The Princess Dehra. Scott John Reed
turned the situation by his devilish cleverness, and Armand’s fingers itched to take him by the throat and choke the life out of him; and Lotzen, reading something of this in his eyes, grinned malevolently.
“How say you, cousin?” he repeated, “how say you?”
The Archduke deliberately gave him his back. “My lords,” he said, “it seems the Duke of Lotzen would force you to the choice.”
But the old Count did not intend to forego the compromise. He wanted Armand for king because Armand was, de facto, the Head of the House, because he was convinced the decree had been executed, because it would make Dehra the Queen, and because he despised Lotzen. With the Princess as Regent, there would be ample means to swing the Nobles to the Archduke, and to prepare the public for his accession. Of course, it would also give Lotzen time to campaign, yet he who fights the government has a rough road to travel, and usually falls by the way. Leastwise, the Count was very ready to adventure it. But he needed aid now; and aid that could come from but one quarter and which he could seek only by indirection – Dehra alone controlled the situation.
“The compromise suggested is admirable,” he said, “and though there is force in the objection made to it, yet, my lord,” (addressing Lotzen) “you cannot expect the Archduke to accept your amendment. It is not for the man to change the wedding day – ”
The Princess sat up sharply. When Armand had suggested her as Regent she had leaned forward to decline, but catching Epping’s eye she had read an almost imperious order to wait; and having full faith in him, she had obeyed. Now she saw what he wanted; and though it was against her heart’s desire and a cheerless business, yet her own judgment told her he was right.
“It is not for the man,” the Count repeated, looking at her hard, “to change the wedding day, and least of all – ”
“Wait, monsieur,” she broke in. “It seems that unwittingly I have been drawn into the situation, and put in a position where I am obliged to speak. Does the Royal Council approve this compromise, and desire me to become Regent of Valeria?”
The Count smiled in supreme satisfaction.
“I can assure Your Highness we are of one mind that, in this exigency, it is your duty to assume the office.”
The Princess arose. “Then, my lords,” she said gravely, “I accept, hereby engaging that my wedding shall abide the termination of the Regency.”
The Archduke made a gesture of protest, but Dehra flashed him her subduing smile and shook her head, and there was naught for him to do but to smile back – and add one more to the score that, some day, Ferdinand of Lotzen would have to settle.
The Prime Minister looked at the Duke with a bland smile of triumph, and then at Armand.
“Is it your joint wish,” he asked, “that we ratify the stipulation and proclaim the Regency?”
“It is,” said the Archduke; but Lotzen only bowed.
Count Epping drew his sword.
“Valeria hails the Princess Dehra as Regent,” he cried. It was the ancient formula changed to fit the occasion.
And this time Armand’s blade rang with the others across the table, and his voice joined exultantly in the answer that echoed through the room.
“We hail the Princess Regent!”
As the sound died Ferdinand of Lotzen stepped forward and bent knee.
“God save Your Royal Highness!” he said, and again Dehra gave him her hand.
“And grant me strength,” she answered.
“Amen,” said the Count gravely. “Amen.”
It was Lotzen who broke the stillness.
“With Your Highness’ permission I will withdraw,” he said; “there are pressing personal affairs which demand my presence elsewhere.” He turned to go.
“One moment, cousin,” said she – then to the Prime Minister: “Will the Council need His Highness?”
There was the same gracious manner, the same soft voice, and yet, in those few words, she warned them all that there was now a Regent in Valeria – and a Dalberg regent, too.
“There is nothing now but to draw the Proclamation for your signature,” said the Count – “the other matters can abide for the time.”
And Lotzen, at the Princess’ nod of permission, went slowly from the room, his surprise still stronger than his anger; though, in the end, it was the latter that lingered and left its mark in his unforgiving soul.
While the Count was drafting the Proclamation made necessary by the changed conditions, the Princess sat in silence, gazing in abstracted contemplation through the window. Regent of Valeria! the second the kingdom had known; the first had been a woman, too – Eleanor, mother of the infant, Henry the Third of glorious memory – yet, was it wise – was it in fact her duty – her duty to her House; to her beloved? Surely it was not to her pleasure – she who had been happy in her nearing wedding day – her lover placed next the Throne – his bright future and her joy for it. And now – the wait – the struggle – the obligation of right, of justice; the putting off the woman, the putting on the ruler where the woman interfered. Her father! she turned that thought aside sharply – she had turned it aside many times since yesterday, as he had bade her to do: – “When I go, child, do not grieve.” Yet, when two have been comrades for years it is not easy.
The Count ceased his writing and, laying aside the pen, looked up.
“Will it please Your Highness to sign?” he said quickly – he had little liking at any time for a woman’s reverie, and none at all when it was of the sort he knew this reverie to be – and the woman had work to do.
And Dehra, preoccupied though she was, had missed nothing that was doing at the table, and she let him know she understood him, by a smile and a shake of her handsome head. It was not exactly a reproof, and yet neither was it an encouragement to do the like again.
“Please read it,” she said.
It was very brief – reciting the death of Frederick the Fourth, the disappearance of the Book of Laws, the stipulation of the Archduke and the Duke relative to the Succession remaining in abeyance, the creation of a Regency during the inter-regnum and the Princess’ acceptance of the office.
When he had done, she asked if there were any suggestions, and none being offered, she signed it and returned it to the Count. Immediately the Council arose and she and Armand retired, by the same way they had entered.
As they passed through the library, Dehra went over to the desk.
“Here is where the King sat that last night,” she said, “and here the Book of Laws lay, and here was the box. I can’t imagine what he did with the Book – nor why he removed it from the box – and the box was in its usual place in the vault when I gave it to you to take to the Council – ”
A door latch clicked, and Adolph, the valet, came in hurriedly.
“Well?” said the Archduke, seeing he wished to speak.
“The box, my lord,” he answered; “you left it in the council-chamber – is it to remain there?”
“No,” said the Princess – “bring it here at once.” She went to the vault and opened it… “Put it on the shelf in the rear,” she ordered, when Adolph returned. He obeyed and gave her the key.
“There was no need to lock it,” she remarked.
“It has a spring lock, mademoiselle,” said the man. “It snapped when I closed the lid.”
Dehra nodded indifferently. “So it has… Shut the vault door.” Then motioned to him in dismissal.
“It’s of small consequence,” she remarked to Armand, as she gave the combination a twirl, “the box is of little use without the Book.”
As she turned away, her glance fell on the big portrait of her father that hung high on