'At times, my Nelchen, you are effeminate. Eve ate the apple for that identical reason. Yet what you say is odd, because—do you know?—I once had a friend who was by way of being a sort of king.'
Nelchen gave a squeal of delight. 'And you never told me about him! I loathe you.'
Louis Quillan did what seemed advisable. '—and, furthermore, your loathsomeness is no excuse for rumpling my hair,' said Nelchen, by and by.
'But there is so little to tell. His father had married the Grand Duke of Noumaria's daughter,—over yonder between Silesia and Badenburg, you may remember. And so last spring when the Grand Duke and the Prince were both killed in that horrible fire, my friend quite unexpectedly became a king—oh, king of a mere celery-patch, but still a sort of king. Figure to yourself, Nelchen! they were going to make my poor friend marry the Elector of Badenburg's daughter,—and Victoria von Uhm has perfection stamped upon her face in all its odious immaculacy,— and force him to devote the rest of his existence to heading processions and reviewing troops, and signing proclamations, and guzzling beer and sauerkraut. Why, he would have been like Ovid among the Goths, my Nelchen!'
'But he could have worn such splendid uniforms!' said Nelchen. 'And diamonds!'
'You mercenary wretch!' said he. Louis Quillan then did what seemed advisable; and presently he added, 'In any event, the horrified man ran away.'
'That was silly of him,' said Nelchen Thorn. 'But where did he run to?'
Louis Quillan considered. 'To Paradise,' he at last decided. 'And there he found a disengaged angel, who very imprudently lowered herself to the point of marrying him. And so he lived happily ever afterward. And so, till the day of his death, he preached the doctrine that silliness is the supreme wisdom.'
'And he regretted nothing?' Nelchen said, after a meditative while.
Louis Quillan began to laugh. 'Oh, yes! at times he profoundly regretted Victoria von Uhm.'
Then Nelchen gave him a surprise, for the girl bent toward him and leaned one hand upon each shoulder. 'Diamonds are not all, are they, Louis? I thank you, dear, for telling me of what means so much to you. I can understand, I think, because for a long while I have tried to know and care for everything that concerns you.'
The little man had risen to his feet. 'Nelchen—!'
'Hush!' said Nelchen Thorn; 'Monseigneur is coming down to his supper.'
II
It was a person of conspicuous appearance, both by reason of his great height and leanness as well as his extreme age, who now descended the straight stairway leading from the corridor above. At Court they would have told you that the Prince de Gatinais was a trifle insane, but he troubled the Court very little, since he had spent the last twenty years, with brief intermissions, at his chateau near Beaujolais, where, as rumor buzzed it, he had fitted out a laboratory, and had devoted his old age to the study of chemistry. 'Between my flute and my retorts, my bees and my chocolate-creams,' the Prince was wont to say, 'I manage to console myself for the humiliating fact that even Death has forgotten my existence.' For he had a child's appetite for sweets, and was at this time past eighty, though still well-nigh as active as Antoine de Soyecourt had ever been, even when—a good half-century ago—he had served, with distinction under Louis Quatorze.
To-night the Prince de Gatinais was all in steel-gray, of a metallic lustre, with prodigiously fine ruffles at his throat and wrists. You would have found something spectral in the tall, gaunt old man, for his periwig was heavily powdered, and his deep-wrinkled countenance was of an absolute white, save for the thin, faintly bluish lips and the inklike glitter of his narrowing eyes, as he now regarded the couple waiting hand in hand before him, like children detected in mischief.
Little Louis Quillan had drawn an audible breath at first sight of the newcomer. Monsieur Quillan did not speak, however, but merely waited.
'You have fattened,' the Prince de Gatinais said, at last, 'I wish I could fatten. It is incredible that a man who eats pounds of sugar daily should yet remain a skeleton.' His voice was guttural, and a peculiar slur ran through his speech, caused by the loss of his upper front teeth at Ramillies.
Louis Quillan came of a stock not lightly abashed. 'I have fattened on a new diet, monsieur,—on happiness. But, ma foi! I am discourteous. Permit me, my father, to present Mademoiselle Nelchen Thorn, who has so far honored me as to consent to become my wife. 'Nelchen, I present to you my father, the Prince de Gatinais.'
'Oh—?' observed Nelchen, midway in her courtesy.
But the Prince had taken her fingers and he kissed them quite as though they had been the finger-tips of the all-powerful Pompadour at Versailles yonder. 'I salute the future Marquise de Soyecourt. You young people will sup with me, then?'
'No, monseigneur, for I am to wait upon the table,' said Nelchen, 'and Father is at Sigean overnight, having the mare shod, and there is only Leon, and, oh, thank you very much indeed, monseigneur, but I had much rather wait on the table.'
The Prince waved his hand. 'My valet, mademoiselle, is at your disposal. Vanringham!' he called.
From the corridor above descended a tall red-headed fellow in black.
'Monseigneur—?'
'Go!' quickly said Louis de Soyecourt, while the Prince spoke with his valet,—'go, Nelchen, and make yourself even more beautiful if such a thing be possible. He will never resist you, my dear—ah, no, that is out of nature.'
'You will find more plates in the cupboard, Monsieur Vanringham,' remarked Nelchen, as she obediently tripped up the stairway, toward her room in the right wing. 'And the knives and forks are in the second drawer.'
So Vanringham laid two covers in discreet silence; then bowed and withdrew by the side door that led to the kitchen. The Prince had seated himself beside the open fire, where he yawned and now looked up with a smile.
'Well, Louis,' said the Prince de Gatinais—'so Monsieur de Puysange and I have run you to earth at last. And I find you have determined to defy me, eh?'
III
'I trust there is no question of defiance,' Louis de Soyecourt equably returned. 'Yet I regret you should have been at pains to follow me, since I still claim the privilege of living out my life in my own fashion.'
'You claim a right which never existed, my little son. It is not demanded of any man that he be happy, whereas it is manifestly necessary for a gentleman to obey his God, his King, and his own conscience without swerving. If he also find time for happiness, well and good; otherwise, he must be unhappy. But, above all, he must intrepidly play out his allotted part in the good God's scheme of things, and must with due humbleness recognize that the happiness or the unhappiness of any man alive is a trivial consideration as against the fulfilment of this scheme.'
'You and Nelchen are much at one there,' the Marquis lightly replied; 'yet, for my part, I fancy that Providence is not particularly interested in who happens to be the next Grand Duke of Noumaria.'
The Prince struck with his hand upon the arm of his chair. 'You dare to jest! Louis, your levity is incorrigible. France is beaten, discredited among nations, naked to her enemies. She lies here, between England and Prussia, as in a vise. God summons you, a Frenchman, to reign in Noumaria, and in addition affords you a chance to marry that weathercock of Badenburg's daughter. Ah, He never spoke more clearly, Louis. And you would reply with a shallow jest! Why, Badenburg and Noumaria just bridge that awkward space between France and Austria. Your accession would confirm the Empress,—Gaston de Puysange has it in her own hand, yonder at Versailles! I tell you it is all planned that France and Austria will combine, Louis! Think of it,—our France on her feet again, mistress of Europe,
