The Princess Dehra. Scott John Reed
if he looked for tears and trembling he was disappointed, for she met him as she had met those in the corridor and the ante-room, dry-eyed and calmly. And in silence he took her in his arms, and held her close, and stroked her shining hair.
And presently she put his arms aside, and stepping back, she curtsied low and very gravely.
“Life to Your Majesty!” she said; “long live the King!” and kissed his hand.
He raised her quickly. “Never bend knee to me, Dehra,” he said. “And believe me, I had quite forgot everything except that you had lost your father.”
She went back to him. “And so had I, dear, until you came; but now, since he is gone, you are all I have – is it very selfish, then, for me to think of you so soon?”
He drew her to a chair and stood looking down at her.
“If it is,” he said, “I am surely not the one to judge you.”
She shook her head sadly. “There is no one to judge but – him,” she answered; “and he, I know, would give me full approval.” She was silent for a while, her thoughts in the darkened room across the court, where the tapers burned dimly, and a Captain of the Guard kept watch. And her heart sobbed afresh, though her lips were mute and her eyes undimmed. At last she spoke.
“Is the Book of Laws at the Summer Palace or here?” she asked.
“I do not know,” said Armand, “I have never seen it except the day that the King read old Henry’s decree and offered me Hugo’s titles and estates.”
“Well, at least, he spoke of it to you to-day.”
Armand shook his head. “Never a word; neither to-day nor for many days.”
A faint frown showed between her eyes. “Didn’t he mention to you, this afternoon, the matter of the Succession?”
“No.”
She sat up sharply. “It can’t be he didn’t – ”
The Archduke dropped on the floor at her feet and took her hand. “I assure you, Dehra, the King didn’t speak a single word to me on such a matter.”
“No, no,” she said, “you don’t understand. I mean it can not be he didn’t make the decree.”
“The decree!” Armand exclaimed, though he knew well there was but one she would refer to; and his pulse bounded fiercely and his face grew very hot.
“Yes, dear – the decree – that would have made you Heir Presumptive – and now King.”
“And you think it was drawn?”
“I am sure of it.”
“The King told you so?”
“Not directly, but by inference. I came upon him late last night in his library, with the Laws open before him and a pen in his hand; and when I ventured to voice my curiosity, he smiled and closed the book, saying, ‘You may see it to-morrow, child; after I have told Armand.’”
“Doubtless he intended to tell me after the review.”
The Princess leaned over and put her arm around his neck.
“And now you are the King, dear; as he had always intended you should be,” she whispered. “Thank God, the decree was made in time.”
For a while Armand toyed with her slender fingers, and did not answer. Of course, she was right: – it was the decree they both had been hoping for so earnestly, but which neither had dared mention to the King. And now, when it had come, and in such fashion, was it really worth the while. Worth the turmoil and the trouble, and, may be, the fighting, that was sure to follow his assumption of the royal dignity. Had Frederick lived to proclaim the decree and to school the Nation into accepting him as his successor, the way would have been easy and well assured. But it was vastly different now – with Frederick dead, the decree yet to be announced, and few, doubtless, of those in authority around him, to be depended on to aid him hold the throne. Dalberg though he was, and now, by birth, the Head of the House, yet he was a foreigner, and no people take kindly to a foreign King. Frederick had died too soon – another year —
And Dehra, bending down questioning his abstraction, read his face and understood his thoughts.
“Come, dear,” she said, “the crisis is here, and we must face it. Dismiss the idea that you’re a foreigner. Only you and Lotzen and I are familiar with our Laws. You forget that the people do not know it required a special decree to make you eligible for the Crown; and to them you have been the next King ever since you were proclaimed as Hugo’s heir. And surely they have shown you a rare good will, and an amazing preference over the Duke. He has spent his whole life in cultivating their dislike; do you fancy it won’t bring its harvest now?”
He had turned and was watching her with an indulgent smile. It was sweet to hear her argue so; to see her intense devotion to his cause; her passionate desire that he should sit in her father’s place and rule the ancient monarchy. And at her first words, and the sight of her loving eyes and flushed cheeks, his doubts had vanished, and his decision had been made. Yet, because he liked to see her so, he led her on.
“But what of the Nobility,” he objected; “in Valeria they still lead the people.”
“True,” she answered instantly, “true; but you forget again that the Nobles are sworn to maintain the Laws of the Dalbergs; and that for centuries none has ever broken faith. No, no, Armand, they will be true to their oaths; they will uphold the decree.”
“Don’t you think, dear,” he smiled, “you are making it rather too assured? If the people are for me (or at least are not for Lotzen) and the Nobles will abide by the Laws, nothing remains but to mount the Throne and seize the sceptre.”
“Just about that, I fancy,” she replied.
“And, meanwhile, what will Lotzen be doing?”
She frowned. “Whatever the Head of his House orders him to do. As a Dalberg he is bound to obey.”
“And you think he will obey?”
“I surely do. I cannot imagine a Dalberg dishonoring the Book of Laws.”
“I fear you do not know Ferdinand of Lotzen,” said Armand seriously. “He intends to dispute the Succession. I have never told you how, long ago, he warned me what to expect if I undertook to ‘filch the Crown,’ as he put it. It was the afternoon he insulted me at headquarters – the Vierle Masque was in the evening.”
The Princess nodded eagerly. “Yes,” said she, “yes – I know – the time he wanted you to toss up a coin for me. What did he say?”
The Archduke reflected a moment. “I can give you his exact words: ‘Do you think,’ he said, ‘that I, who have been the Heir Presumptive since the instant of my birth, almost, will calmly step aside and permit you to take my place? Do you fancy for an instant that the people of Valeria would have a foreigner for King? And even if old Frederick were to become so infatuated with you that he would restore you to Hugo’s place in the line of Succession, do you imagine that the House of Nobles would hesitate to annul it the instant he died?’”
When he had finished, Dehra’s fingers were beating a tattoo on the chair’s arm, and her eyes were snapping – as once or twice he had seen Frederick’s snap.
“And I suppose you never told the King?” she exclaimed.
“Naturally not.”
“Of course, of course,” with a toss of the handsome head. “That’s a man’s way – his silly, senseless way – never tell tales about a rival. And as a result, see what a mess you have made. Had you informed the King, he instantly would have proclaimed you as his heir, and then disgraced Lotzen publicly and sent him into exile. And you would now be his successor, without a shadow of opposition.”
Armand subdued a smile. “You don’t understand, Dehra – ” he began.
“Quite right,” she cut in; “quite right; I don’t. Why didn’t you tell