norman benedict had reached the office of the trumpet in time to add a startling feature to the ten o’clock “extra” of that enterprising journal. a long cable despatch from rexopolis, announcing the death of king sergius iii., the vain clamorings of the people for the appearance of his successor, the still popular prince carlo, and the certainty of an immediate choice by the populace of a provisional president, was of itself sufficient to make the “extra” notable. but benedict had been enabled, by a combination of foresight and good luck, to give the readers of the trumpet a startling explanation of prince carlo’s absence from rexopolis at this great crisis. on the night upon which prince carlo had lost a kingdom, norman benedict had gained a promotion.
gerald strong and his wife had sat in their library late that evening, wondering why ned and kate had not returned, when the butler brought in to them the late edition of a newspaper whose startling head-lines seemed to tremble with excitement. they had barely finished reading the astounding details of a pregnant international crisis, when the arrival of the carriage that bore to their door a dethroned king, a fatherless youth, upon whose shoulders rested a great burden demanding an heroic sacrifice, broke in upon their conversation.
while the somewhat disjointed explanations[137] of the truants were doing their utmost to add to the confusion of mrs. strong’s mind, her husband had taken prince carlo by the hand, and, telling ned to accompany them, had led the guest he had known as count szalaki into the library.
“i have read the whole story,” said the banker, when they found themselves alone. “you have suffered a great wrong, prince carlo. you have my heartfelt sympathy.”
he took the young man’s hand, and continued, very gently, “i have sad news for you.”
prince carlo gazed at him with eyes that were full of agony.
“he is dead?”
“yes,” answered gerald strong. “he died this afternoon.”
a change came over the face of the son of kings. the dread certainty that confronted him seemed to affect him like a call to arms. he stood more erect, the lines around his mouth grew firm, and his voice was cold and hard, as he said:
“mr. strong, may i ask you to tell me all that you have heard?”
“you will find the facts, as far as they are known, in this despatch from rexopolis.”
prince carlo took the newspaper and eagerly perused the two columns outlining the situation at his capital. while he was reading, ned strong said to his father:
“how did you know, father, that count szalaki was the crown prince?”
“the trumpet, ned, has a long account of the occurrences that have made our manor-house unpleasantly notorious.”
“ha!” cried ned. “our friend mr. benedict has been very energetic.”
[138]
“furthermore,” continued mr. strong, “i have several despatches to-day from our representative in vienna, who has been clever enough to suspect that count szalaki might be the crown prince carlo.”
an exclamation of mingled astonishment and anger broke from prince carlo at this moment.
“fejeravy!” he cried. “fejeravy for president! it is impossible! traitor! fejeravy, whom we have trusted for years as our most loyal subject! it is incredible!”
prince carlo sank into a chair wearily. the treachery of the man who had been his father’s closest adviser overwhelmed him for a moment. suddenly he looked up at his host, his jaw firmly set and a gleam in his eyes that proved that a new incentive had come to him urging his return to his distracted fatherland.
“there is a steamer leaving for southampton in the morning?” he asked, eagerly.
“yes,” answered gerald strong. then he seated himself beside the prince, and said, gently:
“you will forgive me, prince carlo, if i take the liberty of a much older man, not well versed in the etiquette of courts, to ask you if your return at such a crisis as the present is not foolhardy?”
“mayhap,” cried the prince, a note of recklessness in his voice. “but think not that i am friendless because a few of my people have been tools in a traitor’s hands. a hundred years ago the madmen of france informed the world that kings and their god were dead. short-sighted, deluded dreamers! they slew in the name of freedom, and[139] brought forth—napoleon. i shall go back, not to bring peace, but a sword. fools that they are, to think that my people, loving me, will listen forever to the voice of fejeravy.—fejeravy, the judas of my house! it is not for naught that we who hold the thrones of europe are bound together by the ties of blood. what madness blinds my people? if i were dead, mayhap their crazy scheme would have some hope of victory. but behind me, as my allies, stand all the kings and emperors of the world. at my back are armies before which rexania’s rabble rout would fly like chaff. mad as was the scheme that sought to make me abdicate my throne to please the wishes of a few adventurous rebels in this new world that i shall never see again, it was not more futile than the effort of my people to set up for themselves a government against which every court in europe will be arrayed.”
prince carlo arose and paced the room restlessly. gerald strong and his son remained silent. they seemed to be gazing from a mountain-top upon some wild and bloody scene in ancient history. to these calm, unimpressionable americans the future that called to this pale-faced youth seemed to be made of the warp and woof that form the texture of the visions of the night. of what did he speak? of an alien army under his command, placing him upon a throne stained with the blood of his own countrymen! he represented the very incarnation of reaction calling with confidence upon its ancient allies, blood and iron. and yet he was a gentle youth. his smile was charming as he took the hand of his silent host and said:
[140]
“forgive me for boring you with my selfish thoughts. you have been very kind. how much i thank you, i cannot say. and now, time presses. i have much to do, in small ways, before the steamer sails. may i trouble you to ask miss kate if i may say farewell?”
ned strong left the room and returned a moment later.
“my sister will see you in the drawing-room,” he said as he re-entered the library. “and then, if you wish, i will place myself at your service, prince carlo, until your departure.”
a moment later father and son were left alone. they remained silent for several minutes, attempting to readjust their wandering thoughts to the quiet exigencies of their own environment.
“i have another piece of news for you, father,” said ned, after a time.
“yes?”
“i am sure,” he explained, with an effort at playfulness, “that mr. benedict has not announced it in his ‘extra.’ mrs. brevoort has promised to be my wife.”
prince carlo of rexania stood for an instant, white and trembling, upon the steps that led from gerald strong’s doorway. upon his lips he still felt the kiss of a loving and sorrow-stricken girl. the bell in a distant church-steeple was striking midnight.
“come,” he said, gently, placing a hand upon ned strong’s arm,—“come, comrade, i need a friend to-night; for the world seems very sad.”
