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Game and the Candle

<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> <h3>THE TURN IN THE ROAD</h3> It was a few weeks later, when the tardy spring was awaking reluctantly from its long sleep, that Stanief's cloud drew nearer and gained darker substance. Adrian's increasing restiveness took the form of active interference with the government, and not wisely. All that was possible Stanief was willing to yield, if he might keep peace, but finally the impossible was asked. It was a question of taxes which made the first rift between the cousins, a question with which the young Emperor had nothing to do. The tax had been imposed during the period of readjustment; now, owing to the Regent's skilled government, it was no longer necessary and he proposed to remove it. To the amazement of all concerned, Adrian chose to object. Plainly enough Stanief saw Dalmorov's influence behind the opposition, and saw himself bound to persistence both by policy and an implied promise to the people. Not as yet had the tax been removed, but he most courteously had reminded Adrian that no one possessed the power of interference with the measure. The result had been inevitable; Adrian sulked and the Regent's enemies furtively rejoiced. So opened the last year of the regency. If on the first night of the first year Stanief had claimed check of his opponent, now, gazing across the half-cleared board, Dalmorov could return the cry. Meanwhile the suite of the sullen young sovereign suffered much from his caprices; until finally Iría and Allard were the only two his caustic tongue spared and his ill humor passed by. They alone did not dread the honor of attending him. And at last he even contrived to give Allard the sting of many rewakened memories. "Allard," he remarked one morning, "you never told me more than just that you were an American. From what state are you?" They were alone together, two learned and exhausted professors having just taken leave of as trying a listener as could well be conceived. Across the book-strewn table Adrian contemplated the other, meditatively at ease. "I am a Californian, sire," was the reply. "Come show me where in this atlas, pour s'amuser. Your California is not small, if I recollect." Allard came over obediently and found the map, pointing out the city remembered so well and so sadly. "There, sire, near that little bay. Our place lay beyond the town; we called the house Sun-Kist." "The house was near the bay?" "Very near. We used to sail and fish there. Just here lay the yacht club, where Robert kept his motor-boat—" He broke off and turned away more abruptly than strict etiquette allowed. Adrian deliberately drew his pencil through the name on the map. "Robert?" he queried. "Robert Allard, sire, my younger brother. He died two years ago." "Soon after you came here, then?" "While I was on the Nadeja, sire, making the voyage." "Have you no other relatives there?" "Yes; my aunt, Mrs. Leslie, and my cousin, her daughter." Adrian studied his companion's pallor with a certain scientific interest, idly scribbling on the margin of the atlas without regarding what he wrote. "You regret your home?" he inquired. Allard bit his lip to steady its quiver, fiercely unwilling to bare his old pain for the diversion of this coldly ennuied inquisitor. "There is nothing to call me home, sire," he replied. "My brother is not living, and my cousin, who was betrothed to him, has no wish or need of me. I think I never want to see the place as it is now. My life is here." "You loved her," Adrian said calmly. "How much you give one another, you quiet, gray-eyed people! Do not look like that, Allard;" he actually smiled. "I am too used to my intricate and intriguing subjects to fail in reading your truthfulness. And I have not watched you with the ladies of the court without learning that some woman, one that you loved, sat at the door of your heart." Allard wavered between exasperation and helpless dismay at the other's acuteness; there were occasions when his Imperial Majesty was almost uncanny. But he ended by remaining silent, as usual. Adrian at fourteen had been anything but a child; now, at sixteen, he was fairly matched with Stanief himself, and the lesser players stood back at a distance from the contest of wills. From those players Allard had learned the wise habit of drawing aside to let the Emperor's moods sweep past. "You and Iría," Adrian added, after a moment during which his thin, high-bred face hardened strangely and not happily, "you two at least are transparent, and free from under-thoughts. What time is it?" Allard glanced at his watch. "Eleven o'clock, sire." "You need not go when the Grand Duke arrives; I may want you afterward. Allard—" "Sire?" "I have been kind to you, if to no one else, I think. Kind, and constant. Perhaps I have guarded you from more pitfalls set by envy than you can conceive, or would credit. And you have served me, not Feodor or another. If you were forced to the choice now, would you follow the Regent or me?" The question could not have been more unexpected or more difficult. Allard caught his breath, utterly at a loss. Deceive Adrian he would not. To forsake Stanief even in appearance was not to be considered, and yet to exasperate the jealous and exacting Emperor still further against his cousin was bitterly unnecessary. "Sire—" "Go on." But he could not go on, his ideas in hopeless confusion. "I am waiting." "Sire, the Regent," he admitted with desperate candor. Adrian laid his pencil carefully on the map and closed the atlas, saying nothing at all. Allard flushed to the roots of his fair hair. "Not that I am ungrateful," he protested in hot distress. "Not that I do not remember, do not understand all that you have done for me, sire. And against you I would serve no one, not even him. I would hold my life a slight thing to give either of you. Sire," he took a step forward, his ardent gaze seeking the other's comprehension, "before the brother I loved, the woman I love, before any call, I would follow the Regent. He—I have no words for it. It is not that my loyalty to your Majesty is less, but that he claims me against the world." "Happy Feodor," said Adrian coolly. "Do not distress yourself, Allard; if you had told me anything else I should not have believed you. Why," he suddenly lifted to the amazed American a glance all cordial, "it is pleasant to find that loyalty to any one still exists, to find one rock in this shaking quagmire. Here is the Regent; go down the room and find a book to read until we finish." Dazed, Allard mechanically obeyed so far as to move down the apartment and pick up a book. But keen anxiety for the friend he could not aid kept his attention on the interview that followed, although it was beyond his hearing. Stanief crossed to his ward with the dignified formality never relaxed between them, and bent over the offered hand. No shade of expression foretold the announcement both knew he was come to make, nor was Adrian on his part less impassive. The petulant boy of two years before had become a slim, self-contained youth, whose bearing, no less than his elaborate uniform, added much to his apparent age and height. If his dark young face did not resemble his cousin's except in feature, the difference was not in lack of equal firmness. "Iría did not come to-day?" was the nonchalant greeting. "No, sire. She was fatigued after last night's reception, and we did not understand your desire." "Oh, I expressed none, except as it is always pleasant to see her. Madame was adorable last night, a very flower of her delicious South. It occurred to me that you yourself, cousin, did not appear to feel so well as usual." "I was tired, sire," he replied simply. Adrian frowned with some other emotion than anger, darting a swift regard at Stanief, who leaned back in his chair with a listlessness rare indeed in him. The Regent also had changed in the last two years; one does not mold a chaotic, struggling mass of conflicting elements into a ball to match the scepter without paying a price. Yet if the habit of command had curved a little more firmly the firm lips, if deep thoughts and watchful diplomacy had darkened calmness to gravity, some other and subtler influences had brought a singular underlying gentleness to his expression and kept hardness at bay. Adrian turned away his head half-impatiently, and did not speak at once. "You devote too close an attention to state affairs, cousin," he rejoined. "Next year we will relieve you of them." The accent was more than the words; together they brought Stanief's color. "I shall resign my charge most willingly, sire," he answered, with dignity. "I am glad to hear it; I fancied you might miss the regal game and find life monotonous. You have taken the task so completely from my hands that it causes no surprise to find you are wearied. I admit that you have spared me even the fatigue of consulting my wishes or opinions in regard to the government." "The accusation is hardly just, sire. A suggestion of yours has never been disregarded nor has it failed of its serious effect." "Ah?" drawled Adrian, with his most aggravating incredulity in the inflection. Stanief raised his lashes and met the other's eyes steadfastly. Both comprehended the situation perfectly, comprehended the imminent break Adrian was forcing. And the Emperor did not soon forget the direct sorrow and reproach of that glance. But Stanief attempted no defense. "Because," Adrian resumed, fixing his eyes on the table before him, "I have been told otherwise. I am rejoiced to learn the truth from you, cousin; especially as a rumor reached me this morning that a certain tax had been removed, against my wish. You doubtless know the measure of which I speak. I am glad to find it is not so." "Pardon, sire; it is so," was the calm reply. "The tax is removed?" "Yes, sire." The Adrian of two years before would have burst into furious passion; the one of to-day simply rose and walked to the nearest window. Stanief necessarily rose also, and stood by his chair, waiting. At the opposite end of the room Allard clenched his hands in helpless nervousness, forgetting to keep his pretense of reading. The low voices, the leisurely movements of the two, had not masked from him the crisis for the hopes and plans of years. But Adrian made no scene. Probably no one realized less than the Regent himself how much the example of his own self-control had taught the same quality to his ward. When the young Emperor came back, only his extreme pallor betrayed the tempest within. "Very well," he said resolutely. "Amuse yourself, my cousin; I can wait. Eleven months, is it not?" The break, and the menace. Stanief saluted him quietly. "A trifle less than eleven months, sire. May I assume your Imperial Majesty's permission to retire? I suppose it is scarcely worth while to reiterate the arguments as to the necessity of my action." "Scarcely. Do not let me detain you from your many affairs, cousin. Ah, I believe Dalmorov is waiting out there; let me tax your courtesy so far as to ask you to send him to me." He extended his hand carelessly; no longer as a sign of friendliness, but as a compulsion of homage. "It is for you to command, sire," was Stanief's proudly unmoved response. Adrian looked down at the bent head and put out his left hand in rapid, curious gesture, almost as if to touch caressingly the heavy ripples of dark hair,—the merest abortive movement, for the hand fell again at his side before even Allard saw. "Thank you," he acknowledged composedly, and watched the other go. Dalmorov entered presently, radiant with satisfaction, but Allard could have borne witness that the baron passed no pleasant hour with his irritable and irritating master. Like the fleck of a lash Adrian's tongue touched each weakness and stung each exposed hope of the courtier three times his age, until even the distrait American found himself compelled to amusement. Stanief did not ride home that morning with the cheerful Vasili and bored Rosal, who awaited him. As he came down the wide steps between the usual parting, obsequious crowds, a girl leaned from a victoria that stood in the place of his own carriage,—Iría, opposite her the pale young Countess Marya. "Will you ride with me, monseigneur?" invited the Gentle Princess, with her deliciously confiding glance and smile. "We were on the promenade, and I thought perhaps you would have finished—" <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus4.jpg" alt=""/></div> <h3>"Will you ride with me, Monseigneur?"</h3> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> A knot of early daffodils was tucked in her girdle, the spring breeze fluttered a bright strand of crinkled bronze against her brighter cheek; all the youth of the year was in the happy face she lifted to him. Stanief paused with his foot on the step to look at her, many thoughts meeting in his drowsily-brilliant eyes. "Thank you," he answered. "I wonder if you will ever come for me again, Iría, after I have finished here indeed." An innocent surprise and pleasure dawned in her expression. "I will come every day, if you like, monseigneur," she offered. "I did not know you cared." He took the seat beside her, with a courteous salute to Marya. "You are gracious, as always. I did not mean exactly that, although you can not guess how pleasant it was to find you here to-day. Live your pretty routine and fancies, Duchess of Dreams, and give me the alms of time you can not use." They spoke in Iría's soft native tongue, which the Countess Marya did not understand and which Stanief had learned long before in some of the Nadeja's nomadic voyages. Always gentle to the gentle Iría, to-day his voice carried an added tenderness which stirred her to vague unrest and wistfulness. "You do not mean that," she said, troubled. "How should I have any time that is not yours, monseigneur? And my fancies—you can not know how many of them are wishes that I might prove a little, only a little, of all your kindness makes me feel. I wish, how much I wish, that I could do something for you!" The victoria was rolling through the busy, cheerful streets; vehicles making way for it in respectful haste, people saluting with more than mere formality and following the Regent with grateful eyes. Stanief's city, Stanief's country this, drawn by him out of anarchy into order, out of suffering into peace. The people knew, and he knew. He looked across it all now before answering, battling with fierce loneliness and rebellion. "Iría, what I have done for you is nothing. You are my wife," there was no mockery in the quietly spoken word, "and claim all I can give. But, since we are alone except for each other and have been placed together, would you care to save my pride some day by stepping at my side out of this court? By giving me the dignity of holding my household above the wreck?" Startled and dismayed, she turned to him. "Monseigneur, I do not understand! You, you to speak of wreck! Oh, and you ask me that, you doubt?" He laid his hand warningly on hers. "We are under a hundred eyes, Iría. You live aloof from politics and intrigues, but yet you know my regency ends in a few months." "You mean—the Emperor?" "The Emperor has never trusted me, never forgiven me for the chance which set me as ruler of his country. There is no danger of the old kind; the days of state executions are past, or I would never have survived the last reign. But when Adrian assumes command it will undoubtedly mean that I lay aside all you have seen of me, and retire a simple gentleman of leisure to my estates. No more will I play 'the regal game,' as Adrian expressed it to-day. Could you brave that, Iría, to be no longer the center of a brilliant court? To live the stately monotony of my life in the old castle among the mountains, or perhaps travel to other countries as just the wife of the Grand Duke Feodor Stanief, who is of no more importance than any noble? For Adrian will want to keep you, if you will stay." The little hand under his turned to clasp his fingers; star-eyed, richly tinted with excitement, Iría leaned to him. "With you, let me be with you. I am afraid of nothing with you, without you of everything. Oh, monseigneur, do you not see that what you lose are a man's desires, not a woman's? Power, political influence, to guide and rule—what do such names mean to me? I shall miss nothing; it is only you who will grieve and regret." "My dear, my dear," said Stanief unsteadily, and turned away his face before a new hope which out-dazzled all the morning's pictured loss. "It is so, only do not speak again of leaving me here. I love the Emperor, but I am afraid of him. And if he can treat you in this way—" "Hush; never blame him, however alone you fancy us. If you can help it, do not let him guess that I have told you of this. And for the rest, the fault is more Dalmorov's than his." "I will not," she promised. And after a moment, "Some one else will follow you always, monseigneur." He knew the answer before he asked the question, and the light went suddenly from his face, leaving it to all the old grave endurance. "Who, Iría?" "Monsieur Allard," she replied. Stanief again looked across the teeming streets; it was as if a chill, intangible mist stole up from the near-by river and drew its cold grayness between the two who sat side by side. "John is a loyal gentleman," he said, without anger; "I value you both above all else. For two years I have walked without seeing beyond a certain point, to-day I have come to a turn in the road and on ahead I see my destination. Not the end I hoped, perhaps, but at least I know. And I thank you for the household security which you have given to me, my poor child." The carriage stopped in front of the quaintly splendid Palace Stanief. Iría lingered before accepting the Regent's aid to descend, her delicate lip curving distressedly. "Do not call me that, please," she begged. "Because you have made me very happy, monseigneur." The perfume of her daffodils was about him, faint, virginal, bitter-sweet as her presence in his house. Stanief deliberately painted to himself the fierce delight of catching her in his arms, of pressing the little sunny head to him and crushing her sweet ignorance out of existence with one kiss she could never forget. But his hand did not even close upon the small one resting in it. "Then I have lived to some purpose," he responded serenely. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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