The Princess Passes by Alice Muriel Williamson and Charles Norris Williamson

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"The big bully!" I exclaimed. "But of course it's all rot. There can
be no question of your fighting him."

"I don't know. I'd rather do that--if we could have pistols--than have
him think an American--could be a coward. I'm not a coward, I hope,
only--only I never thought of anything like this. He's going to send a
friend of his to call on you, as a friend of mine, he said. I suppose
that means a what-you-may-call-'em--a 'second,' doesn't it? If I must
fight with him, Man, you will be my second, won't you, and--and act
for me, if that's the right word?"

Gazing up earnestly, his eyes very big, his face pale, he looked no
more than fourteen, and the idea of a duel to the death between this
child and Gaeta's whirlwind would have been comic in the extreme, had
I not been enraged with the whirlwind.

"I'll be your friend, and get you out of the scrape," I said. "But it
will mean that you must give up the Contessa."

"Give up the Contessa!" echoed the Boy. "What do _I_ want with the
Contessa! I'm sick of the sight of her."

"Since when?"

"Since the first day we met. I don't think she's even pretty. What
you can see in her, I don't know--the silly little giggling thing!
There, it's out at last."

"What I see in her?" I repeated. "I like that."

"I always supposed you did. But I can't _stand_ her."

"Well, of all the---- Look here, why have you been hanging after her,
if you--"

"I didn't. I just wasn't going to let you make a fool of yourself over
her, and then regret it afterwards. So I--I did my best to take her
attention away from you, and I succeeded fairly well. It--vexed me to
see you falling in love with her. She wasn't worth it."

"There was never the remotest chance of my doing so."

"You said there was."

"I was chaffing, just to hear myself talk. I should have thought you
would know that."

"How could I know? You were always saying how pretty and dainty she
was, and quoting poetry about her, while all the time I could read her
shallow little mind, and see how different she was from what you
imagined."

"I think I have a fairly clear idea of her limitations."

"But you told me that you'd planned to go down to Monte Carlo
expressly to see the Contessa; and you said that it would perhaps be a
wise thing for you to try and fall in love with her."

"If a man has to try and fall in love with a woman, he's pretty safe.
You and I seem to have been playing at cross purposes, youngster. You
thought I was in danger of falling in love, and I thought you were
already in."

"You _couldn't_ have believed it, really."

"I did, and supposed you wanted me out of the way."

"I was thinking the same thing about you. You did seem jealous and
sulky."

"I was both; but it was because our friendship had been interfered
with, Little Pal."

"Oh, Man, do you really mean that?"

"Every word of it. I wouldn't give up a talk with you for a kiss from
the Contessa, of which, by the way, I'm very unlikely to have the
chance. But you----"

"I've been miserable for the last few days. I--I missed you, Man."

"And I you, Boy."

"What an awful pity it is I've got to stand up and be shot, just as
we're good friends again, and everything's all right!"

"You've got to do nothing of the sort. _Le cher_ Paolo will, if he is
really in earnest and not bluffing, send his friend to me, and matters
will be settled, never fear."

"I don't fear. At least, I--hope I don't--much. Only I wasn't brought
up to expect challenges to duels. They're not--in my line. But I won't
apologise, whatever happens. No, I won't, I won't, _I won't_. I dare
say it doesn't hurt much, being shot; and I suppose he wouldn't be
so--so impolite as to shoot me in the face, would he?"

"He is not going to shoot you anywhere," said I.

"I am glad I told you. I was feeling--rather queer. What am I to do?
Am I to go back to the villa as if nothing had happened, or--what?"

"'What' might mean coming to my hotel, but you seemed to find my
society a bore."

"That's unkind. It was your own fault that I went to a different hotel
at Chatelard."

"How do you make that out?"

"I can't tell you. I don't suppose you'll ever know. But if you should
guess, by-and-bye, remembering something you once said, you might
understand."

"Something I once said----"

"Never mind. Please don't talk of it. I'd rather be shot at. But I
want you to believe that my reason wasn't the one you thought. Now,
tell me what you're going to do about Signor di Nivoli. Have you made
a plan?"

"One has popped into my head," I replied. "It mayn't answer, but will
you give me _carte blanche_ to try? If it doesn't work, I'll get you
out of the mess in another way. But this would give us a chance of
making Paolo eat humble pie."

"Do try it, then. I'd risk a lot for that."

"As for to-night, on the whole I think the best thing will be for you
to go back to the villa. Of course we mustn't let the Contessa
suspect----"

"Little cat! I wouldn't give her the satisfaction."

"Upon my word, you're not very gallant."

"I don't care. I'm sick of the Contessa. A plague upon her, and all
her houses. Yet, I wish her nothing worse than that she should marry
Paolo. Ugh! A man with his hair _en brosse_!"

"Probably he is saying, 'Ugh! a boy with curls on his collar.'"

"May one of his old balloons fly away with him, before he shoots me.
Anyhow, he shall find that curls don't make a coward. Only--there's
just one thing before you treat with him. I won't--I _can't_--be
jabbed at with anything sharp."

"You shan't," said I.

With this, the Contessa beckoned from a distance, with news that she
was going home. We followed, the Boy and I, allowing her to walk far
ahead, with her triumphant aeronaut, the Baron and Baronessa, radiant
with satisfaction in the success of their plot, arm in arm between the
two couples.

Having seen my little Daniel to the gate of the Lions' Den, I shook
hands cordially with everybody, Paolo last of all. He placed his
fingers with haughty reluctance in my ostentatiously proffered palm,
but I held the four chilly, fish-like things (chilly only for me) long
enough to mutter, _sotto voce_: "I want a word with you on a matter of
importance. I'll walk up and down the road for twenty minutes."

His impulse was to refuse, I could see by the sharp upward toss of his
chin. But a certain quality in my look, clearly visible to him in the
light of the gate lamp (I was at some pains to produce the effect),
warned him that if his bloodthirsty plans were not to be nipped in the
red bud, he must bend his will to mine in this one instance.

He answered with a glance, and I knew that I should not be kept long
on my beat.

CHAPTER XXII

An American Custom

"Oh, have it your own way; I am too old a hand to argue
with young gentlemen, . . . I have too much experience,
thank you."--R.L. STEVENSON.

Five minutes, ten minutes passed, after the farewells. Then, as I
sauntered by on the other side of the way, I heard the sound of a foot
on gravel, and Paolo di Nivoli appeared under the gate light. There he
paused, expecting me to cross to him, but I allotted him the part of
Mahomet and selected for myself that of the Mountain. Shrugging his
square shoulders, he came striding over the road to me; and I had
scored one small victory. I hoped that I might take it for an omen.

"I do not understand the nature of this appointment, Monsieur," began
the Italian. "I intended to send my friend Captain de Sales to you
to----"

"Ah, yes, that is the Continental way in these little affairs," I
ventured to interrupt him coolly. "On our side of the Channel we are
rather ignorant on such matters, I fear. But my young friend Mr.
Laurence is an American."

"Do you mean that he will refuse to fight, after insulting me?" asked
Paolo, bristling.

"Not at all. He is very young, and this will be his first duel. He may
have misunderstood your intentions. But I gathered from him that you
had said he would have to fight; that you then requested him to name
a friend to whom you could send a friend of yours----"

"This is the fact. There was no misunderstanding. He named you."

"Yes; but as I said, he is an American."

"What of that, since he will fight?"

"As a duellist yourself, no doubt a successful one, you must be aware
that such matters are conducted differently in the States."

"I know nothing of that. I know only our own ways, which are good
enough for me."

"But my friend, being the challenged party, has the right, I believe,
to choose the manner of duel."

"That will be arranged between you and my friend, according to the
choice of Mr. Laurence."

"I must ask you to go slowly, just at this point. In the States, it is
against the duelling code to have the details arranged by the friends
of the principals. It is the principals themselves who do all that,
and for the best of reasons. But as Mr. Laurence is a boy, and you are
a man, it is but right that I should speak with you for him. You
needn't send Captain de Sales to me. We are man to man, and in ten
minutes we can have everything settled with fairness to both parties."

"This is a new idea, Monsieur, and I confess it does not commend
itself to me," said Paolo.

"I suppose, however, you are anxious to fight?"

"_Sacre bleu_, but yes. The little jackanapes called me a donkey, and
he had the impudence to allude to my invention as a 'balloon,' adding
that there was little to choose between it and my head. _Ciel!_ Do I
wish to fight?"

"Then, as you must grant him the privileges of the challenged party,
I fear there is only one way of carrying this thing through. He is
patriotic to a fault, and he will fight in the American fashion or not
at all. I must say this is to the credit of his courage, as there is
to me, an Englishman, something appalling about the method. I trust
that I'm not a coward, yet it would take all my nerve to face such an
ordeal. No doubt, however, with the fiery Latin races it is
different."

"I shall be glad of your explanation, Monsieur. What is this method of
which you speak?"

"There are several small variations; there are the bits of paper;
there are the matches; there are the beans of different size."

"I am more in the dark than ever."

"My friend proposes the bits of paper. Two are taken, exactly
resembling each other, except in length. Both are placed inside a
book, with an end, say an inch long, sticking out. You and Mr.
Laurence draw simultaneously, that there can be no question of
cheating. The one who draws the long bit lives--the other stands up to
be shot, without defending himself."

"_Mon Dieu_, how horrible! I would never submit to such a barbarous
test. That is not a duel, it is murder."

I shrugged my shoulders as gracefully, I flatter myself, as Paolo
himself could have done it. But for the moment Paolo was in no
shoulder-shrugging mood. His very crest--it seemed to me--was
drooping.

"Nevertheless," said I, "that is the American idea of a duel, as
practised in the best society. My friend is a member of the Four
Hundred, and should it become known that he had been killed in an
old-fashioned, butcherly duel, his memory would be disgraced."

"But what about my memory?" demanded Paolo, with open palms. "Monsieur
does not appear to think of that."

"It was not on my mind. I am acting for my friend. You have challenged
a boy, a mere child, to fight you to the death. He very pluckily
accepts your challenge. There are those who would think that you had
done a brutal, even a cowardly thing, in putting a youth of seventeen
or eighteen into such a position. Then, surely your most lenient
friends would say that the least you could do would be to give the
child his right of choice in weapons. Very well; he chooses two bits
of paper of different lengths."

Paolo shuddered. "I will not consent," he said, swallowing hard, after
a moment's reflection.

"Very well. You have had my friend's ultimatum. Am I to tell him that
this is yours?"

"It is not fair!" he exclaimed. "Monsieur Laurence has his friend to
act for him. As yet, I have no one."

"He is eighteen at most. You are--perhaps thirty. Still, if you
insist, I will see Captain de Sales, tell him my principal's idea, and
perhaps he will be more fortunate in inducing you to consent----"

"No, no," cried the Italian quickly. "I would not have him or anyone
know of this monstrous proposal. I should never hear the end of it,
and there would be a thousand versions of the story."

I was not surprised at this decision on his part. Indeed, I had
expected it with confidence.

"You will not reconsider?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Jamais de la vie!"

"Then the duel is off."

Paolo swore.

I smiled; but he did not see the smile. I was careful that he should
not.

"I consider that you and your principal have taken an unfair
advantage."

"That is between you and me. If you care to raise the question----"

"I have no quarrel with you."

"Then you and Mr. Laurence must treat the misunderstanding of this
evening as if it had not been. This will not be difficult, as he will
go with me on an excursion to-morrow, now that his--er--engagement
with you is off; and the day after, he and I think of leaving Aix
altogether, by way of Mont Revard."

This plan arranged itself spontaneously; but as the Boy had
ungallantly called Gaeta "a little cat," and I was slightly _blase_ of
her dimples, I thought that I might count upon its being carried out.

"What--he will go away?" exclaimed Paolo, all at once a different man.
"He will leave Aix altogether, you say?"

"Yes. You see, we are on our way south. Mr. Laurence merely wanted a
glance at Aix _en route_, and the Contessa was kind enough to invite
him to her house. It was really nice of her, as he is such a boy."

"You think so? Yes--perhaps. Well, I consent on these terms to forget.
You may tell your principal what I have said."

"I will," I returned. "He will be guided by me, and forget also;
though I assure you, like most of his countrymen, he is a
fire-eater--a fire-eater."

This time it was Paolo who volunteered to shake hands.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXIII

There is No Such Girl

"She has forgotten my kisses, and I--have forgotten her
name."--A.C. SWINBURNE.

I went early in the morning to the villa with the intention of culling
the Boy like a wayside flower, and carrying him off to the lake. The
hour was unearthly for a morning call, and the windows were still
asleep, but I was spared the necessity of raising the echoes with an
untimely peal of the bell. Under the red umbrella lounged the Boy,
reading with the appearance, at least, of nonchalance. For all he
could tell, I might have failed in my mission, and have come to
announce the hour fixed for deadly combat; but he was not even pale.
Indeed, I had never seen him rosier, or brighter-eyed.

I sat down on the rustic seat beside him, and with a glance at the
veiled windows of the villa, I remarked in a low voice, "It's all
right."

"That goes without saying."

"Why?"

"Because you promised."

"Thanks for the compliment. Have you had your _cafe au lait_?"

"No. I got up early, and thought of walking round to your hotel to see
you, but decided I wouldn't."

"I half expected you."

"I didn't want to seem too--importunate. I hoped you'd come here."

"Like a promising child, I've justified your hopes. Let's walk down to
the Grand Port, to a garden restaurant I remember; and over our
coffee, I'll tell you the story of my diplomatic _coup_. Meanwhile,
we'll discuss Shakespeare and the musical glasses."

"Anything but the Contessa," said the Boy, springing up, and cramming
his panama over his curls. "I shall breathe more freely on the other
side of the gate, and I shan't consider myself out of the scrape until
I'm out of her house for good."

In the street he drew fuller breaths, and with each yard of distance
that we put between ourselves and the villa his eyes grew brighter and
his step more airy.

I unfolded my plan for the morning, which was to take a trip up the
lake to the Abbey of Hautecombe, and return in time for _dejeuner_,
since, as a guest of the Contessa, the Boy could scarcely absent
himself all day without conspicuous rudeness. "You'll have to be tied
to the lady's apron strings, if she wants you knotted there, for the
afternoon," said I. "But I'm going to have a telegram from my friends
to meet them on the top of Mont Revard to-morrow, so if you want an
excuse----"

"What, your friends the Winstons?" he broke in, with one of the sudden
flaming blushes that made him seem so young.

"Yes, why not?"

"They are coming to join you?"

"I told you they might turn up at any moment, and----"

"And now the moment has arrived. Then it has also arrived for us to
say good-bye."

"Do you mean that?"

"Oh, don't think me ungrateful--or ungracious. I'm neither. But, in
any case, we must sooner or later have reached the parting of the
ways. You are bound to Monte Carlo. I have--the vaguest plans."

"I thought you said that your sister might be going there with
friends."

"But my sister and I are--very different persons."

"Surely you would wish to meet her there?"

"It's rather undecided at present, anyhow," returned the Boy, his eyes
bent on the ground as we walked, our steps less sprightly now.
"There's only one thing settled, which is, that I can't go with you up
Mont Revard to meet--people."

"There isn't the slightest chance of my meeting anyone there, friend
Diogenes," I began. "I was only waiting for you to give me time to
explain, since you're inclined to be obtuse, the difference between
sending a telegram to yourself, and----"

"Oh, I see. You aren't going to meet a soul on Mont Revard?"

"Not even an astral body--by appointment. And the plan was made for
your deliverance. Rather hard lines that you should kick at it."

He looked up, laughing and merry once more. "I won't kick again. Man,
you are--well, you're different from other men. Yes, from every other
man I've ever met."

"Am I to take that as praise?"

He nodded, his big eyes sending blue rays into mine.

"Thanks. Best man you ever met?"

Another nod, and more colour in his cheeks.

"Good enough to be introduced to your sister?"

"Good enough--even for that."

"What if I should fall in love with her?"

The Boy straightened his shoulders, after a slight start of surprise,
and seemed to pull himself together. For a moment he was silent, as we
walked on under the close-growing plane trees which lined the long,
straight road to the Grand Port. Then at last he said, "You wouldn't."

"How can you tell that?"

"Because--she isn't--your style."

"You don't know my 'style' of girl."

"Oh, yes, I do. Don't you remember a talk we had, the first day we
were friends? We told each other a lot of things. I can see that girl;
the girl who--who----"

"Jilted me," I supplied. "Don't hesitate to call a spade a spade."

"A lovely, angelic-looking creature, typically English; golden hair;
skin like cream and roses."

"The type has palled upon me," said I. "I know now that Molly
Winston--my friend's wife--was right. I never really loved that girl.
It was her popularity and my own vanity that I was in love with."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as that I'm starving for my breakfast. If the young
lady--she's married now, and I wish her all happiness--should appear
before me at the end of this street, and sob out a confession of
repentance for the past, it wouldn't in the least affect my appetite.
I should tell her not to mind, and hurry on to join you at the
corner."

"You would have forgotten by that time that there was a Me."

"I can't think of anyone or anything at the moment which would make
me forget that," said I.

"The Contessa?"

"Not she, nor any other pretty doll."

"An earthquake, then?"

"Nor an earthquake: for I should probably occupy myself in trying to
save your life. To tell the honest truth, Little Pal, you've become a
confirmed habit with me, and I confess that the thought of finishing
this tramp without you gave me a distinct shock, when you flung it at
my head. If you were open to the idea of adoption, I think I should
have to adopt you, you know: for, now that I've got used to seeing you
about, it seems to me that, as certain advertisements say of the
articles they recommend, no home would be complete without you. But
there's your sister; she would object to annexation."

The Boy was busily kicking fallen leaves as he walked. "You might ask
her--if you should ever see each other."

"Make her meet you at Monte Carlo, and introduce us there. I'll tell
you what I'll do. I'll give a dinner at the Hotel de Paris--the night
after we arrive. It shall be in your hands, and of course your
sister's, who ought to know your pal. You must try hard to get her to
come. Is it a bargain?"

"I can't answer for her."

"But I only ask you to try your hardest. Come now, when I've told you
about last night, you'll say I deserve a reward."

"Yes, I'll try."

"But, by Jove, I'd forgotten that your sister is an heiress," I went
on. "I've vowed not to fall in love with a girl who has a lot of
money."

"I told you that you wouldn't fall in love with her."

"Is she like you?"

"A good many people think so. That's why I'm so sure she wouldn't be
the sort of girl you'd care for--you, a man who admires the English
rose type or--a Contessa."

"The Contessa was your affair. For me, a woman of her type could never
be dangerous. Whereas, a girl like your sister----"

"Still harping on my sister!"

"I often think of her as 'The Princess.' It's a pretty name. I fancy
it suits her. Once or twice, since we've been chums, you have had
letters, I know. I hope you've better news of her?"

"She's cured in body and mind. It is--rather a queer coincidence,
perhaps, for like you, she has found out, so she tells me--that she
wasn't really in love with--the man. She was only in love with love."

"I'm heartily glad. If she's as true and brave a little soul, as
glorious a pal as you are, she will one day make some fellow the
happiest man alive."

The Boy did not answer. Perhaps he was overwhelmed with the indirect
praise suddenly heaped upon him; perhaps he thought that I spoke too
freely of the Princess his sister. I was not sure, myself, that I had
not gone beyond good taste; but calling up the picture of a girl,
resembling in character the Little Pal, had stirred me to sudden
enthusiasm. Fancy a girl looking at one with such eyes! a girl capable
of being such a companion. It would not bear thinking of. There could
be no such girl.

I was glad that, at this moment, we arrived at the Grand Port, and the
garden restaurant, where my regrets for the light that never was on
land or sea--or in a girl's eyes--were temporarily drowned in _cafe au
lait_.

The talk was no more of the unseen Princess, but of Paolo. At last I
condescended to enter into a detailed account of the night's
happenings, where the aeronaut was concerned, and the Boy threw up his
chin, showing his little white teeth in a burst of laughter at my
manoeuvre. "But that _isn't_ an American duel," he objected, still
rippling with mirth. "You commit suicide, you know. The man who draws
the short bit of paper agrees to go quietly off and kill himself
decently somewhere, before the end of a stipulated time."

"I'm aware of that, but I gambled on Paolo's ignorance of the custom,"
said I. "I flattered myself that I'd totted up his character like a
sum on a slate, and I acted on the estimate I formed. If I had kept
entirely to facts, without giving the rein to my imagination, you
might now be doomed to travel at this time next year to Buda-Pesth,
and there drown yourself in the largest possible vat of beer. Had
Paolo been unlucky in the matter of getting the short bit of paper, a
little thing like that wouldn't have bothered him much. He would
simply have gone off for a long trip in his newest air-ship, and
conveniently forgotten such an obscure engagement. It was the thought
of standing up defenceless, to be artistically potted at by you, that
turned his heart to water."

"I believe you're right, and anyway, you are very clever," said the
Boy. "What does one do for a man who has saved one's life?"

"If you were only a girl, now--a Princess in a fairy story--you would
bestow upon me your hand," I replied gaily. "As it is--I can't at the
moment think of a punishment to fit the crime."

"Though I can't be a Princess, I might play the Prince, and give you a
ring," he said, pulling at the queer seal ring he always wore.

"But it wouldn't fit the crime--I mean the finger."

"Mere mortals never argue when the fairy Prince makes them a present.
Do take the ring. I should like you to have it to--remember me by."

"To remember you by? But such chums as we have got to be don't give
memory much pull; they arrange to see each other often."

"Fairy Princes vanish sometimes, you know."

"If I take your ring, will you appear if I rub it?"

The Boy was smiling, but his eyes looked grave. "If when the Fairy
Prince has vanished--that is, if he _should_--you want to see him
really badly, try rubbing the ring. It might work. But you'll probably
lose the ring before that--and the memory."

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