The Puppet Crown, Harlod MacGrath [best new books to read .TXT] 📗

hers steadfastly, so steadfastly, that she could not resist. She was annoyed.

"Tell me about her."

"My vocabulary is too limited. You would laugh at me."

"I? No; love is sacred." She had boasted to Maurice that she was without conscience; she had only smothered it. "Come; is she beautiful?"

"Yes." These questions disturbed him.

"Certainly she must be worthy or you would not love her. She is rich?"

"That does not matter; I am." He was wishing that Maurice would hurry back; the desire to fly was returning.

"And she rejected you and sent you to the army?"

"She has not rejected me, though I dare say she would, had I the presumption to ask her."

"A faint heart, they say-"

"My heart is not faint; it is my tongue." He rose and wandered about the room. Her breath was like orris, and went to his head like wine.

"Monsieur," she said, "is it possible that you have succumbed to the charms of Madame the countess?"

He laughed. "One may admire exquisite bric-a-brac without loving it."

"Bric-a-brac! Poor Elsa!" and Madame laughed. "If it were the countess I could aid you."

"Love is not merchandise, to traffic with."

Madame's cheeks grew warm. Sometimes the trick of fence is beaten down by a tyro's stroke.

"Eh, bien, since it is not the countess-"

He came toward her so swiftly that instinctively she rose and moved to the opposite side of her chair. Something in his face caused her to shiver. She had no time to analyze its meaning, but she knew that the shiver was not unmixed with fear.

"Madame, in God's name, do not play with me!" he cried.

"Monsieur, you forget yourself," for the moment forgetting her part.

"Yes, there is no self in my thoughts since they are all of you! You know that I love you. Who could resist you? Thirteen years? They are well wasted, in the end to love a woman like you."

Before she could withdraw her hands from the top of the chair he had seized them.

"Monsieur, release me." She struggled futilely.

"I love you." He began to draw her from behind the chair.

"Monsieur, Monsieur!" she, cried, genuinely alarmed; "do not forget that you are a gentleman."

"I am not a gentleman now; I am a man who loves."

Madame was now aware that what she had aroused could not be subdued by angry words.

"Monsieur, you say that you love me; do not degrade me by forcing me into your arms. I am a woman, and weak, and you are hurting me."

He let go her hands, and they stood there, breathing deeply and quickly. But for her it was a respite. She had been too precipitate. She brought together the subtle forces of her mind. She could gain nothing by force; she must use cunning. To hold him at arm's length, and yet to hold him, was her desire. She had reckoned on wax; a man stood before her. All at once the flutter of admiration stirred in her heart. She was a soldier's daughter, the daughter of a man who loved strong men. And this man was doubly strong because he was fearless and honest. She read in his eyes that a moment more and he had kissed her, a thing no man save her father had ever done.

"O, Monsieur," she said lightly, "you soldiers are such forward lovers! You have not even asked me if I love you." He made a move to regain her hands. "No, no!" darting behind the chair. "You must not take my hands; you do not realize how strong you are. I am not sure that my heart responds to yours."

"Tell me, what must I do?" leaning across the chair.

"You must have patience. A woman must be wooed her own way, or not at all. What a whirlwind you are!"

"I would to heaven," with a gesture indicative of despair, "that you had kept me behind bars and closed doors." He dropped his hands from the chair and sought the window, leaning his arms against the central frame.

Madame had fully recovered her composure. She saw her way to the end.

"It is true," she said, "that I do not love you, but it is also true that I am not indifferent to you. What proof have I that you really love me? None, save your declaration; and that is not sufficient for a woman such as I am. Shall I place my life in your hands for better or for worse, simply because you say you love me?"

"My love does not reason, Madame."

She passed over this stroke. "I do not know you; it is not less than natural for me to doubt you. What proof have I that your declaration of love is not a scheme to while away your captivity at my expense? My heart is not one to be taken by storm. There is only one road to my affections; it is narrow. Other men have made love to me, but they have hesitated to enter upon this self- same road."

"Love that demands conditions? I have asked none."

Madame blushed. "A man offers love; a woman confers it."

"And what is this narrow road called which leads to your affections? Is your heart a citadel?"

"It is called sacrifice. Those who dwell in my heart, which you call a citadel, enter by that road."

"Sacrifice?" Fervor lighted his face again. "Do you wish my fortune? It is yours. My life? It is yours. Do you wish me to lead the army of the duchess into Bleiberg? It shall be done. Sacrifice? I have sacrificed the best years of youth for nothing; my life has been made up of sacrifices."

"Monsieur, if I promised to listen to you here-after, if I promised a heart that has never known the love of man, if I promised lips that have never known the lips of any man save my father-" She moved away from the chair, within an arm's length of him. "If I promised all these without reservation, would you aid me to give back to the duchess her own?"

Instantly her arms were pinioned to her sides, and he had drawn her so close that she could feel his heart beat against her own.

"Have no fear," he said. The voice was unfamiliar to her ears. "I shall not kiss you. Let me look into your eyes, Madame, your eyes, and read the lie which is written there. My fortune and my life are not enough. Keep your love, Madame; I have no wish to purchase it. What! if I surrender my honor it is agreed that you surrender yours? A love such as mine requires a wife. You would have me break my word to the dead and to the living, and you expect me to believe in your promises! Faugh!" He pushed her from him, and resumed his stand by the window.

The hate of a thousand ancestors surged into her heart, and she would have liked to kill him. Mistress! He had dared. He had dared to speak to her as no other man living or dead had dared. And he lived. All that was tigerish in her soul rose to the surface; only the thought of the glittering goal stayed the outburst. She had yet one weapon. A minute went by, still another; silence. A hand was laid tremblingly on his arm.

"Forgive me! I was wrong. Love me, love me, if you must. Keep your honor; love me without conditions. I-" She stumbled into the chair, covered her eyes and fell to weeping.

Fitzgerald, dumfounded and dismayed, looked. down at the beautiful head. He could fight angry words, tempests of wrath- but tears, a woman's tears, the tears of the woman he loved!

"Madame," he said gently, "do you love me?"

No answer.

"Madame, for God's sake, do not weep! Do you love me? If you love me-if you love me-"

She sprang to her feet. Once again she experienced that shiver; again her conscience stirred.

"I do not know," she said. "But this I may say: your honor, which you hold above the price of a woman's love, will be the cause of bloodshed. Mothers and wives and sisters will execrate your name, brave men will be sacrificed needlessly. What are the Osians to you? They are strangers. You will do for them, and uselessly, what you refuse to do for the woman you profess to love. I abhor bloodshed. Your honor is the offspring of pride and egotism. Can you not see the inevitable? War will be declared. You can not help Leopold; but you can save him the degradation of being expelled from his throne by force of arms. The army of the duchess is true to its humblest sword. Can you say that for the army of the king? Would you witness the devastation of a beautiful city, by flame and sword?

"Monsieur, Austria is with us, and she will abide with us whichever way we move. Austria, Monsieur, which is Leopold's sponsor. And this Leopold, is he a man to sit upon a throne? Is he a king in any sense of the word? Would a king submit to such ignominy as he submits to without striking a blow? Would he permit his ministers to override him? Would he permit his army to murmur, his agents to plunder, his people to laugh at him, if he possessed one kingly attribute? No, no! If you were king, would you allow these things? No! You would silence all murmurs, you would disgorge your agents, you would throttle those who dared to laugh.

"Put yourself in the duchess's place. All these beautiful lands are hers by right of succession; is she wrong to desire them? What does she wish to accomplish? She wishes to join the kingdom and the duchy, and to make a great kingdom, as it formerly was. Do you know why Leopold was seated upon the throne?

"Some day the confederation will decide to divide all these lands into tidbits, and there will be no one to oppose them. Madame the duchess wishes to be strong enough to prevent it. And you, Monsieur, are the grain of sand which stops all this, you and your pride. Not even a woman's love- There, I have said it!- -not even a woman's love- will move your sense of justice. Go! leave me. Since my love is nothing, since the sacrifice I make is useless, go; you are free!" The tears which came into her eyes this time were genuine; tears of chagrin, vexation, and of a third sensation which still remained a mystery to her.

To him, as she spoke, with her wonderful eyes flashing, a rich color suffusing her cheeks and throat and temples, the dim candle light breaking against the ruddy hair; honor or pride, whichever it was, was well worth the losing. He was a man; it is only the pope who is said to be infallible. His honor could not save the king. All she had said was true. If he held to his word there would be war and bloodshed.

On the other hand, if he surrendered, less harm would befall the king, and the loss of his honor -was it honor?-would be well recompensed for the remainder of his days by the love of this woman. His long years of loneliness came back; he wavered. He glanced first at her, then at the door; one represented all that was desirable in the