The Puppet Crown by Harlod MacGrath (best life changing books .TXT) 📕

in the open-especially in Bleiberg."

"What a diplomat you would make!" he cried with enthusiasm. Certainly this was a red-letter day in his calendar. This adventure almost equalled the other, and, besides, in this instance, his skin was dry; he could enjoy it more thoroughly. Who could this unknown be? "If only you understood the mystery with which you have enshrouded yourself!"

"I do." She drew the veil more firmly about her chin.

"Grant me a favor."

"I am talking to you, sir."

This candor did not disturb him. "The favor I ask is that you will lift the corner of your veil; otherwise you will haunt me."

"I am doomed to haunt you, then. If I should lift the corner of my veil something terrible would happen."

"What! Are you as beautiful as that?"

There was a flash of teeth behind the veil, followed by the ripple of soft laughter. "It is difficult to believe you to be English. You are more like one of those absurd Americans."

Maurice did not like the adjective. "I am one of them," wondering what the effect of this admission would be. "I am not English, but of the brother race. Forgive me if I have imposed on you, but it was your fault. You said that I was English, and I was too lonesome to enlighten you."

"You are an American?" She began to tap her gloved fingers against the table.

"Yes."

Then, to his astonishment, she gave way to laughter, honest and hearty. "How dense of me not to have known the moment you addressed me! Who but the American holds in scorn custom's formalities and usages? Your grammar is good, so good that my mistake is pardonable. The American is always like the terrible infant; and you are a choice example."

Maurice was not so pleased as he might have been. His ears burned. Still, he went forward bravely. "A man never pretends to be an Englishman without getting into trouble."

"I did not ask to speak to you. No one ever pretends to be an American. Why is it you are always ashamed of your country?" with malice aforethought.

Maurice experienced the sting of many bees. "I see that your experience is limited to impostors. I, Mademoiselle, am proud of my country, the great, free land which stands aside from the turmoil and laughs at your petty squabbles, your kings, your princes. Laugh at me; I deserve it for not minding my own business, but do not laugh at my country." His face was flushed; he was almost angry. It was not her words; it was the contempt with which she had invested them. But immediately he was ashamed of his outburst. "Ah, Mademoiselle, you have tricked me; you have found the vulnerable part in my armor. I have spoken like a child. Permit me to apologize for my apparent lack of breeding." He rose, bowed, and made as though to depart.

"Sit down, Monsieur," she said, picking up her French again. "I forgive you. I do more; I admire. I see that your freak had nothing behind it but mischief. No woman need fear a man who colors when his country is made the subject of a jest."

All his anger evaporated. This was an invitation, and he accepted it. He resumed his seat.

"The truth is, as I remarked, I was lonesome. I know that I have committed a transgression, but the veil tempted me."

"It is of no matter. A few moments, and you will be gone. I am waiting for some one. You may talk till that person comes." Her voice was now in its natural tone; and he was convinced that if her face were half as sweet, she must possess rare beauty. "Hush!" as the band began to breathe forth Chopin's polonaise. They listened until the music ceased.

"Ah !" said he rapturously, "the polonaise! When you hear it, does there not recur to you some dream of bygone happy hours, the sibilant murmur of fragrant night winds through the crisp foliage, the faint call of Diana's horn from the woodlands, moon- fairies dancing on the spider-webs, the glint of the dew on the roses, the far-off music of the surges tossing impotently on the sands, the forgetfulness of time and place and care, and not a cloud 'twixt you and the heavens? Ah, the polonaise!"

"Surely you must be a poet!" declared the Veil, when this panegyric was done.

"No," said he modestly, "I never was quite poor enough for that exalted position." He had recovered his good humor.

"Indeed, you begin to interest me. What is your occupation when not in search of-comic operas?"

"I serve Ananias."

"Ananias?" A pause. "Ah, you are a diplomat?"

"How clever of you to guess."

"Yours is a careless country," observed the Veil.

"Careless?" mystified.

"Yes, to send forth her green and salad youth. Eh, bien! There are hopes for you. If you live you will grow old; you will become bald and reserved; you will not speak to strangers, to while away an idle hour; for permit me, Monsieur, who am wise, to tell you that it is a dangerous practice."

"And do I look so very young?"

"Your beard is that of a boy."

"David slew Goliath."

"At least you have a ready tongue," laughing.

"And you told me that I had been a soldier."

But to this she had nothing to say.

"I am older than you think, Mademoiselle of the Veil. I have been a soldier; I have seen hard service, too. Mine is no cushion sword. Youth? 'Tis a virtue, not a crime; and, besides, it is an excellent disguise."

For some time she remained pensive.

"You are thinking of something, Mademoiselle."

"Do you like adventure?"

"I subsist on it."

"You have been a soldier; you are, then, familiar with the use of arms?"

"They tell me so," modestly. What was coming?

"I have some influence. May I trust you?"

"On my honor," puzzled, yet eager.

"There may be a comic opera, as you call it. War is not so impossible as to be laughed at. The dove may fly away and the ravens come."

"Who in thunder might this woman be?" he thought.

"And," went on the Veil, "an extra saber might be used. Give me your address, in case I should find it necessary to send for you."

Now Maurice was a wary youth. Under ordinary circumstances he would have given a fictitious address to this strange sybil with the prophecy of war; for he had accosted her only in the spirit of fun. But here was the key which he had been seeking, the key to all that had brought him to Bleiberg. Intrigue, adventure, or whatever it was, and to whatever end, he plunged into it. He drew out a card case, selected a card on which he wrote "Room 12, Continental," and passed it over the table. She read it, and slipped it into her purse.

Maurice thought: "Who wouldn't join the army with such recruiting officers?"

While the pantomime took place, a man pushed by Maurice's chair and crossed over to the table recently occupied by him. He sat down, lit a short pipe, rested his feet on the lowest rung of the ladder-like railing, and contemplated the western hills, which by now were enveloped in moon mists. Neither Maurice nor his mysterious vis-a-vis remarked him. Indeed, his broad back afforded but small attraction. And if he puffed his pipe fiercely, nobody cared, since the breeze carried the smoke waterward.

After putting the card into her purse, Mademoiselle of the Veil's gaze once more wandered toward the entrance, and this time it grew fixed. Maurice naturally followed it, and he saw a tall soldier in fatigue dress elbowing his way through the crush. Many moved aside for him; those in uniform saluted.

"Monsieur," came from behind the veil, "you may go now. I dismiss you. If I have need of you I promise to send for you."

He stood up. "I thank you for the entertainment and the promise you extend. I shall be easily found," committing himself to nothing. "I suppose you are a person of importance in affairs."

"It is not unlikely. I see that you love adventure for its own sake, for you have not asked me if it be the duchy or the kingdom. Adieu, Monsieur," with a careless wave of the gray- gloved hand. "Adieu!"

He took his dismissal heroically and shot a final glance at the approaching soldier. His brows came together.

"Where," he murmured, "have I seen that picturesque countenance before? Not in Europe; but where?" He caught the arm of a passing gendarme. "Who is that gentleman in fatigue uniform, coming this way?"

"That, Monsieur," answered the gendarme in tones not unmixed with awe, "is Colonel Beauvais of the royal cuirassiers."

"Thanks. . . . Beauvais; I do not remember the name. Truly I have had experiences to-day. And for what house is Mademoiselle of the Veil? Ravens? War? `Voici le sabre de mon pyre!'" and with a gay laugh he went his way.

Meanwhile Colonel Beauvais arrived at the table, tipped his hat to the Veil, who rose and laid a hand on his arm. He guided her through the pressing crowds.

"Ah, Madame," he said, "you are very brave to choose such a rendezvous."

"Danger is a tonic to the ill-spirited," was the reply.

"If aught should happen to you-"

"It was in accord with her wishes that I am here. She suffers from impatience; and I would risk much to satisfy her whims."

"So would I, Madame; even life." There was a tremor of passion in his voice, but she appeared not to notice it. "Here is a nook out of the lights; we may talk here with safety."

"And what is the news?" she asked.

"This: The man remains still in obscurity. But he shall be found.
Listen," and his voice fell into a whisper.

"Austria?" Mademoiselle of the Veil pressed her hands together in excitement. "Is it true?"

"Did I not promise you? It is so true that the end is in sight. Conspiracy is talked openly in the streets, in the cafes, everywhere. The Osians will be sand in the face of a tidal wave. A word from me, and Kronau follows it. It all would be so easy were it not for the archbishop."

"The archbishop?" contemptuously.

"Ay, Madame; he is a man so deep, with a mind so abyssmal, that I would give ten years of my life for a flash of his thoughts. He has some project; apparently he gives his whole time to the king. He loves this weak man Leopold; he has sacrificed the red hat for him, for the hat would have taken him to Italy, as we who procured it intended it should."

"The archbishop? Trust me; one month from now he will be recalled. That is the news I have for you."

"You have taken a weight from my mind. What do you think in regard to the rumor of the prince and the peasant girl?"

"It afforded me much amusement. You are a man of fine inventions."

"Gaze toward the upper end of the pavilion, the end which we have just left. Yes-there. I am having the owner of those broad shoulders watched. That gendarme leaning against the pillar follows him wherever he goes."

"Who is he?"

"That I am trying to ascertain. This