The Princess Dehra. Scott John Reed
the contrary, my friend,” said Retz, “it will offer the very natural presumption that the Duke of Lotzen is hastening to Dornlitz; to the funeral – and the coronation.”
“Whose coronation?” Duval asked quickly.
“My dear General,” said the Baron, “there can’t be two Kings of Valeria, and it would seem that the Army has spoken for the Archduke Armand.”
“And the Department of Justice for whom?” the General exclaimed.
A faint sneer played over Retz’s lips. “Monsieur le General forgets that when the Army speaks, Justice is bound and gagged.”
It was at that moment that Count Epping had entered.
When the clock on the mantel chimed the hour the Count sat down and motioned the others to attend.
“Will not the King be present?” Retz asked casually, as he took his place.
The Prime Minister looked at him in studious comprehension.
“Patience, monsieur, patience,” he said softly, “His Majesty will doubtless join us in proper time. Have you any business that requires his personal attention?”
The Baron shook his head. “No – nothing. I was only curious as to what uniform he would wear.”
A faint smile touched the Count’s thin lips.
“But more particularly curious as to who would wear it,” he remarked dryly.
Retz swung around and faced him.
“My lord,” he said, “I would ask you, who is King in Valeria: the Archduke Armand or Ferdinand of Lotzen?”
The old Minister’s smile chilled to a sneer.
“That is a most astonishing question from the chief law officer of the kingdom,” he said.
“But not so astonishing as that he should be compelled to ask it,” was the quick answer.
“Is there, then, monsieur, any doubt in your mind as to the eldest male of the House of Dalberg?”
“None whatever; but can you assure us that he is king?”
“What has my assurance to do with the matter?” the Count asked. “By the laws of the Dalbergs the Crown has always passed to the eldest male.”
The Baron laughed quietly. “At last we near the point – the Laws. There is no doubt that, by birth, the Archduke Armand is the eldest male; yet what of the decree of the Great Henry as to Hugo? As I remember, Frederick explained enough of it to the Council to cover Armand’s assumption of his ancestor’s rank and estates, but said no word as to the Crown.” He leaned forward and looked the old Count in the eyes. “And I ask you now, my lord, if, under the decree, Armand became the Heir Presumptive, why was it that, at all our sessions, the Duke of Lotzen, until his banishment, retained his place on the King’s right, and Armand sat on the left? Is it not a fair inference, from the actions of the three men who know the exact words of the decree, that, though it restored Hugo’s heir to archducal rank, it specifically barred him from the Crown?”
The Prime Minister had listened with an impassive face and now he nodded curtly.
“There might be some weight to your argument, Monsieur le Baron,” he said, “if you displayed a more judicial spirit in its presentation – and if you did not know otherwise.”
“I shall not permit even you – ” Retz broke in.
The Count silenced him with a wave of his hand. “You have sat at this board with us, and since the Duke of Lotzen’s absence, at least, you have seen our dead master treat the Archduke Armand, in every way, as his successor; and on one occasion, in your hearing and to your knowledge – for I saw you slyly note the exact words, on your cuff – he referred to him as the one who would ‘come after.’ Hence, I say, you are not honest with the Council.”
“I felicitate your lordship on your powers of observation and recollection,” said Retz suavely; “they are vastly more effective and timely than mine, which, I confess, hesitate at miracles. But with due modesty, I submit there is a very simple way to settle this question quickly and finally. Let us have the exact words of Henry’s decree. I am well aware it is unprecedented for any but a Dalberg to see the Dalberg Laws; but we are facing an unprecedented condition. Never before has a Dalberg king failed to have a son to follow him. Now, we hearken back for generations, with a mysterious juggle intervening; and it is for him who claims the Throne to prove his title. Before the coming of the American there was no question that Lotzen was the Heir Presumptive. Did he lose the place when Armand became an Archduke? The decree alone can determine; let it be submitted to the Royal Council for inspection.”
“The Minister of Justice is overdoing his part,” said the old Count, addressing the other Ministers. “It is not for him nor his Department to dictate the method by which the Dalbergs shall decide their kingship, nor does it lie in the mouth of any of us to demand an inspection of the Book of Laws. So much for principle and ancient custom. It may be the pleasure of the Archduke to confirm his right by exhibiting to us the Laws; or the Duke of Lotzen may challenge his title, and so force their submission to us or to the House of Nobles for decision. But, as the matter stands now, the Council has no discretion. We must accept the eldest male Dalberg as King of Valeria; and, as you very well know” (looking directly at Retz) “none but a Dalberg may dispute his claim – do you, Monsieur le Baron, wish to be understood as speaking for the Duke of Lotzen?”
Retz leaned back in his chair and laughed.
“No, no, my lord, no, no!” he said. “I speak no more for Lotzen than you do for Armand.”
“So it would seem – though not with the same motives,” the Count sneered – then arose hastily. “The King, my lords, the King!” he exclaimed, as the door in the far corner opened and Armand entered, unattended, and behind him came a manservant bearing a brass-bound, black-oak box, inlaid with silver.
Never had any of the Council seen it, yet instantly all surmised what it contained; and, courtiers though they were, they (save the old Count) stared at it so curiously that the Archduke, with an amused glance at the latter, turned and motioned the servant to precede him.
“Place it before His Excellency, the Prime Minister,” he said; and now the stares shifted, in unfeigned astonishment to Armand – while the Count’s thin lips twitched ever so slightly, and, for an instant, his faded blue eyes actually sparkled, as they lingered in calm derision on the Baron’s face.
And Retz, turning suddenly, caught the look and straightway realized he had been outplayed. He understood, now, that the Count had been aware, all along, of the Archduke’s purpose to produce the Laws to the Council, this morning, and that he, by his very persistence, had given the grim old diplomat an opportunity to demonstrate, in the most effective fashion, the unprecedented honor Armand was now doing them. It was irritating enough to be out-manœuvered, but to have his own ammunition seized and used to enhance another’s triumph was searing to his pride; and, in truth, this was not the first time that the Prime Minister had left his scar and a score to settle between them.
“Be seated, my lords,” said Armand, “and accept my apologies for my tardiness,” and he took the chair at the head of the table.
Count Epping drew his sword and raised it high.
“Valeria hails the Head of the House of Dalberg as the King!” he cried.
And back from the others, as their blades rang together above the table, came the echo:
“We hail the Dalberg King!”
It was the ancient formula, which had always been used to welcome the new ruler upon his first entrance to the Royal Council.
And it had come as yet another scar to Retz, for it put him to the choice – whether to play the fool now, or the dastard later – and that with every eye upon him, even the Archduke’s, whose glance had instinctively followed the others’. Yet he had made it instantly, smiling mockingly at the Count; and his voice rang loud and his sword was the last to fall.
But