morning, but I did not know - I was at Braine-le-Comte - you must forgive me!'
The Duke's face relaxed. 'I shall be happy to see your Highness tomorrow, if that should be convenient to you.'
'Yes, of course, sir!' his Highness assured him.
Majesty, listening indulgently to this interchange, intervened to draw the Duke's attention to his younger son. The Prince of Orange seized the opportunity to efface himself, and would have slipped away in search of more congenial companionship had not the signal for the dancing to begin been given at that moment. He was obliged to lead the opening quadrille with the Duchesse de Beaufort, and to dance a couple of waltzes with Madame d'Ursel and Madame d'Assche. After that, he considered his duty conscientiously performed, and disappeared from the ballroom into one of the ajoining rooms where refreshment and kindred spirits were to be found.
He entered between looped curtains to find a small and convivial party assembled there. Lord March, a fresh- faced young man with grave eyes and a quick smile, was leaning on a chair back, adjuring Colonel Audley, seated on the edge of the table, and Colonel Freemantle, lounging against the wall, to make a clean breast of their doings in Vienna. The fourth member of group was Sir Alexander Gordon, a young man with a winning personality, who was engaged in filling his glass from a decanter.
'Charles!' cried the Prince, coming forward in his impetuous style. 'My dear fellow, how are you?'
Colonel Audley stood up. 'Sir!' he said.
The Prince wrung his hand. 'Now, don't, I beg you! I am so pleased you are here! Do not let us have any ceremony! This is like Spain: we need only Canning, and Fitzroy to walk in asking, 'Where's Slender Billy?' and we are again the old family.'
'That's all very well, but you've become a great man since I saw you last,' objected Colonel Audley. 'I think - yes, I think a Royal Tiger.'
A general laugh greeted this old Headquarters' joke. The Prince said: 'You can't call me a Tiger: I am not a visitor to the camp! But have you seen the real Tigers? Mon Dieu, do you remember we called the Duc d'Angouleme a Royal Tiger? But, my dear Charles - my dear Fremantle - the Duc de Berri! No, really, you would not believe! You must see him drilling his men to appreciate him. He flies into a passion and almost falls off his horse. But on my honour!'
'No, sir!' protested March.
'I swear it!' He accepted a glass of wine from Gordon, and perched himself on the arm of a chair. 'Confusion to Boney!' he said, and drank. 'And General Roder!' he resumed.
'Confusion to him too, sir?' murmured Gordon.
'No - yes! The worst of our Tigers! Have you met General Roder, Charles? He doesn't like the British, he doesn't like the Dutch, he doesn't like the Belgians, he doesn't like the French, he doesn't even like your humble servant. So here is confusion to General Roder!'
While this toast was being drunk, a pleasant-faced officer in Dutch uniform had peeped round the curtain and then come into the room. He was considerably older than any of the young men drinking confusion to the unfortunate Prussian Commissioner, but was hailed by them with cheerful affection.
'Hallo, Baron! Come in!' said Audley. 'How are you?'
'Glass of wine with you, Baron?' Fremantle held up the decanter invitingly.
'Constant! We are drinking confusion to General von Roder. Join us immediately!' commanded his Royal master.
The Baron Constant de Rebecque glanced swiftly over his shoulder. He accepted a glass of wine, but said in very good English: 'I beg of you, sir - ! Consider where you are, and who you are, and - very well, very well, here is confusion to him, then! And now will you recollect, sir, that this is a fete for their Majesties, and it expected that you will conduct yourself en prince! Your absence will be noticed: his Majesty will be displeased.'
The Prince shrugged his shoulders. 'It is absurd. I can not spend all the evening being civil to the Tigers, I will not conduct myself en prince if that means I can not not drink a glass of wine with my friends.'
'Sir , you are also the General in Command of the Army and not any more a junior aide-de-camp.'
The Prince patted his arm. 'Constant, mon pauvre, you have not seen - you have not heard! You are dreaming, in fact. Go and look who is here tonight. My poor command is quite at an end.'
'Mon Prince, you are still in command, and you must mingle with your guests.'
'That's quite true, sir,' said Fremantle. 'The Duke hasn't taken over the command yet. Duty calls you, General!'
At this moment, and while the Prince still looked recalcitrant, a very tall man with the buff collar and silver lace of the 52nd Regiment appeared between the curtains, and stood silently surveying the group. He was Saxon fair, with ice-blue eyes, a high-bridged nose, and a fighting chin, and was built on splendid lines that were marred only by the droop of his right shoulder, the joint of which had become anchylosed, from a wound incurred in the Peninsula. At sight of him, Lord March straightened himself instinctively, and Colonel Fremantle jumped up from his chair.
The Prince turned his head, and pulled a grimace. 'You need not tell me! You are looking for me. First my quarter-master-general, and now my military secretary. Your health, Sir John!'
'Thank you, sir,' said Colonel Colborne in his slow deep voice. A smile crept into his eyes. 'I thought I should find you with the riffraff of the staff,' he remarked. 'If I were your Highness, I would return to the ballroom.'
'Because my father will be displeased,' said the Prince. 'I have that by heart.'
'No,' replied Sir John. 'Because his Majesty is more than likely to request the Duke to speak to you, sir.'
'Oh, mon Dieu!' exclaimed the Prince, preparing for instant flight. 'You are entirely right! Charles, my hotel is in the Rue de Brabant! I charge you, don't forget! I will go and do my duty, and dance with all the ugly old women. Would you like to be presented to a fat Frau? No? Well, then, au revoir!'
'Stay a moment!' said Colonel Audley suddenly. 'Do that for me, sir, will you?'
The Prince paused in the doorway, looking back with laugh in his eyes. 'What, present you to a fat Frau?'
'No, to the Lady Barbara Childe.'
The Prince's brow shot up; a low whistle broke from Lord March; Colonel Fremantle said solicitously: 'My door fellow, you are not yourself. Take my advice and go quietly home to bed.'
Audley reddened, but only said: 'I am perfectly serious. I have been trying for the past hour to get an introduction, but there's no coming near her for the crowd round her. You could present me, sir, if you would.'
'Steal into the supper-room and change the tickets on the tables,' suggested March flippantly.
'Don't do it, sir!' recommended Fremantle.
The Prince laughed. 'But Charles, this is the road to ruin! Really, you wish it?'
'Most earnestly, sir.'
'Come, then, but mind, I am not to be blamed for consequences!'
Colonel Audley had not exaggerated the difficulty of approaching Barbara Childe. When she left the dancing- floor on the arm of her partner she became engulfed in a crowd of impatient supplicants who would scarcely give place to any under the rank of a general. All had, however, to fall back before the Prince of Orange, who led Colonel Audley up to her ladyship, and said with his appealing smile: 'Lady Barbara, I want to present to you a friend of mine who desires beyond anything this introduction. Colonel Audley - Lady Barbara Childe!'
Colonel Audley bowed, and looked up to find the Lady Barbara's brilliant gaze upon him. There was candid speculation in it, a tolerant smile just parted the lady's lips. The Colonel returned the look, smiled, and said in his pleasant voice: 'How do you do?'
'How do you do?' responded Barbara slowly, still looking at him.
Chapter Four
The Colonel, finding a gloved hand held out to him, took it in his, and bent his head to kiss it. Barbara looked down at it with a little bewilderment, as though she wondered why she had extended it.
'Do please grant the Colonel one waltz!' said the Prince, amusement quivering in his voice.
