The Colonel of the Red Huzzars. John Reed Scott
I tapped my grey-besprinkled hair.
"They are no protection," he said. "I don't trust even my own to keep me steady against a handsome woman."
"They are playing us false even now," said I. "I'm not going to Valeria to decide a dinner bet."
"You're not. You're going as the representative of our Army to observe the Valerian-Titian War."
"You're as good as a gypsy or a medium. When do I start?"
"Don't be rude, my dear chap, and forget that, under the wager, I'm to be in the King's invitation—also the dance. We sail one week from to-day."
"A bit late to secure accommodations, isn't it?"
"They are booked—on the Wilhelm der Grosse."
"You are playing a long shot—several long shots," I laughed:—"War—Washington—me."
"Wrong," said Courtney. "I'm playing only War. I have the Secretary and the Princess has you."
"You have the Secretary!"
"Days ago."
"The Devil!" I exclaimed, lifting my glass abstractedly.
"The Princess! you mean," said Courtney quickly, lifting his own and clicking mine.
I looked at the picture again—and again it seemed to smile at me.
"The Princess!" I echoed; and we drank the toast. "We're a pair of old fools," said I, when the glasses were emptied.
Courtney picked up the News and held the picture before me.
"Say that to her," he challenged.
"I can't be rude to her very face," I answered lamely.
Just then one of the "buttons" handed me a telegram. I tore open the yellow envelope and read the sheet, still damp from the copy-press. It ran:—
"Titia declares war. Detail as attaché open. If desired report at headquarters immediately. Hennecker relieves you in morning. Answer."
"(signed) HENDERSON, A. A. G."
I tossed it over to Courtney. "You're that much nearer the dinner," I said.
"And the Princess also," he added.
"Then you're actually going?" I asked.
"My dear Major, did you ever doubt it?"
"Your vagaries are past doubting," I answered.
"And yours?"
"I am going under orders of the War Department."
"Of course," he answered, "of course. And, that being so, you won't mind my confessing that I'm going largely on account of—a woman."
"I won't mind anything that gives me your companionship."
"So, it's settled," he said. "Let us have some dinner, and then cut in for a farewell turn in the game of hearts upstairs."
"It will be another sort of game over the water," I observed.
"Yes—with a different sort of hearts," he said thoughtfully.
"Is it possible, Courtney, you are growing sentimental?" I demanded.
He shrugged his shoulders. "There's no fool like an old fool, you know," he answered.
"Unless it be one that is just old enough to be neither old nor young," said I.
Then we went in to dinner.
Courtney is a good fellow; one of the best friends a man can have; well born, rich, with powerful political connections in both Parties, and having no profession nor necessary occupation to tie him down. His tastes ran to diplomacy, and Secretaries of State—knowing this fact, and being further advised of it at various times by certain prominent Senators—had given him numerous secret missions to both Europe and South America. Legations had been offered to him but these he had always declined; for, as he told me, he preferred the quiet, independent work, that carried no responsible social duties with it.
It happened that General Russell, our representative at the Court of Valeria, was home on vacation. Naturally, he would now return in all haste. Here, I imagined, was an explanation of my sudden orders. He was an intimate of our family; had known me since childhood, and, doubtless, had asked for my detail to his household, and also for Courtney's. And Courtney, naturally, having been early consulted in the matter, knew all the facts and so was able to bluff at me with them. It would be just as well to call him.
"Is General Russell crossing with us?" I asked carelessly.
Courtney shook his head. "He is not going back to Valeria."
"Oh!" said I, realizing suddenly my mistake, "I didn't appreciate I was dining with an Ambassador."
"It's not yet announced. However, I'm glad it does not change me," he laughed.
"I can tell that better after we reach Valeria—and you have danced with the Princess."
He sipped his coffee meditatively. "Yes, there may be changes in Valeria in us both," he said presently.
"Don't do the heavy reproof if I chance to forget the difference in our rank," I answered. "But you must manage one turn for me with Her Royal Highness, if you're to eat my dinner, you know."
"How many times have you been to Valeria?" he asked suddenly.
"Some half dozen," I replied, surprised.
"Ever been in the private apartments of the Palace of Dornlitz?"
"No—I think not."
"I mean, particularly, the corridor where hang the portraits of the Kings?"
"I don't recall them."
He laughed shortly. "Believe me, you would recall them well," he said.
"What the devil are you driving at?" I asked.
"I'll show you the night you dance with the Princess."
"A poor army officer doesn't usually have such honors."
"No—not if he be only a poor army officer. But, if he chance to be——"
"Well," I said, "be what?"
"I'll tell you in the picture gallery," he answered.
And not another word would he say in the matter.
II
CONCERNING ANCESTORS
However, I did not need to wait so long for my answer. I knew it quite as well as Courtney—maybe a trifle better. Nevertheless, it is a bit jolting to realize, suddenly, that some one has been prying into your family history.
On the west wall of the Corridor of Kings, in the Palace of Dornlitz, hung the full-length portrait of Henry, third of the name and tenth of the Line. A hundred and more years had passed since he went to his uncertain reward; and now, in me, his great-great-grandson, were his face and figure come back to earth.
I had said, truly enough, that I had never been in the Gallery of Kings. But it was not necessary for me to go there to learn of this resemblance to my famous ancestor. For, handed down from eldest son to eldest son, since the first Dalberg came to American shores, and, so, in my possession now, was an ivory miniature of the very portrait which Courtney had in mind.
And the way