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Game and the Candle

<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> <h3>ADRIAN'S DAY</h3> Brilliant in blue-and-gold the dawn opened over the capital. Scarcely a breath of wind rippled the warm clear air of the spring morning, a morning designed for a country bridal among the scented fields or the waking of wild furry creatures in the woods, and which man was seizing for such different use. From the first deafening salute of cannon that ushered in the Emperor's seventeenth birthday, the city was in a tumult indescribable. Cavalry officers galloped through the swarming, flag-draped streets, gorgeous carriages blocked the avenues, marching regiments filled the air with military music. Congratulatory messages, visits from foreign ambassadors, enforced audiences and preparations for the one great event, kept both palaces in kaleidoscopic movement and color. The old sense of unreality held Allard from the moment when Vladimir awakened him three hours earlier than usual to don a costume hitherto considered reserved for evening. His usual duties were temporarily missing, the Emperor being formally attended to-day by those who had the hereditary right to that honor. Not that he was forgotten, at which he was surprised and touched, but it was very strange to be summoned to Adrian's bedside through an assembly of grave nobles and to speak a few brief words of felicitation under a fire of observation none too friendly. So often he had leaned against the foot of that pillared, curtained bed and amused with light chat of court or club the serene occupant who took his chocolate while listening interestedly. "Thank you, Allard," the Emperor returned only in reply to his slightly confused speech, and the American was aware of the diverted, malicious comprehension of his embarrassment under the ordeal. But later he found his place carefully appointed in all the occurrences of the day, and realized the forethought with a gratitude and sense of obligation harder to bear than neglect. Very difficult Adrian was making his determination to follow Stanief; Allard knew now the pain of serving two masters. The morning proceeded, the events pacing on in dignified order. At noon fell a pause, city and court poised on tiptoe, and the magnificent procession moved from the palace toward the cathedral. It was all of mirage-like unsubstantiality to Allard: Adrian, strangely young and collected in his superb medieval robes, surrounded by his glittering nobles; Stanief, hardly less dazzling than the Emperor, with gemmed orders and cordons under which his white uniform almost disappeared; Iría in her fairy royalty, these were the central figures of the pageant. The cheering crowds, the excitement and clamor, were merely a background. But once he met Dalmorov's cruel, exultant eyes as the baron smiled across the unconscious Stanief, and there was no more beauty in the scene. At last the dim richness of the cathedral received them, the cool, incense-freighted twilight of the vast building, the wilderness of columns and lofty jeweled windows. Here the throng of witnesses was hushed, the organ tones fell soothingly after the noisy streets. The atmosphere of the place was infinite calm, and each ancient stone cried alike to victor and vanquished its garnered wisdom: "This, too, shall pass away." Sighing, Allard sank passively into contemplation of the spectacle, Vasili by his side. Many times he had visited the cathedral with the Emperor, never again would he see it like this. For all its pomp and solemnity, the ceremony was not long. When at last Adrian turned to face them, fully invested, when church and city rocked with acclamation, Allard felt the first thrill of realization of what this meant. And he knew there was nothing the new sovereign could not do. "What is the matter?" questioned Vasili. "Why are you so sober; why are you so still? Oh, you English, cold as a stone!" But Allard did not hear, he was watching the next act in the splendid drama, when, as former Regent and first kinsman of the Emperor, Stanief moved forward to offer his homage. "Not here," Allard implored mutely, his eyes on the golden central figure, his hands clenched with nervous dread for the one he loved. "Surely, surely not even Adrian will hurt him here, before these!" Perhaps the thought of just how humiliating this could be made was also present in Stanief's mind, perhaps some deeper emotion, for there was no trace of color in his firm dark face. Intent, breathless, the church looked on at the meeting, an audience of courtiers and diplomats whom no slightest detail escaped. In her place Iría laid one hand above her heart where, under velvet and satin, the tiny Spanish cross still rested. It was over very briefly. As Stanief would have sunk to his knee, Adrian made a quick step forward and prevented the movement. "Not to me, my cousin," he said quietly. "Not now, at least." And he embraced the other with a touch that lifted the formality to a caress. The great mass of people remained absolutely still. One would have said there was not a breath drawn or a garment rustled. Stanief himself faltered, shaken out of his stoicism and flushing heavily; it was a perceptible moment before he recovered and carried on his rôle. "Nom de Dieu!" gasped Vasili faintly, clutching his companion's sleeve. "You saw, Allard, you saw?" Allard saw. He saw Stanief's oath of allegiance given and received, he saw the second embrace which welcomed it; he heard the Emperor's graceful speech of thanks for the long service completed now. But no one except Stanief himself caught the murmured answer to the quaint, earnest phrases of feudal loyalty: "For the second time, Feodor." And to the listener the cathedral faded momentarily at the reminder; the rose-hued salon of the Nadeja closed around. The rest of the affair passed more rapidly. Adrian took Iría's hands as she came to him and kissed her on both cheeks. After that the others came and went, the superb swirl and current rushed on. Once only the eyes of Allard and Stanief met across the broad space, and if they exchanged wordless relief, they held no other feeling in common, for Stanief had never trusted nor understood his cousin less, while Allard had refound the Adrian he knew—the Adrian of evening drives and bitter-sweet kindness. In the departure from the cathedral there came a brief confusion and rearrangement. "You will ride with me," Adrian said to his late Regent, on the steps. "Sire—" "Take care; I am too new an autocrat for contradiction." So Iría went surrounded by her butterfly ladies, and Stanief rode by the Emperor's side during that bewildering return. In the streets there was no high-bred reserve; seeing him there, the capital went into a madness of enthusiasm. The rest of the day, the state banquet, passed in no less dazzling excitement. But in the midst of all Adrian found an instant to toss a word to Allard. "Is it 'almost,' or quite, to-day?" he demanded. Happy, dazed, uncomprehending yet content, Allard met the challenging eyes in an expressive glance; then for the first time in their years together, he impulsively stooped and touched his lips to the slim young hand. "Not at all, sire," he answered most remorsefully. Adrian's long lustrous eyes opened; perhaps no conquest of the day pleased him more. "Come to me at five o'clock," he directed, and passed on. Five o'clock. That hour had been generally accepted through the palace as the time when the Emperor would withdraw to snatch a brief rest before the celebrations of the night. From long custom Allard knew where the "come to me" signified, and very pleasant he found his return to the familiar routine. Somewhat before the time appointed, he went to the octagonal library, the room now flooded with quivering pink light from the approaching sunset. A man turned from a window at his entrance. "Ah, Monsieur Allard?" said Dalmorov's thin, cutting voice, "Pardon that I disturb you, dear monsieur, but the Emperor requested me to meet him here, and so—" Allard surveyed the lean and suave diplomat with his usual antagonism, but moved toward a chair instead of adopting the hint to retire. "I am here for the same reason, Baron," he explained. "A wonderful day we have had, have we not?" "Wonderful, indeed," Dalmorov conceded viciously. "But the ides of March have not gone, monsieur." "What a suggestion for our young Cæsar!" Allard deprecated. "Whom do you imagine as Brutus, Baron, in our peaceful Empire?" "You misunderstood; I only pointed out the uncertainty of building upon one day." Anxiety for Stanief stabbed Allard, always and only for Stanief. Yet his answer was light and sympathetic: "Has to-day disappointed you? So sorry, chèr Baron." "No, monsieur; for the event of the day I shall most enjoy is just about to take place." "And my presence threatens to postpone it? It is too bad I can not do as you suggested, and leave." "Not at all; it will increase my pleasure to have you here, Monsieur Allard. Meanwhile, the favor of princes is uncertain, and a frail shield." Again that coldly triumphant glance, the tightening of the lines about the thin lips. Wilfully Allard misapplied the last sentence. "Oh, if my poor influence with the Emperor can aid you, Baron! You know how I esteem you." The click of the lock prevented the exasperated Dalmorov's retort. Stanief held open the door, then followed Adrian into the room. There was no distinction of rank in the surprise with which the three men looked at one another, and from one another to the Emperor who had brought them together. A thrill of startled expectation ran from each to the other like a thread of flame. Adrian without his muffling draperies of cloth-of-gold was again the well-known figure of every-day. Yet there was some subtle difference in his bearing, in the carriage of his small head, which left no doubt that the ceremony of the morning had been very real. It was characteristic that he went to his object without preamble or delay. "Feodor," he said as he moved to the large central table, and the languid sweetness of his accent was a sufficient warning of danger to those who knew him, "it is unfortunate to be forced to mingle serious affairs with a day already so full, but Baron Dalmorov urges so vigorously the necessity for readjusting the government that I have consented. You will hardly believe that his anxiety leaves neither of us an hour's repose. Will you assist us in this task?" "If I can, sire," Stanief answered gravely. The kitten was playing with the mice; too well had the Regent learned his deceptive ward for him to draw confidence from the Emperor's courtesy during the day. "Who else, cousin?" returned Adrian, with exquisite grace. "Who can do so well? How should the country continue without the wise hand that has guided it through these three years? Pray reassure Baron Dalmorov by telling him that you will still hold in fact the power that nominally you resigned this morning, always aided by my loving support." Allard grasped the back of a chair; so much even he had never hoped. Stupefied, Dalmorov gazed paling at Adrian, who leaned tranquilly against the table, his lips curved in a very slight cold smile. "If you indeed speak seriously, sire, I can have but one reply," Stanief said. "Forgive me for the doubt." "Since I have taught you it, why not? But the farce is over, the game closed. Dalmorov, pray attend; possibly you also may be interested in the explanation that my cousin asks." For the first time his glance went that way. "At least you best can understand why this game has been played. For a game it has been, Feodor. If a cruel one, why, our race is not gentle nor reared in tenderness. Or to truth, remember that; your mother was an Englishwoman. I give what I have received; you alone ever gave or asked of me frankness. Take it now, if long delayed." He paused, his lashes fell as if his gaze went back and within. No one moved or spoke as the fire mounted visibly through his calm, shriveling his trained composure and beating against his self-control. "I love you, my cousin," he said, the quietness forced on his voice leaving it almost monotonous. "I loved you long ago in my lonely childhood, when your rare visits came like sunny flashes across my dreariness and I used to stand at my window to watch you ride by each day. I had no other affections to distract me; I loved you still, however unwillingly, when I went at night to the Nadeja three years ago. But you asked me to trust you, and my training had left me no trust to give. Not that I did not want to trust you, for I did want to give that with a longing you scarcely can understand; but I could not, then. Look back to then, Feodor, for the commencement of the game ended now. Loving you, distrusting all alike, I listened to you when you were with me and listened to your enemies when you were not, striving to reach the fact beneath in the only method I have seen practised. There could not have been a more unequal battle, yet at the end of the first year you had won. You and Allard had convinced me that there did exist men different from my world. The vista widened for me; I caught a glimpse of a golden age within the one I so despised, the ancient breath of chivalry claimed life beside me. So the second year opened. The second year—" again the cold glance swept Dalmorov. "How did you employ the second year, Baron?" "Sire—" With a shrug Adrian turned from him; this time his eyes met his cousin's and held them. "I have not been happy, Feodor," he resumed, the control not quite so perfect. "For one clean word of yours, a thousand poisonous speeches were poured into my ears; never a simple action of yours escaped being shown to me as hiding some sinister motive. When you brought order out of the chaotic country, they explained that you prepared your own Empire; when you paid me your grave deference, they told me it was used to lull a fretful child until he could be removed. When you spoke of the day you would yield the sovereignty to me, they laughed. You guessed some of this? All of it you could not conceive, their incredible ingenuity of falsehood and false witness. And hate them as I would, a little of the venom clung. When the beginning of the third year arrived, I stood alone and surveyed it all; older at sixteen, cousin, than you will ever be. On one side lay the reeking swamp they made of life, on the other the firm white road and you. And I realized then that if you failed me, it would not be an Empire I would lose, but a universe and a belief in God. Ask Allard some day how I spent last New Year's Eve." Allard caught his breath; clearly it stood out in his memory,—that night when Adrian had sent for him near midnight. "Sleep, read, do what you like, but stay where I can see you," had been the curt command. And when dawn had opened grayly across the city, Adrian was still pacing restlessly up and down the fire-lit room, his sorely puzzled companion still watching by the hearth. "For many months I had held one hope of a definite answer, Feodor, a limit to uncertainty. 'After the coronation I will know,' I told myself. 'If he lays down the scepter, they have lied.' And Dalmorov took from me even that. "'He will crown you,' he said, 'because so he can keep the faith of the people and yet rule the country through your weakness and love for him.'" Stanief would have spoken, deeply moved, but Adrian checked him while himself coloring with no less emotion. "Wait still a little. I ask you to remember that never have I taken one step at the suggestion of your enemies or at the wish of this Dalmorov whom you believed my friend. Whichever of us succeeded to Empire, I had the consolation of knowing he would fall. No one has stood between us; alone I decided upon my test and made it, because I had come to the point where I must choose between your world and theirs. I have called this a game—it was the trial of a faith. Need I say the rest? The tax dispute gave the excuse, I feigned a break with you. My cousin, now can you measure the cost to me of the last year?" He paused for the answer, and finding it written in the mute Stanief's eyes, went on more hurriedly. "No one knew the truth, although Iría and Allard nearly tempted me to confidence. I deprived you of the faintest hope of peace with me, I left you to the snarling hate and malice of the court; I even added to ingratitude the last insult of menace. Through it all you moved steadily toward your goal, holding your head above us all. I have learned, at last. If I avoided you, Feodor, it was because I felt my courage failing before yours. If I have spoken to you curtly, it was because I feared to say this too soon. If I refused to see you after the accident last week, it was because I was sick with horror at the nearness of losing you, because I was too near to ending the pretense of months just before its climax. And I had set my heart on standing with you, thus, and defying even this man to find an accusation that you have not answered. So," he took a step forward and passed his hand through Stanief's arm, the last reserve swept away by his own vivid energy. "So, together; now speak, Dalmorov, before you leave the capital. What selfish motive or hope led the Regent to-day when he came to me in the cathedral?" At the two Dalmorov looked, attempting no reply. Not pleasant to see was his face in that moment. Allard, quivering, radiant, found room to pity the outgeneraled and annihilated intriguer. "Nothing?" insisted Adrian, the voice so gentle to his cousin, merciless enough now. "Nothing? Feodor, you see my plaything; never again rate me so low as to credit me with such a favorite. The man who aspired to hold your place; who fancied us both victims of his clumsy intrigues; the man who never even perceived the contempt and dislike I scarcely troubled to conceal, look at him. Dragged from his shadows into the sun, facing you, he has no longer one falsehood to offer." "Sire," interposed Stanief for very compassion, himself unsteadied by the happiness that makes generosity easy. Adrian turned on him swiftly. "You? You, Feodor? Oh, it needed but that! Thank the Grand Duke for his intercession, Baron Dalmorov, and go." The last humiliation was too much. Sallow with defeat and bitter mortification, Dalmorov collected himself to strike the only one within reach, the one through whom alone he could wound the others. "If it has pleased your Imperial Majesty to misunderstand, I may not say misuse, my devotion, I must submit," he said tremulously. "I can do nothing else." "No, I think not." "Yet permit me to give a last service due to respect for my sovereign. My defense I leave to time. This nameless American whom it has pleased his Royal Highness to place near your person, sire, is not fit for such an honor. Rather he should be in the mines." Stanief started violently, his eyes flashing to Allard, who kept his pose with a serenity drawn from utter helplessness. "Take care, Dalmorov," Adrian cautioned sternly. The baron bowed. "Sire, some months ago chance called me to this investigation. There passed through the city a gentleman who had visited the California Allards a year before this man came here. The visitor declared that this was not the Allard he knew, and no other member of the family had alluded to another absent one. Naturally anxious and alarmed, I searched further. The officers of the Nadeja admitted that no one had seen the new secretary until one night his Royal Highness brought him hurriedly aboard, while the yacht lay opposite an American prison. At the exact hour of his arrival, the alarm was raised on shore of the escape of a convict. It is a singular coincidence, sire." "It is very uninteresting, Baron. What of it?" "Sire, only loyalty could make me continue. I obtained some journals of that date and a little later. The prisoner who escaped was not recaptured; and out in California the gentleman died whose honorable name this man claims. Give me time, long enough to send to America, and I can find proof that your Imperial Majesty's favorite companion is the prisoner Leroy masquerading as one who is not living to contradict him. Why the Grand Duke placed him here, it is not for me to say." Twice Stanief had moved to speak, and each time the restraining hand on his arm had imposed silence. "Hush, Feodor; this is my affair," Adrian said, divining the rebellion at this last before it could take speech. "Baron Dalmorov, with time you could no doubt make any proofs you desire; I have seen it done. We close this subject to-day. Are you willing to relieve the baron's cares, Allard?" So near the truth, and yet so far from it, had the accusation gone. It was not of himself Allard thought at the moment, but of Stanief, Stanief, who had protected him and who must be shielded from the consequence. "Sire, I am John Allard," he replied, giving that fact with the appeal of sincerity. "The Allard to whom Baron Dalmorov refers was my brother Robert. For the rest, it is perfectly true that I was not in California the year before I came here. The American who did not recognize me was of course my brother's guest during my absence." "You do not comprehend," Adrian corrected sweetly. "I never intended to ask you to defend yourself against this chain of absurdities. I do not admire your assailant's methods, and I adopt my own. I would ask if both you and Dalmorov will be content with the evidence of a witness who knew the California Allards beyond dispute." "Certainly, sire," he answered, wondering, yet welcoming any course that led them from New York. "Sire, if any Californian identifies this man, of course my case fails," conceded Dalmorov with his bitter smile. "But, it will not be so." "Pray ring the bell, Allard, twice," directed Adrian. They waited in silence. Adrian moved to a chair. Stanief sought Allard's eyes with the steadying message of his own, an intensity of reassurance and protection. In reserve he was holding his own power to ruin Dalmorov, and he fiercely reproached himself with not having foreseen and used it before this could have happened. But Allard showed no agitation to his keen watchers. It seemed to him that this had been closing around him for days, that he had felt the old things reclaiming him as the unseen net drew and tightened. Now there was nothing he could do; the moment balanced, ready to fall either way at the light touch of chance. Away from himself he laid the decision, before a higher tribunal than Adrian's, setting all his life against one error. The speech of his thought was the same as it once was on the wharf before the Hudson prison: "If I have paid—" Quietly, with a dignity all unconscious, he awaited the judgment. A rustle of silken garments, a silver echo of a southern voice as the door opened, and Iría was in the room, Iría, flushed, smiling, and by her side a girl in white whom two of those present had never seen. As the Duchess swept her graceful salute to the Emperor, Allard's cry rang through the place: "Theodora! Theodora!" His answer was given. The girl held out her hands as he sprang forward to clasp them; there existed no one else for either during the long moment when they remained gazing in each other's eyes with the hunger of years. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus5.jpg" alt=""/></div> <h3>There existed no one else for either.</h3> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> Smiling, Adrian moved forward a chair for Iría, whispering a phrase in passing which sent the light blushes to her forehead as she glanced shyly at Stanief. Then, Theodora slipping her fingers from Allard's with confused recollection of their situation, the Emperor claimed her attention. "Mademoiselle Leslie, let me present to you the Baron Sergius Dalmorov, formerly of this court. And, since he appears suffering under a strange misconception, do me the favor of informing him who is the gentleman whom you have just greeted." Evidently Theodora knew Adrian, for she answered his smile with trustful friendliness while acknowledging the introduction. "Monsieur le Baron, I am charmed," she said in her pretty, hesitating French. "This is my cousin, John Leslie Allard, whom I have not seen for many years. We grew up together; and in the pleasure of meeting him again—" "Thank you, mademoiselle," interposed Adrian. "Let me complete the aid to your halting memory, Dalmorov, and recall in Monsieur Allard my loyal friend of three years' trial, the gentleman who bears the scar and the decorations gained in defense of my life and my cousin's. Several months ago you first hinted at this attack on him. Knowing you very well, I obtained the necessary details from him under a pretext, and myself wrote to Madame Leslie suggesting that she bring mademoiselle here for the coronation. A week ago they arrived at the Hôtel Anglais, where I had the pleasure of visiting them one evening." He looked at Allard in cool amusement, but it was something very far from amusement that rose in the gray eyes in answer to the memories of that evening. "We explained a few details to one another; since then they have been the guests of the Grand Duchess, who promised me secrecy." "I did not even tell you, Feodor," murmured Iría plaintively. "Feodor will forgive you," assured Adrian. "Baron Dalmorov, you have our permission to retire from the capital at once; you are not suited for court life. Unfortunately you have broken no laws. I wish most sincerely that it were in my power to find some excuse for punishing you as I should enjoy; I have no doubt at least one exists. But you may go, and in future avoid the same city with me. That is all; I have waited a long while for to-day." Stanief turned to Allard, then expressively regarded the man who moved almost gropingly toward the door. "Shall I give the excuse?" the glance asked. And Allard's impulsive gesture answered. "Has he not enough?" flashed the mute return. The door closed gently. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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