Sophy of Kravonia Part 18

"If they knew who it was, they must die," said the King in evident concern and excitement.

Stenovics contented himself with a bow of obedience. The King rose and gave Sophy his hand.

"We shall hope to see you again soon," he said, very graciously.

"Meanwhile, General Stenovics has something to say to you in my name which will, I trust, prove agreeable to you." His eyes dwelt on her face for a moment as she took her leave.

Stenovics made his communication later in the day, paying Sophy the high compliment of a personal call at the sign of the Silver c.o.c.k for that purpose. His manner was most cordial. Sophy was to receive an honorary appointment in the Royal Household at an annual salary of ten thousand paras, or some four hundred pounds.

"It isn't riches--we aren't very rich in Kravonia--but it will, I hope, make you comfortable and relieve you from the tiresome lessons which Markart tells me you're now burdened with."

Sophy was duly grateful, and asked what her appointment was.

"It's purely honorary," he smiled. "You are to be Keeper of the Tapestries."

"I know nothing about tapestries," said Sophy, "but I dare say I can learn; it'll be very interesting."

Stenovics leaned back in his chair with an amused smile.

"There aren't any tapestries," he said. "They were sold a good many years ago."

"Then why do you keep a--"

"When you're older in the royal service, you'll see that it's convenient to have a few sinecures," he told her, with a good-humored laugh. "See how handy this one is now!"

"But I shall feel rather an impostor."

"Merely the novelty of it," he a.s.sured her consolingly.

Sophy began to laugh, and the General joined in heartily. "Well, that's settled," said he. "You make three or four appearances at Court, and nothing more will be necessary. I hope you like your appointment?"

Sophy laughed delightedly. "It's charming--and very amusing," she said.

"I'm getting very much interested in your country, General."

"My country is returning your kind compliment, I can a.s.sure you," he replied. His tone had grown dry, and he seemed to be watching her now.

She waved her hands towards the Virgin with the lamp: the ma.s.sive figure stood in its old place by the window.

"What a lot I owe to her!" she cried.

"We all owe much," said Stenovics.

"The Prince thought some people might be angry with me--because Captain Mist.i.tch is a favorite."

"Very possible, I'm afraid, very possible. But in this world we must do our duty, and--"

"Risk the consequences? Yes!"

"If we can't control them, Mademoiselle de Gruche." He paused a moment, and then went on: "The court-martial on Mist.i.tch is convened for Sat.u.r.day. Sterkoff won't be well enough to be tried for another two or three weeks."

"I'm glad he's not dead, though if he recovers only to be shot--! Still, I'm glad I didn't kill him."

"Not by your hand," said Stenovics.

"But you mean in effect? Well, I'm not ashamed. Surely they deserve death."

"Undoubtedly--if Rastatz is wrong--and your memory right."

"The Prince's own story?"

"He isn't committed to any story yet."

Sophy rested her chin on her hand, and regarded her companion closely.

He did not avoid her glance.

"You're wondering what I mean?--what I'm after?" he asked her, smiling quietly. "Oh yes, I see you are. Go on wondering, thinking, watching things about you for a day or two--there are three days between now and Sat.u.r.day. You'll see me again before Sat.u.r.day--and I've no doubt you'll see the Prince."

"If Rastatz were right--and my memory wrong--?"

He smiled still. "The offence against discipline would be so much less serious. The Prince is a disciplinarian. To speak with all respect, he forgets sometimes that discipline is, in the last a.n.a.lysis, only a part of policy--a means, not an end. The end is always the safety and tranquillity of the State." He spoke with weighty emphasis.

"The offence against discipline! An attempt to a.s.sa.s.sinate--!"

"I see you cling to your own memory--you won't have anything to say to Rastatz!" He rose and bowed over her hand. "Much may happen between now and Sat.u.r.day. Look about you, watch, and think!"

The General's final injunction, at least, Sophy lost no time in obeying; and on the slightest thought three things were obvious: the King was very grateful to her; Stenovics wished at any rate to appear very grateful to her; and, for some reason or another, Stenovics wished her memory to be wrong, to the end that the life of Mist.i.tch and his companion (the greater included the less) might be spared. Why did he wish that?

Presumably--his words about the relation of discipline to policy supported the conclusion--to avoid that disturbance which the Prince had forecasted as the result of Mist.i.tch's being put to death. But the Prince was not afraid of the disturbance--why should Stenovics be? The Commandant was all confidence--was the Minister afraid? In some sense he was afraid. That she accepted. But she hesitated to believe that he was afraid in the common sense that he was either lacking in nerve or overburdened with humanity, that he either feared fighting or would shrink from a salutary severity in repressing tumult. If he feared, he feared neither for his own skin nor for the skin of others; he feared for his policy or his ambition.

These things were nothing to her; she was for the Prince, for his policy and his ambition. Were they the same as Stenovics's? Even a novice at the game could see that this by no means followed of necessity. The King was elderly, and went a-fis.h.i.+ng. The Prince was young, and a martinet.

In age, Stenovics was between the two--nearly twenty years younger than the King, a dozen or so older than the Prince. Under the present regime he had matters almost entirely his own way. At first sight there was, of a certainty, no reason why his ambitions should coincide precisely with those of the Prince. Fifty-nine, forty-one, twenty-eight--the ages of the three men in themselves illuminated the situation--that is, if forty-one could manage fifty-nine, but had no such power over twenty-eight.

New to such meditations, yet with a native pleasure in them, taking to the troubled waters as though born a swimmer, Sophy thought, and watched, and looked about. As to her own part she was clear. Whether Rastatz was right--whether that most vivid and indelible memory of hers was wrong--were questions which awaited the sole determination of the Prince of Slavna.

Her att.i.tude would have been unchanged, but her knowledge much increased, could she have been present at a certain meeting on the terrace of the Hotel de Paris that same evening. Markart was there--and little Rastatz, whose timely flight and accommodating memory rendered him to-day not only a free man but a personage of value. But neither did more than wait on the words of the third member of the party--that Colonel Stafnitz of the Hussars who had an old feud with Mist.i.tch, for whom Mist.i.tch had mistaken the Prince of Slavna. A most magnanimous, forgiving gentleman, apparently, this spare, slim-built man with thoughtful eyes; his whole concern was to get Mist.i.tch out of the mess!

The feud he seemed to remember not at all; it was a feud of convenience, a feud to swear to at the court-martial. He was as ready to accommodate Stenovics with the use of his name as Rastatz was to offer the requisite modifications of his memory. But there--with that supply of a convenient fiction--his pliability stopped. He spoke to Markart, using him as a conduit-pipe--the words would flow through to General Stenovics.

"If the General doesn't want to see me now--and I can understand that he mustn't be caught confabbing with any supposed parties to the affair--you must make it plain to him how matters stand. Somehow and by some means our dear Hercules must be saved. Hercules is an a.s.s; but so are most of the men--and all the rowdies of Slavna. They love their Hercules, and they won't let him die without a fight--and a very big fight. In that fight what might happen to his Royal Highness the Commandant? And if anything did happen to him, what might happen to General Stenovics? I don't know that either, but it seems to me that he'd be in an awkward place. The King wouldn't be pleased with him; and we here in Slavna--are we going to trouble ourselves about the man who couldn't save our Hercules?"

Round-faced Markart nodded in a perplexed fas.h.i.+on. Stafnitz clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh.

"For Heaven's sake don't think about it or you'll get it all mixed! Just try to remember it. Your only business is to report what I say to the General."

Rastatz sn.i.g.g.e.red shrilly. When the wine was not in him, he was a cunning little rogue--a useful tool in any matter which did not ask for courage.

"If I'd been here, Mist.i.tch wouldn't have done the thing at all--or done it better. But what's done is done. And we expect the General to stand by us. If he won't, we must act for ourselves--for there'll be no bearing our dear Commandant if we sit down under the death of Mist.i.tch.

In short, the men won't stand it." He tapped Markart's arm. "The General must release unto us Barabbas!"

The man's easy self-confidence, his air of authority, surprised neither of his companions. If there were a good soldier besides the Commandant in Slavna, Stafnitz was the man; if there were a head in Kravonia cooler than Stenovics's, it was on the shoulders of Stafnitz. He was the brain to Mist.i.tch's body--the mind behind Captain Hercules's loud voice and brawny fist.

"Tell him not to play his big stake on a bad hand. Mind you tell him that."