sure that our adventure was closed before I revealed myself to him. I wanted to be able to say to him that love will find its way, no matter how blind it is, nor how vast the world it has to traverse in search of its own. My father is at the Inn. Take me to him now, Robin, and make the miracle complete." His fingers caressed her warm cheek as he adjusted the collar of the long seacoat about her throat and chin. Her eyes were starry bright, her red lips were parted. "My Princess!" he whispered tenderly. "My Princess!" "My Prince," she said so softly that the words barely reached his ears. "We have proved that Love is the king. He rules us all. He laughs at locksmiths—and fathers—but he does not laugh at sweethearts. Come, I am ready." He handed her into the cab a moment later, and drew the long deep breath of one who goes down into deep water. Then he followed after her. The attendant closed the door. "Where to, sir?" called Hobbs from the driver's seat. He received no answer, yet cracked his whip gaily over the horses' backs and drove out into the slanting rain. Hobbs was a dependable fellow. He drove the full length of the street twice, passing the Inn of the Stars both times at a lively clip, and might have gone on forever in his shuttlecock enterprise, had not the excited voice of a woman hailed him from the sidewalk. "Stop! Attendez ! You! Man!" He pulled up with a jerk. The dripping figure of Marie ran up from behind. "My mistress? Where is she?" panted the girl. "In heaven," said Hobbs promptly, whereupon Marie pounded on the glass window of the cab. Robin quickly opened the door. "Wha—what is it?" "Yes, Marie," came in muffled tones from the depths of the cab. "Madame Gaston returns long ago. She is beside herself. She is like a maniac. She has lost you; she cannot explain to—to Mademoiselle's father. Mon dieu, when he met her unexpectedly in the hall, he shouts, 'where is my daughter?' And poor Madame she has but to shiver and stammer and—run away! Oui ! She dash out into the rain! It is terrible. She—" Bedelia broke in upon this jumbled recitation. "Where have we been, Robin? Where are we now?" "Where are we, Hobbs?" "We are just getting back to the Inn of the Stars, sir,—descending, you might say, sir," said Hobbs. "Drive on, confound you." "To the Inn, sir?" "Certainly!" The door slammed and the final block was covered in so short a time that Robin's final kiss was still warm on Bedelia's lips when the gallant cab rolled up to the portals of the Inn of the Stars. "Did you ever know such a night, sir?" inquired Hobbs, as the Prince handed his lady out. He was referring to the weather. CHAPTER XXIV — JUST WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED Even the most flamboyant of natures may suffer depression at times, and by the same token arrogance may give way to humility,—or, at the very least, conviction. Mr. Blithers had had a trying day of it. To begin with, his wife raked him over the coals for what she was pleased to call his senseless persistence in the face of what she regarded as unalterable opposition on the part of the Cabinet and House of Nobles. It appears that he had experienced a second encounter with the Ministry only the day before. After sleeping over the results of his first visit to the Council Chamber, he awoke to the fact that matters were in such a condition that it behooved him to strike while the iron was hot. So he obtained a second hearing, principally because he had not slept as well over it as he would have liked, and secondarily because he wanted to convince himself that he could parade their ancient halls without feeling as self-conscious as a whipped spaniel. He came off even worse in his second assault upon the ministry, for this time the members openly sneered at his declarations. As for his progress through the enchanted halls he was no end worse off than before. It so happened that he arrived at the castle at the very hour when the ladies and gentlemen of the royal household were preparing to fare forth to the tennis courts. He came upon them, first on the terrace, then in the entrance, and later on was stared at with evident curiosity by white flanneled and duck-skirted persons in the lofty halls. He wished that he was back at Blitherwood where simplicity was not so infernally common. He made the mistake of his life when he gave to his wife the details of this second conference with the Cabinet. He did it in the hope that a sympathetic response would be forthcoming. To his surprise, she merely pitied him, but in such a disgustingly personal way that he wondered if he could ever forgive her. "Can't you appreciate what I am doing for Maud?" he argued, almost tearfully. "I can appreciate what you are doing to her," said she, and swept out of the room. "It's bad enough to have one stubborn woman in the family," said he to himself, glaring at the closed door—which had been slammed, by the way,—"but two of 'em—Good Lord!" And so it was that Mr. Blithers, feeling in need of cheer, arranged a little dinner for that evening, at the Inn of the Stars. He first invited his principal London lawyer and his wife—who happened to be his principal—and then sent a more or less peremptory invitation to the President of the Bank of Graustark, urging him to join the party at the Regengetz and motor to the Inn. He was to bring his wife and any friends that might be stopping with them at the time. The banker declined. His wife had been dead for twenty years; the only friends he possessed were directors in the bank, and they happened to be having a meeting that night. So Mr. Blithers invited his secondary London lawyer, his French lawyer and two attractive young women who it appears were related to the latter, although at quite a distance, and then concluded that it was best to speak to his own wife about the little affair. She said she couldn't even think of going. Maud might arrive that very night and she certainly was not going out of the hotel with such an event as that in prospect. "But Simpson's wife is coming," protested Mr. Blithers, "and Pericault's cousins. Certainly you must come. Jolly little affair to liven us up a bit. Now Lou,—" "I am quite positive that Lady Simpson will change her mind when she hears that Pericault's cousins are going," said Mrs. Blithers acidly. "Anything the matter with Pericault's cousins?" he demanded, inclined to the bellicose. "Ask Pericault," she replied briefly. He thought for a moment. "If that's the case, Lou, you'll have to come, if only to save my reputation," he said. "I didn't think it of Pericault. He seems less like a Frenchman than any man I've ever known." Mrs. Blithers relented. She went to the dinner and so did Lady Simpson, despite Pericault's cousins, and the only ones in the party who appeared to be uneasy were the cousins themselves. It is safe to say that it was not the rain that put a dampener on what otherwise might have been an excessively jovial party. Stupendous was the commotion at the Inn of the Stars when it became known that one of the richest men in the world—and a possible father-in-law apparent to the crown,—was to honour the place with his presence that night. Every one, from the manager down to the boy who pared potatoes, laid himself out to make the occasion a memorable one. The millionaire's table was placed in the very centre of the dining-room, and plates were laid for eight. At the last minute, Mr. Blithers ordered the number increased to nine. "My daughter may put in an appearance," he explained to Lady Simpson. "I have left word at the hotel for her to come up if by any chance she happens to arrive on the evening train." "Haven't you heard from her, Mr. Blithers?" inquired the austere lady, regarding the top of his head with an illy-directed lorgnon. They were entering the long, low dining-room. Mr. Blithers resented the scrutiny: It was lofty and yet stooping. She seemed to be looking down upon him at right angles, due no doubt to her superior height and to the fact that she had taken his arm. "We have," said he, "but not definitely. She is likely to pop in on us at any moment, and then again she's likely not to. My daughter is a very uncertain person, Lady Simpson. I never seem to be able to put my finger upon her." "Have you ever tried putting the whole hand upon her?" inquired her ladyship, and Mr. Blithers stared straight ahead, incapable of replying. He waited until they were seated at the table and then remarked: "I am sorry you got splashed, Lady Simpson. You'd think they might keep the approach to a place like this free of mud and water." "Oh, I daresay the gown can be cleaned, Mr. Blithers," she said. "I am quite ready to discard it, in any event, so it really doesn't matter." "My dear," said he to his wife, raising his voice so that diners at nearby tables could not help hearing what he said, "I forgot to tell you that we are expected to dine with the Prince at the Castle." Then he wondered if any one in the room understood English. "When?" she inquired. "Very shortly," said he, and she was puzzled for a moment by the stony glare he gave her. Lord Simpson took this opportunity to mention that he had taken reservations for the return of himself and wife to Vienna on the next day but one. "We shall catch the Orient Express on Friday and be in London by Monday," he said. "Our work here is completed. Everything is in ship-shape. Jenkins will remain, of course, to attend to the minor details, such as going over the securities and—" "Don't you like that caviare?" asked Mr. Blithers with some asperity. "It has a peculiar taste," said Lord Simpson. "Best I've ever tasted," said Mr. Blithers, spreading a bun thickly. Pericault's cousins were fingering the champagne glasses. "We've got sherry coming first," said he. "Everything satisfactory, M'sieur Blithers?" inquired the maitre d'hotel softly, ingratiatingly, into his left ear. "Absolutely," said Mr. Blithers with precision. "You needn't hurry things. We've got the whole evening ahead of us." Lady Simpson shivered slightly. The Pericault cousins brightened up. There was still a chance that the "dowagers" would retire early from the scene of festivity. "By the way," said Simpson, "how long do you purpose remaining in Edelweiss, Blithers?" For the first time, the capitalist faltered. He was almost ready to admit that his enterprise had failed in one vital respect. The morning's experience in the Council Chamber had shaken his confidence considerably. "I don't know, Simpson," said he. "It is possible that we may leave soon." "Before the Prince's dinner?" inquired Lady Simpson, again regarding his bald spot through the lorg-non. "Depends on what my daughter has to say when she gets here," said he almost gruffly. "If she wants to stay for a while, we will remain. I don't mind saying that I have a curious longing for Wall Street. I am at home there and—well, by George, I'm like a fish out of water here." His wife looked up quickly, but did not speak. "I am a business man, Lady Simpson, not a philanderer. I'd like to take this town by the neck and shake some real enterprise into it, but what can you do when everybody is willing to sit down and let tradition look after 'em? I've put a lot of money into Grosstock and I'd like to see the country prosper. Still I'm not worried over my investment. It is as good as gold." "Perfectly safe," said Lord Simpson. "Absolutely," said the secondary London lawyer. Pericault's comment was in French and not intended to be brief, but as Mr. Blithers was no longer interested, the privilege of completing his remarks was not accorded him. He did say Mon dieu under his breath, however, in the middle of his employer's next sentence. "As I said before, everything depends on whether my daughter wants to remain. If she says she wants to stay, that settles the point so far as I am concerned. If she says she doesn't want to stay, we'll—well, that will settle it also. I say, waiter, can't you hurry the fish along?" "Certainly, sir. I understood M'sieur to say that there was no hurry—" "Well, pour the champagne anyway. I think we need it." Two hours later, Mr. Blithers looked at his watch again. The party was quite gay: at least fifty percent disorderly. "That train has been in for an hour," said the host. "I guess Maud didn't come. I left word for the hotel to call me up if she arrived—I say, waiter, has there been a telephone message for me?" "No, M'sieur. We have kept a boy near the telephone all evening, M'sieur. No message." "I also told 'em to send up any telegram that might come," he informed his wife, who merely lifted her eyebrows. They had been lowered perceptibly in consequence of the ebullience of Pericault's cousins. The vivacious young women were attracting a great deal of attention to their table. Smart diners in the immediate neighbourhood appeared to be a trifle shocked. Three dignified looking gentlemen, seated near the door, got up and left the room. "We really must be going," said Mrs. Blithers nervously, who had been watching the three men for some time with something akin to dismay in her soul. She had the sickening notion that they were members of the Cabinet—lords of the realm. "All right," said Mr. Blithers, "Call the cars up, waiter. Still raining?" "Yes, M'sieur. At this season of the year—" "Call the cars. Let's have your bill." Pericault's cousins were reluctant to go. In fact, they protested shrilly that it was silly to break up such a successful party at such an unseemly hour. "Never mind," whispered Pericault softly, and winked. "I'll leave 'em in your care, Pericault," said Mr. Blithers grimly. "They are your cousins, you know." "Trust me implicitly. Monsieur," said Pericault, bowing very deeply. Then he said good-night to Mrs. Blithers and Lady Simpson. The secondary London lawyer did the same. Out in the wide, brilliantly lighted foyer, a few late-stayers were waiting for their conveyances to be announced. As the four departing members of the Blithers party grouped themselves near the big doors, impatient to be off, a brass-buttoned boy came up and delivered a telegram to the host. He was on the point of tearing open the envelope when his eyes fell upon two people who had just entered the hall from without, a man and woman clad in raincoats. At the same instant the former saw Mr. Blithers. Clutching his companion's arm he directed her attention to the millionaire. "Now for it, Bedelia," he whispered excitedly. Bedelia gazed calmly at Mr. Blithers and Mr. Blithers gazed blankly at the Prince of Graustark. Then the great financier bowed very deeply and called out: "Good evening, Prince!" He received no response to his polite greeting, for the Prince was staring at Bedelia as if stupefied. The millionaire's face was very red with mortification as he turned it away. "He—he doesn't recognise you," gasped Robin in amazement. "Who?" she asked, her eyes searching the room with an eager, inquiring look. "Your father," he said. She gave him a ravishing, delighted smile. "Oh, it is so wonderful, Robin. I have fooled you completely. That man isn't my father." "That's Mr. Blithers or I am as blind as a bat," he exclaimed. "Is it, indeed? The one reading the telegram, with his eyes sticking out of his head?" Robin's head was swimming. "Good heaven, Bedelia, what are you—" "Ah!" she cried, with a little shriek of joy. "See! There he is!" One of the three distinguished men who had been remarked by Mrs. Blithers now separated himself from his companions and approached the couple. He was a tall, handsome man of fifty. Although his approach was swift and eager, there was in his face the signs of wrath that still struggled against joy. She turned quickly, laid her hand upon the Prince's rigid arm, and said softly: "My father is the Prince of Dawsbergen, dear." A crumpled telegram dropped from Mr. Blithers' palsied hand to the floor as he turned a white, despairing face upon his wife. The brass-buttoned boy picked it up and handed it to Mrs. Blithers. It was from Maud. "We were married in Vienna today. After all I think I shall not care to see Graustark. Channie is a dear. I have promised him that you will take him into the business as a partner. We are at the Bristol. "Maud." THE END *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCE OF GRAUSTARK *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. 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