Long Live the King!

"Papa, let me introduce you to Prince Paul of Pannonia."

The other gave a start and drew himself up to his full height.

"I am honoured in being permitted to make the acquaintance of his Royal Highness," he replied, a little stiffly, so I thought. "The last time I saw you, sir, was on the day you were baptised. I trust his Majesty and the Queen enjoy good health?"

I replied to the effect that they were as well as could be expected of people of their years, and after a few polite nothings made my adieu, vaguely wondering what my mother would say when she heard of the interview, as I had no doubt she very soon would.

That evening, during the long state dinner at Buckingham Palace, I found myself continually thinking of the pretty Princess. Never had an admirably arranged banquet seemed so tedious. I was all anxiety for it to be over, in order that I might get away to Winterbourne House. At last it came to an end, and very soon after I was bowling along in my cab towards Carlton Terrace. On entering the house I made my way up the crowded staircase to the ball-room, where dancing was in full swing. Having paid my respects to my hostess, I searched the room for Princess Ottilie. I discovered her dancing with one of the foreign military attachés. She was not aware of my presence, so I took up a position in an alcove and watched her. If she had looked beautiful that afternoon, she was doubly so now. I noticed that she was taller than the majority of women present, but her slender figure was so exquisitely proportioned that the fact at first glance was not apparent. The dance over, I accosted her.

"I hope your dances are not all bespoken, Princess," I said. "I have the liveliest recollection of your promise this afternoon."

"You may have the next waltz if you like," she answered. "We shall be going on to Lady Basingstoke's in half an hour, so that I do not know how many I shall have time for here."

"In that case I must have this one and endeavour to extort a dance from that house also," I retorted. "Experience has taught me that there is nothing like being beforehand in these little affairs."

Seeing how matters stood, the attaché, with all the aplomb of a Frenchman, paid her a charming compliment, and gracefully took himself off. We thereupon passed into the conservatory together.

"Is your father here to-night?" I inquired. "I have not seen him."

"No," said she. "Papa never condescends to dance. He is probably playing ecarté at this moment at his club. I need not describe to you the pleasure it gave him to make your acquaintance this afternoon."

I glanced at her to see whether she were joking, but her face was as serious as even she could wish. Naturally, I expressed my delight at what she had told me, but I could not help believing that she had derived a wrong impression from her father's compliments. The Prince of Lilienhöhe had been such a determined foe of my family for so many years, that I could not see how making my acquaintance could possibly afford him pleasure. However, I had no time to give to the subject then, for the band was playing the introduction to the next waltz, and it was time to return to the ball-room. A few steps were sufficient to show me that the Princess, like all Pannonians, was an excellent dancer. To the melody of one of Strauss' waltzes I steered her through the crowd. The fragrance of her hair was intoxicating, and for some reason, I cannot explain what, it carried me back to the day, so many years ago, when she had taken my hand in hers, and had cemented our friendship with the three magic words, "I like you." How little we had dreamed then of the place where we should next meet, and under what circumstances it would be brought about! In those days the Ramonyi dynasty had seemed as firmly seated upon the throne as that of any other ruling family in Europe. Now we were in exile, and our country was given over to the tender mercies of the populace.

"Are you tired?" I inquired, when we had made the circuit of the room three or four times.

"Not in the least," she answered. "I am never tired of waltzing, and, if I may say so, you dance beautifully."

"I am afraid it is my only accomplishment," I replied.

"I shall hope to be a better judge of that later," she retorted. "You must remember that, so far, you have told me more concerning your brother than yourself. Are you always so enthusiastic about him and so reticent concerning yourself?"

"Always."

"Really! In that case I shall be quite anxious to see this Admirable Crichton. Does he never come to town?"

"Very seldom," I replied. "He is devoted to his profession."

"But surely he is fond of dancing, and of some of the little amusements that ordinary mortals indulge in?"

"I don't think he cares very much for them. I fear Max is not in any sense a lady's man."

"You are prepared then to admit that he has at least one fault?" she said. "I was beginning to believe he was scarcely human."

The waltz was gradually dying down, expiring like the fabled swan in softest music. When it had ceased altogether, I thanked my partner, and led her into the cool conservatory. The admiration I had felt for her from the beginning was fast turning to enthusiasm.

Half an hour later I followed her to Lady Basingstoke's house, and when, after another delicious waltz, I escorted her to her carriage, and was introduced to her chaperone, I was as near enchantment as a man could well be. Next day I did myself the honour of calling at her house, and was most graciously received; the morning following I met her in the Row. She was mounted on a neat thoroughbred, which she sat and handled with the grace and dexterity of an accomplished horsewoman. With the sunshine sparkling in her eyes and playing among the tresses of her hair, her trim figure clad in its well-cut habit, with just the suspicion of a tiny foot peeping from beneath her skirt, she presented a picture that a man would have been justified in walking miles to see. On the Monday following we met at a dance in Eaton Square, on the Tuesday at another at Wiltshire House, on Wednesday at the state concert at Buckingham Palace, and on Thursday and Friday at a multiplicity of dances. Take these things into consideration, and is it necessary for me to add that by the end of the week I was head over ears in love?

CHAPTER VI

"My dear old fellow, how well you are looking!" said Max, as he drew off his gloves and brushed some dust from his coat sleeve. He had just arrived from Yorkshire, and had arranged to spend a portion of his leave in town before going down to Hampshire to visit our respected parents.

"I am wonderfully fit," I answered. "How are you?"

"Only pretty well," he replied, and I noticed as he spoke that his face looked older and more careworn than when I had last seen him. What was more, his manner seemed to have lost much of its old vivacity. The change startled me more than I can say, and my fears were far from being allayed when, half an hour later, he communicated to me the direful intelligence that he had determined to resign his commission in the army.

"I cannot get on with it," he said. "I do not take the least interest in it; and, if the truth must be told, I am far better out of it. I am only sorry that they ever permitted me to take it up."

"My dear old fellow," I answered, "this is the worst news that I have heard for a long time. You surely cannot be serious?"

"I could not be more serious if my life depended upon it," he returned. "Don't imagine that I have acted hastily and without thought. I have given the matter the fullest possible consideration, and the step I am about to take is the result. It will hurt our mother terribly, I fear, but it cannot be helped."

"And what do you intend to do when you have left the army?" I asked, more for the sake of saying something and having time to collect my thoughts, than for any other reason.

"I don't know," he replied gloomily. "Upon my word, I do not. The truth of the matter is, Paul, old man, I'm a failure, an abject failure. I have guessed it for years, and now I am certain of it."

He looked so sad, that I crossed the room and took his hand. "You musn't say that," I began. "You know how proud we all are of you, and how our hopes are centred on you."

Then, with what was for me unusual earnestness, I continued, "Think of Pannonia! This wretched fiasco of a republic cannot endure much longer, and then our father will abdicate in your favour, and you will be king. Isn't that something to look forward to and to work for?"

He shook his head.

"If it were likely to happen, it might be," he answered. "But I know better. I am as certain, Paul, old boy, that I shall never sit upon the throne of Pannonia, as I am that I am standing before you now. I don't know why I should be so sure of it, but I am quite convinced that it is the case."

"It seems to me," I said in a fit of temper, "that the best thing you could do would be to consult a Harley Street physician. You are not yourself; you have run down and want a fillip."

He shook his head once more.

"It would take more than a Harley Street tonic to set me up," he replied. "But there, do not let us talk of my own wretched affairs. Tell me of yourself – what you have been doing, and how you like soldiering?"

I satisfied him upon these points, and then went on to tell him of my meeting with the Princess Ottilie. Though it was a difficult thing to do, I spoke of her with apparent unconcern. I had no wish that he should read my secret, not yet at any rate. He was extremely interested, and expressed a desire to be presented to her himself. Only too glad to agree to anything that would take him out of himself, I proposed that we should ask permission to call upon her. He assented, and I accordingly sat down to write a note to her, inquiring whether she would be at home that afternoon, and if so, if she would permit me to call and present my brother to her? This note I despatched, and when Max had made some changes in his attire, we went out and lunched together at the club. On our return, two hours later, my servant handed me a note. The handwriting was small, and in some respects un-English.

"The Princess will be very pleased to see us at four o'clock this afternoon, if we will call," I said in explanation.

Returning the note to its envelope, I placed it carefully in my pocket. The faint perfume of the paper seemed to linger in the room and to endow it with a sweetness it had not possessed before. With what eagerness I looked forward to that call! It seemed as if the laggard hours would never pass. At last, however, the time arrived, and Felix entered the room to inform us that the cab was at the door. Soon we turned into Curzon Street, and drew up before the door of the Prince of Lilienhöhe's residence. On entering, we were conducted to the drawing-room, where the Princess and the Baroness Roqsal, her chaperone, were awaiting our coming.

"Princess," I began, as I crossed the room and took her hand, "will you permit me the pleasure of presenting my brother to you?"

"It is very kind of you to bring him," she answered. Then, turning to Max, she continued: "I am delighted to see you. It is many years since we last met, but I remember you perfectly."

As he answered her, I glanced at his face and noticed the expression of admiration upon it.

"Do you know I am almost afraid of you," she said, when he had been presented to the Baroness, and we had seated ourselves.

"I am sorry to hear that," he replied. "I was not aware that I was such a dreadful personage. What have I done that you should fear me?"

"You have done nothing," she answered. "If anyone is to blame it is your brother. He has been singing your praises to an extent that has made me deem you almost superhuman."

"It seems almost a pity that I should shatter such a beautiful illusion, does it not?" he asked. "However, now that you know me, I fear its destruction is inevitable."