LITMIR.BIZ

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must be right, madam,” replied the Prince. “For six years that we have been good friends, I have observed you to grow younger.”

      “Flatterer,” cried she, and then, with a change, “But why should I say so,” she added, “when I protest I think the same? A week ago I had a council with my father director, the glass; and the glass replied, ‘Not yet!’ I confess my face in this way once a month. O! a very solemn moment. Do you know what I shall do when the mirror answers, ‘Now’?”

      “I cannot guess,” said he.

      “No more can I,” returned the Countess. “There is such a choice! Suicide, gambling, a nunnery, a volume of memoirs, or politics – the last, I am afraid.”

      “It is a dull trade,” said Otto.

      “Nay,” she replied, “it is a trade I rather like. It is, after all, first cousin to gossip, which no one can deny to be amusing. For instance, if I were to tell you that the Princess and the Baron rode out together daily to inspect the cannon, it is either a piece of politics or scandal, as I turn my phrase. I am the alchemist that makes the transmutation. They have been everywhere together since you left,” she continued, brightening as she saw Otto darken; “that is a poor snippet of malicious gossip – and they were everywhere cheered – and with that addition all becomes political intelligence.”

      “Let us change the subject,” said Otto.

      “I was about to propose it,” she replied, “or rather to pursue the politics. Do you know? this war is popular – popular to the length of cheering Princess Seraphina.”

      “All things, madam, are possible,” said the Prince; “and this among others, that we may be going into war, but I give you my word of honour I do not know with whom.”

      “And you put up with it?” she cried. “I have no pretensions to morality; and I confess I have always abominated the lamb, and nourished a romantic feeling for the wolf. O, be done with lambiness! Let us see there is a prince, for I am weary of the distaff.”

      “Madam,” said Otto, “I thought you were of that faction.”

      “I should be of yours, mon Prince, if you had one,” she retorted. “Is it true that you have no ambition? There was a man once in England whom they call the kingmaker. Do you know,” she added, “I fancy I could make a prince?”

      “Some day, madam,” said Otto, “I may ask you to help make a farmer.”

      “Is that a riddle?” asked the Countess.

      “It is,” replied the Prince, “and a very good one too.”

      “Tit for tat. I will ask you another,” she returned. “Where is Gondremark?”

      “The Prime Minister? In the prime-ministry, no doubt,” said Otto.

      “Precisely,” said the Countess; and she pointed with her fan to the door of the Princess’s apartments. “You and I, mon Prince, are in the ante-room. You think me unkind,” she added. “Try me and you will see. Set me a task, put me a question; there is no enormity I am not capable of doing to oblige you, and no secret that I am not ready to betray.”

      “Nay, madam, but I respect my friend too much,” he answered, kissing her hand. “I would rather remain ignorant of all. We fraternise like foemen soldiers at the outposts, but let each be true to his own army.”

      “Ah,” she cried, “if all men were generous like you, it would be worth while to be a woman!” Yet, judging by her looks, his generosity, if anything, had disappointed her; she seemed to seek a remedy, and, having found it, brightened once more. “And now,” she said, “may I dismiss my sovereign? This is rebellion and a cas pendable; but what am I to do? My bear is jealous!”

      “Madam, enough!” cried Otto. “Ahasuerus reaches you the sceptre; more, he will obey you in all points. I should have been a dog to come to whistling.”

      And so the Prince departed, and fluttered round Grafinski and von Eisenthal. But the Countess knew the use of her offensive weapons, and had left a pleasant arrow in the Prince’s heart. That Gondremark was jealous – here was an agreeable revenge! And Madame von Rosen, as the occasion of the jealousy, appeared to him in a new light.

      CHAPTER V

      … GONDREMARK IS IN MY LADY’S CHAMBER

      The Countess von Rosen spoke the truth. The great Prime Minister of Grünewald was already closeted with Seraphina. The toilet was over; and the Princess, tastefully arrayed, sat face to face with a tall mirror. Sir John’s description was unkindly true, true in terms and yet a libel, a misogynistic masterpiece. Her forehead was perhaps too high, but it became her; her figure somewhat stooped, but every detail was formed and finished like a gem; her hand, her foot, her ear, the set of her comely head, were all dainty and accordant; if she was not beautiful, she was vivid, changeful, coloured, and pretty with a thousand various prettinesses; and her eyes, if they indeed rolled too consciously, yet rolled to purpose. They were her most attractive feature, yet they continually bore eloquent false witness to her thoughts; for while she herself, in the depths of her immature, unsoftened heart, was given altogether to man-like ambition and the desire of power, the eyes were by turns bold, inviting, fiery, melting, and artful, like the eyes of a rapacious siren. And artful, in a sense, she was. Chafing that she was not a man, and could not shine by action, she had, conceived a woman’s part, of answerable domination; she sought to subjugate for by-ends, to rain influence and be fancy free; and, while she loved not man, loved to see man obey her. It is a common girl’s ambition. Such was perhaps that lady of the glove, who sent her lover to the lions. But the snare is laid alike for male and female, and the world most artfully contrived.

      Near her, in a low chair, Gondremark had arranged his limbs into a cat-like attitude, high-shouldered, stooping, and submiss. The formidable blue jowl of the man, and the dull bilious eye, set perhaps a higher value on his evident desire to please. His face was marked by capacity, temper, and a kind of bold, piratical dishonesty which it would be calumnious to call deceit. His manners, as he smiled upon the Princess, were over-fine, yet hardly elegant.

      “Possibly,” said the Baron, “I should now proceed to take my leave. I must not keep my sovereign in the ante-room. Let us come at once to a decision.”

      “It cannot, cannot be put off?” she asked.

      “It is impossible,” answered Gondremark. “Your Highness sees it for herself. In the earlier stages we might imitate the serpent; but for the ultimatum, there is no choice but to be bold like lions. Had the Prince chosen to remain away, it had been better; but we have gone too far forward to delay.”

      “What can have brought him?” she cried. “To-day of all days?”

      “The marplot, madam, has the instinct of his nature,” returned Gondremark. “But you exaggerate the peril. Think, madam, how far we have prospered, and against what odds! Shall a Featherhead? – but no!” And he blew upon his fingers lightly with a laugh.

      “Featherhead,” she replied, “is still the Prince of Grünewald.”

      “On your sufferance only, and so long as you shall please to be indulgent,” said the Baron. “There are rights of nature; power to the powerful is the law. If he shall think to cross your destiny – well, you have heard of the brazen and the earthen pot.”

      “Do you call me pot? You are ungallant, Baron,” laughed the Princess.

      “Before we are done with your glory, I shall have called you by many different titles,” he replied.

      The girl flushed with pleasure. “But Frédéric is still the Prince, monsieur le flatteur,” she said. “You do not propose a revolution? – you of all men?”

      “Dear madam, when it is already made!” he cried. “The Prince reigns indeed in the almanac; but my Princess reigns and rules.” And he looked at her with a fond admiration that made the heart of Seraphina swell. Looking on her huge slave, she drank the intoxicating joys of power. Meanwhile he continued, with that sort of massive archness

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