LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER VII

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      Charles Mildenhall was honoured that night by a long conversation with the Princess von Liebenstrahl. She stopped him when he would have passed on in the wake of the Embassy party and, taking advantage of a little lull in the stream of arriving guests, accepted a chair from him and some coffee from one of the small army of servants who had been brought down from the Schloss>.

      “I remember you so well, Mr. Mildenhall,” she said. “Ah, if only there were more with your uniform here to-night! If we had still the joy of feeling that England was our friend! Alas, there seems to be nothing but darkness wherever we look. My husband is angry with me because he says we betray our cause when we lose heart, but I feel that Austria is doomed.”

      “They are bad days indeed. Princess,” Mildenhall admitted, “but Austria has confronted them before and emerged victorious.”

      “It is the strength of Germany which we fear,” the Princess lamented. “It is coming. I feel it in the air. We shall become a vassal state to our omnipotent neighbour. It has not happened since the days of Napoleon that the eyes of all Europe are fixed upon one man.”

      “Madame,” Charles said, “even in these sacred precincts one hesitates to talk openly. The Nazi spies are everywhere. For that reason we, who follow diplomacy as a profession, and you, who represent the great ones of your country have to speak with reserve. Still, I think there is some comfort to be drawn from the fact that England and France are arming rapidly. For neither of them could there be any other enemy except one…Monsieur le Prince is here, I see.”

      Mildenhall rose to his feet and stood respectfully at attention. The Prince, a tall, broad-shouldered man with fine features and presence, greeted him with a smile.

      “Only once have we met, my young friend,” he reminded Charles, “since you taught us that the drives in our woods were too few and that my pheasants must have room to rise before they are worthy of the sportsman’s gun. What days those were!”

      “I remember the village folk,” the Princess remarked, “gathering on the hills and the boundaries of the wood to see the Englishmen shoot the pheasants from the skies.”

      “The thing which I remember with almost the greatest pleasure,” Charles said, “was the luncheon served in the market-place of the old village. We were waited upon by the gamekeepers and their wives in that wonderful costume. The peasants danced for us. We drank wine from huge casks. And then the nights that followed—the dinner in your great hall, the dancing, that glorious mountain air!”

      “We shall make ourselves sad if we remember too much,” the Prince remarked. “My dear,” he added, offering his arm to his wife, “Her Royal Highness arrives. We are keeping our young friend from the dance. Later on, Mr. Mildenhall, we will drink a cup of wine to happier days.”

      Charles passed on into the ballroom, sought out his party and danced for an hour or more. The Archduke Karl Sebastian, with whose daughter he had been dancing, led him to one side. The two stood before one of the great windows which looked over the city. There were one or two fires to be seen, but the sound of artillery had decreased.

      “Is there any news to-night,” the Archduke enquired.

      “Nothing special,” Mildenhall replied. “I am not formally attached to the Embassy now so I have not seen any of the code messages, but I believe most of the telegraph wires are cut between here and the northern frontier and there are rumours that the internal railways have been commandeered.”

      “Any news of my friend Benjamin? That is a person for whom I am most anxious.”

      Charles looked around cautiously. Notwithstanding the great crowd, their corner was almost empty.

      “I dined with him at his wonderful house tonight,” he confided. “It was not a party. I met him in his bank and he asked me to come several days ago. He looked well but I fancy he was continually receiving disturbing messages.”

      “The times have changed,” the Archduke murmured. “In the old days, when there was an uprising like this amongst the nations, it was the aristocrats who went shivering for their lives. Now it is the Jews. A senseless, ignorant, cruel persecution, it seems to me. Leopold Benjamin is a great man and a great gentleman. He has done more for Vienna than any-other citizen, yet they tell me if the Nazis get hold of him it will probably mean assassination and the confiscation of all his treasures. My heart has been in my own country home, in my own mountains and forests since 1918, but Vienna still means much to me. I know that Benjamin has parted with more than a million pounds to charities during the last twenty years. I would sit at his table with pleasure if he invited me.”

      “I am afraid it will be a long time before he entertains again in Vienna,” Charles sighed. “It was almost a home party to-night and there wasn’t anyone there who wasn’t anxious to have him cross the frontier. Mr. Benjamin was called away towards the end of the meal. He did not reappear.”

      The Archduke nodded understandingly.

      “My wife and I are leaving in a few days,” he said. “We have relatives in Italy, but I ask myself how we should be received in France.”

      “France is always a gracious country,” Charles reflected. “There is Egypt, too…Here is my friend Lascelles. He looks as though he might have news.”

      “A message from His Excellency,” the latter announced as he joined them. “You excuse me, sir?” he added, turning to the Archduke.

      “Certainly.”

      “It is no longer a secret,” Lascelles continued. “The Germans have crossed the frontier and are marching upon Vienna. There is no resistance, but in face of the disturbed condition everywhere we are ordered to quit. We have a special train at eight o’clock this morning, Charles. His Excellency wants to know if you will join us. He thinks that there may be considerable delay if you stay on here.”

      “Join you? Why, rather!” Mildenhall agreed. “I’ll get round to the hotel and pack.”

      “Eight o’clock at the Western Station.”