Sophy of Kravonia: A Novel

Sophy gave a low laugh. "Since the scenery is fine and the people interesting – yes, Monseigneur."

Their eyes met again, and he echoed back her laugh. Marie Zerkovitch drew in her breath sharply. With swift insight she saw – and foresaw. She remembered the presentiment, under whose influence she had begged Sophy not to come to Kravonia. But fate had weighted the scales heavily against her. The Baroness Dobrava was here.

The Prince turned to Marie with a puzzled look. Sophy was lost in glad anticipations. Marie met the Prince's look with a deprecating imploring glance. He frowned a little – not in anger, but in puzzle; what she foresaw he himself had not yet divined; he was feeling the joy without understanding it.

"At any rate you're not responsible now if we do freeze her to death with our mountain snows," he said in a jest which veiled friendly reproach.

"No, at least I'm not responsible," Marie answered.

There was a note in her voice now which commanded even Sophy's pre-engaged attention. She looked sharply at her friend – and perhaps she understood. But she did not yield to the suggestion. She drew herself up proudly. "I'm not afraid of what may happen to me at Praslok, Monseigneur," she said.

A simultaneous exclamation of many voices broke across their talk. At the other end of the room, men and women pressed into a circle round some point of interest which could not be seen by Sophy and her companions. A loud voice rang out in authoritative tones: "Stand back! Stand back – and open all the windows!"

"That's Natcheff's voice," said the Prince. Natcheff was the leading physician of Slavna. "Somebody's fainted, I suppose. Well, the place is stuffy enough!"

Markart emerged from the circle, which had widened out in obedience to the physician's orders. As he hurried past the Prince, he said: "The King has fainted, sir. I'm going to fetch Lepage." Two or three other men ran and opened the windows.

"The King fainted! I never knew him do that before."

He hastened to where his father lay, the subject of Natcheff's ministrations. Sophy and Marie followed in his wake through the opening which the onlookers made for him. The King showed signs of recovering, but Natcheff's face was grave beyond even the requirements of his profession or of his patient's rank. The next moment Lepage came up. This man, the King's body-servant, was a small, plump person, who had generally a weary, impassive, uninterested manner. He looked rather uninterested even now, but his walk was very quick, and he was soon aiding Natcheff with deft and nimble fingers.

"This is strange, Lepage," said Natcheff.

Lepage did not look up from his task.

"Has it ever happened before?"

Then Lepage did look up. He appeared to consider and to hesitate. He glanced once at the King before he answered.

"It's the third attack in two months," he said, at last.

"You never told me!" The words shot sharp from Natcheff's lips.

"That was by His Majesty's peremptory orders. He'll be angry that I've told you now."

"Clear the room!" ordered Natcheff, shortly.

Slavna had plenty to talk about that night. Besides the Baroness Dobrava's Red Star, there was the fainting fit of King Alexis! The evening bulletin was entirely favorable; the King had quite recovered. But many had heard Lepage's confession and seen the look that it brought to Natcheff's face.

Stenovics and Stafnitz rode back from the Palace to the city side by side. The General was silent, immersed in deep thought. Stafnitz smoked his cigarette with a light, rather mocking smile. At last, when they were almost opposite the terrace of the Hôtel de Paris, Stenovics spoke.

"It looks like the handwriting on the wall," he said.

"Quite so, General," Stafnitz agreed, cheerfully. "But at present there's no evidence to show to whom, besides the King himself, the message is addressed."

"Or what it says?"

"I think that's plain enough, General. I think it says that the time is short."

He watched his companion's face closely now. But Stenovics's mask was stolid and unmoved; he said nothing; he contented himself with a sullen grunt.

"Short for the King!" pursued Stafnitz, with a shake of his head. "Short for the Prince, perhaps! And certainly, General, uncomfortably short for us!"

Stenovics grunted again, and then rode on some while in silence. At last, just as he was about to part from his companion, he made one observation:

"Fortunately Natcheff is a friend of mine; we shall get the best possible information."

"That might become of importance, no doubt, General," said Stafnitz, smiling still.

VIII

MONSEIGNEUR'S UNIFORM

Dr. Natcheff amply reassured public opinion. What information he gave to General Stenovics, his friend, is another matter, and remained locked in that statesman's heart. Publicly and to everybody else, from the Prince of Slavna downward, he declared that there was no ground for apprehension, and that the King merely needed rest and change; after a few days of the former it was proposed to seek the latter by moving the Court to His Majesty's country-seat at Dobrava – that estate from which Sophy had been graciously bidden to choose her title. Meanwhile, there was no reason why the Prince should not carry out his intention, and proceed to the Castle of Praslok.

Below Slavna, the main post-road – as has already been stated, there was no railway at this time – follows the course of the River Krath for about five miles in a southeasterly direction. It is then carried across the stream (which continues to trend to the south) by an ancient wooden bridge, and runs northeast for another fifteen miles, through flat country, and past prosperous agricultural and pastoral villages, till it reaches the marshy land bordering Lake Talti. The lake, extending from this point to the spurs of the mountain-range which forms the frontier, bars its farther direct progress, and it divides into two branches. The right prong of the fork continues on the level till it reaches Dobrava, eight miles from the point of bisection; here it inclines to the northeast again, and, after some ten miles of steady ascent, crosses the mountains by St. Peter's Pass, the one carriage-road over the range and over the frontier. The left prong becomes a steep ascent directly the bisection has occurred, rising sharply for five miles to the hill on which the Castle of Praslok stands. Then it runs for another five miles on a high plateau till it ends at the hill city of Volseni, which stands on the edge of the plateau, looking down on Lake Talti and across to Dobrava in the plain opposite.

Beyond Volseni there is no road in the proper sense, but only cart or bridle-tracks. Of these the principal and most frequented runs diagonally across the valley in which Lake Talti lies, is interrupted by the lake (at that point about a mile and a half wide), and then meets the road from Dobrava half-way up St. Peter's Pass, and about twenty miles across-country from Volseni. It thus forms the base of a rough and irregular triangle of country, with the point where the Slavna road bisects, the Pass and Volseni marking its three angles. Lake Talti is set in the middle, backed by a chain of hills continuous everywhere except at the indentation of the Pass.

Though so near to Slavna in actual distance, the country is very different from the fertile river-valley which surrounds the capital; it is bleak and rough, a land of hill pastures and mountain woods. Its natural features are reflected in the character of the inhabitants. The men who count Volseni a local capital are hardier than the men of Slavna, less given to luxury, less addicted to quarrels and riots, but considerably more formidable opponents if once they take up arms. For this reason, no less than on account of their devotion to him, the Prince did well to choose this country as the recruiting-ground for his new force of gunners.

The Prince had been at Praslok for a week when Sophy set out to join him there. At the last moment, Zerkovitch decided to remain in Slavna, at least until the Court made its promised move to Dobrava: reassuring as Dr. Natcheff was, it would do no harm to have a friendly pair of eyes and ears in the capital so long as the King remained in residence. Thus the two ladies were accompanied only by Peter Vassip, whom the Prince had sent to escort them. They set out in a heavy travelling-carriage at ten in the morning, reckoning to reach the Castle before evening fell; their progress would never be rapid, and for the last five miles exceedingly slow. They left the capital in complete tranquillity, and when Sophy settled her bill at the sign of the Silver Cock, and bade farewell to old Meyerstein, her landlord, he expressed the hope that she would soon be back, though, indeed, his poor house was, he feared, no fit quarters for the Baroness Dobrava.

"I don't know whether I shall come back here, but I can never forget your house. I shall always love it in my memory," said Sophy.

Max von Hollbrandt had obtained leave of absence from his Legation, and had accompanied the Prince to Praslok. The two were friends, having many tastes in common, and not least the taste for soldiering. Besides having the pleasure of his company, the Prince looked to obtain valuable aid from Max in the task on which he was engaged. The young German was amused and delighted with his expedition. Praslok is a primitive old place. It stands on an abrupt mound, or knob, of ground by the road-side. So steep and sudden is the ascent, that it was necessary to build a massive causeway of wood – an inclined plane – to lead up from the road to the gate of the square tower which forms the front of the building; the causeway has cross-bars at short intervals, to give foothold to the horses which, in old days, were stabled within the walls. Recently, however, modern stables had been built on the other side of the road, and it had become the custom to mount the causeway and enter the Castle on foot.

Within, the arrangements were quaint and very simple. Besides the tower already mentioned, which contained the dining-room and two bedrooms above it, the whole building, strictly conditioned by the shape of the hill on which it stood, consisted of three rows of small rooms on the ground-floor. In one row lived the Prince and his male guests, in the second the servants, in the third the guard. The ladies were to be accommodated in the tower above the dining-room. The rows of rooms opened on a covered walk or cloister, which ran round the inner court of the Castle. The whole was solidly built of gray stone – a business-like old hill-fortress, strong by reason of its massive masonry and of the position in which it stood. Considered as a modern residence – it had to be treated humorously – so Max declared, and found much pleasure in it from that point of view. The Prince, always indifferent to physical comfort, and ever averse from luxury, probably did not realize how much his ancestral stronghold demanded of his guests' indulgence. Old Vassip, Peter's father, was major-domo – always in his sheepskin coat and high boots. His old wife was cook. Half a dozen servants completed the establishment, and of these three were grooms. The horses, in fact, seemed to Max the only creatures whose comforts were at all on a modern footing. But the Prince was entirely satisfied, and never so happy anywhere as at Praslok. He loved the simple, hardy life; he loved even more, though perhaps less consciously, the sense of being among friends. He would not yield an inch to court popularity in Slavna; but his heart went out to meet the unsought devotion of Volseni, the mountain town, and its surrounding villages. Distant and self-restrained in Slavna, here he was open, gay, and full of an almost boyish ardor.

"It's worth coming here, just to see its effect on you," Max told him, as the two rode back together from Volseni on the day of Sophy's arrival. They had been at work, and the recruiting promised well.

The Prince laughed gayly. "Coming here from Slavna is like fresh air after an oven," he said. "No need to watch your tongue – or other people's! You can laugh when you like, and frown when you like, without a dozen people asking what's your motive for doing it."

"But, really, you shouldn't have chosen a diplomatist for your companion, sir, if you feel like that."

"I haven't," he smiled. "I've left the diplomatist down there and brought the soldier up. And now that the ladies are coming – "

"Ah, now we must watch our tongues a little bit! Madame Zerkovitch is very pretty – and the Baroness might make me absolutely poetical!"

Least prying of men, yet Max von Hollbrandt could not resist sending with this speech a glance at his companion – the visit of the Baroness compelled this much tribute to curiosity. But the Prince's face was a picture of unembarrassed pleasure.

"Then be poetical! We'll all be poetical!" he cried, merrily. "In the intervals of drilling, be it understood!" he added, with a laugh.

Into this atmosphere, physical and moral – the exhilaration of keen mountain breezes, the brightness of a winter sun, the play of high hopes and of high spirit – came Sophy, with all her power of enjoying and her ardor in imagining. Her mind leaped from the sad embraces of the past, to fly to the arms of the present, to beckon gladly to the future. No more than this had yet emerged into consciousness; she was not yet asking how, for good or evil, she stood or was to stand towards the Prince. Fortune had done wonderful things for her, and was doing more yet. That was enough, and beyond that, for the moment, she was not driven.

The mixture of poetry and drilling suited her to perfection. She got both when she rode over to Volseni with the Prince. Crisp snow covered the ground, and covered, too, the roofs of the old, gray, hill-side city – long, sloping roofs, with here and there a round-tower with a snow-clad extinguisher atop. The town was no more than one long street, which bayed out at the farther end into a market-place. It stood with its back against a mountain-side, defended on the other three sides by a sturdy wall, which only now, after five centuries, began to crumble away at the top.

At the city-gate bread and salt were brought to the Bailiff and his companion, and she and he rode side by side down the long street to the market-place. Here were two or three hundred, tall, fine fellows, waiting their leader. Drill had not yet brought formality; on the sight of him they gave a cheer and ran to form a ring about him. Many caught his hand and pressed or kissed it. But Sophy, too, claimed their eyes. It was very cold; she wore a short jacket of sable over her habit, and a round cap of the same fur – gifts of Lady Meg's in the days of her benevolence. She was at the pitch of pleasure and excitement.