The Princess Passes by Alice Muriel Williamson and Charles Norris Williamson

A >> Alice Muriel Williamson and Charles Norris Williamson >> The Princess Passes

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I recalled our parting, and found new meaning in the words he had
spoken at his door. There was no doubt about it; even then he had
decided to break away from me.

I realised this, and at the same instant rebelled against the
decision. I determined not to accept it. He had vanished because of
the two Americans; exactly why, I could not even guess, but I was
certain that the reason was not to his discredit. To theirs, perhaps,
but not to his. Nevertheless, they were somehow to blame for my loss,
and if the young men had appeared at this moment, I should have been
impelled to do them a mischief.

The principal thing was, however, not to let them cheat me irrevocably
of my comrade. I would not depend solely upon that hint about Monte
Carlo. I would find out where he had gone, and I would follow. Let him
be angry if he would. His anger, though a hot flame while it burned,
never endured long.

"Did Monsieur leave here by rail?" I enquired of Innocentina.

She shrugged her shoulders. "That I cannot tell."

"Do you mean you can't, or won't?"

"I know nothing, Monsieur, except that I have been paid well, and told
that I may go home as soon as I like, and by what route I like, having
delivered the letter to Monsieur. My young master gave me enough to
return with the donkeys to Mentone all the way from Chambery by rail
if I chose; but I prefer to walk down, and keep the extra money for my
_dot_. It will make me a good one."

I am not sure that, before disentangling a huge bottle-fly from
Fanny's long lashes, she did not glance under her own at Joseph, when
giving this information.

"Look here, Innocentina," I said beguilingly, "tell me which way, and
how, your young Monsieur has gone, and I will double that _dot_ of
yours."

"Not if you would quadruple it, Monsieur. I promised my master to say
nothing."

"Couldn't you get absolution for breaking a promise?"

"No, Monsieur. I am not that kind of Catholic. It is only heretics
who break their promises, and take money for it--like Judas Iscariot."

Joseph did not charge at this red rag, but looked so utterly depressed
that Innocentina's eyes relented.

"Very well," I said. "You deserve praise for your loyalty. I ought not
to have tried to corrupt it. But, you know, I shall find out in the
town, or at the railway station."

Innocentina smiled. "I do not think so, Monsieur."

"We shall see," I retorted. "Joseph, where is the railway station?"

Joseph pointed, accompanying his gesture with directions. Then he
offered to be my guide, but I refused his services and left him with
Innocentina, having bidden him call at my room in the hotel for
instructions later.

But the prophecy of Innocentina the Seeress was fulfilled. I could
learn nothing of the Boy or his movements, at the _gare_ of Chambery.
Several trains had gone out, bound for several destinations in
different directions, during the past three hours, and no one
answering the description I gave of the Boy had been seen to leave.

Sadder, but no wiser, I returned to the Hotel de France, and asked if
a youth of seventeen, "with large blue eyes, chestnut hair which
curled, a complexion tanned brown, a panama hat, and a suit of
navy-blue serge knickerbockers," had lunched there.

The answer was no. Such a yoking gentleman had not come to the hotel,
nor had he been noticed in the town, either with or without a young
woman and a couple of donkeys.

I had no more than finished my questionings and gone up to my room,
when Joseph arrived--a wistful, expectant Joseph, with a deep light of
excitement burning in his eyes.

"Any news?" I asked.

"No, Monsieur, except that in an hour Innocentina starts to walk on to
Les Echelles with her _anes_."

"She is energetic."

"The girl knows not what is the fatigue. Besides, each day less on the
road means so many more francs added to the _dot_."

"Innocentina seems very keen upon increasing that _dot_. Has she
anyone in view to share it with her?"

"She has not confided that to me, Monsieur."

"I suppose he would have to be a good Catholic?"

"Of that I am not so sure. I do not think she would object to a good
Protestant, if he would allow the children to be brought up in her
faith."

"The lady is brave. She takes time by the forelock."

"It is the wise way, Monsieur."

"Well, whoever he may be, I am sure _you_ do not envy the future
_mari_, _dot_ or no _dot_. Your opinion of Innocentina----"

"Ah, it is changed, Monsieur, completely changed, I confess."

"Then, after all, it is Innocentina who has converted you."

Joseph bent his head to hide a flush. "Perhaps, Monsieur, if you put
it in that way. Yet it was not of myself nor of Innocentina I came to
talk, but of the plans of Monsieur."

"Plans? I've no plans," I answered dejectedly.

"Will Monsieur wish to proceed to-morrow morning as usual?"

"Proceed where?" I gloomily capped his question with another.

"On the way south, towards the Riviera, is it not? If we made an early
start, it might be possible to go by the route of la Grande
Chartreuse, and reach the monastery late in the afternoon. If Monsieur
wished to sleep there, travellers are accommodated at the Sister
House, which has been turned into an hotellerie since the expulsion of
the Order."

I reflected a moment before replying. On the face of it, it appeared
like weakness to change my plans simply because I had been deserted by
a comrade whose very existence had been unknown to me when first I
made them. Yet, on the other hand, I had grown so used to his
companionship now, that the thought of continuing my journey without
him was distasteful. With the Little Pal, no day had ever seemed too
long, no misadventure but had had its spice. Lacking the Little Pal,
the vista of day after day spent in covering the country at the rate
of three miles an hour loomed before me monotonous as the treadmill.
My gorge rose against it. I could not go on as I had begun. Why punish
myself by a diet of salt when the savour had gone?

"Joseph," I said at last, "the disappearance of the young Monsieur has
been a blow to me, I admit. It has destroyed my appetite for
sightseeing, for the moment, at all events. I can't rearrange my plans
instantly; but this I have determined. I'll end my walking-tour here.
What to do afterwards I will make up my mind in good time, but
meanwhile, I won't keep you dancing attendance upon me. You will be
anxious to get back home----"

"Monsieur, I have no home." There was despair in Joseph's tone, and
suddenly the keen point of truth pierced the armour of my selfishness.
Poor Joseph, facing exile--from Innocentina--and keeping his
countenance politely, while I densely discoursed of "blows"! Being a
muleteer "farmed out" by a master, he was at the mercy of Fate, and
temporarily I represented Fate. He could not journey on southwards,
whither his heart was wandering, unless I bade him go. This fine
fellow, this old soldier, was as much at my orders as if I had been a
king.

"If you aren't in a hurry to get back to Martigny, Joseph," said I,
changing my tone, "I'll tell you what you can do for me. You may take
some of my luggage down to the Riviera. I'm expecting a portmanteau to
arrive here by rail to-night or to-morrow morning, with plenty of
clothing in it. But there are those hold-alls which Finois has carried
for so long. I can't travel about with them in railway carriages; at
that I draw the line; yet if I sent them by _grande vitesse_, their
contents would be injured or stolen. Take them down to Monte Carlo for
me. I shall go there sooner or later, to meet some friends of mine who
are motoring, and I shall stop at the Royal."

Joseph's face would have put radium to shame, with the light it
generated.

"Monsieur is not joking? He is in earnest?" the poor fellow stammered.

"Most certainly. And when we meet on the Riviera, we will talk over a
scheme for your future of which I've been thinking. If you would like
to buy Finois of your patron, and two or three other animals only
less admirable than he, setting up in business for yourself, I think I
know a man who might advance you the money."

"Oh, Monsieur!"

Had there been a little more of the French, or a little less of the
Swiss, in honest Joseph's blood, I think that he would have fallen on
his knees and rained kisses on my mild-stained boots. The Swiss upped
the balance, luckily for us both, and kept him erect; but there was a
suspicious glitter in his deep eyes, and a sudden pinkness of his
respectable brown nose, which gave to his "Oh, Monsieur!" more meaning
than a volume of protestations.

His hand came out impulsively, then flew back humbly to his side, but
I put out mine and grasped it.

"Monsieur, I would die for you," he said.

"I would prefer," I returned, "that you should live--for Innocentina."

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXVII

The Strange Mushroom

"Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with
my face?"
--SHAKESPEARE.

When Joseph had gone, with his pockets and his heart both full to
bursting, I felt much like the captain of a small fishing vessel,
wrecked in strange seas, who has seen his comrades depart on rafts,
while he stayed on board his sinking ship alone with three biscuits
and a gill of water. There was also a certain resemblance between me
and a well-meaning plant which has been pulled up by its roots just as
it had begun to grow nicely, and then stuck into the earth again,
upside down, to do the best it can.

I was not quite sure yet which was up or down, and which way I had
better grow, if at all. There was, however, an attraction in a
southerly direction: letters were to be forwarded to me at Grenoble,
and there would probably be one from Jack or Molly Winston, saying
when and where they might be expected to come upon the scene with
Mercedes. Finding me stranded, they would doubtless take pity upon my
forlornness, and offer me a lift in their car, down to the Riviera.
And to the Riviera I still felt strongly impelled to go, though I had
no longer the Contessa for an excuse. She had been engaged, in my
little drama, for the part of "leading juvenile," with the privilege
of understudying the heroine. But she had not shown an aptitude for
either role, and having stepped down to that of first walking lady,
she had minced off my stage altogether. Now the cast was filled up
without her, though strangely filled, since after the first act there
had been no leading lady at all. Nevertheless, having arranged a scene
at Monte Carlo I could not persuade myself to give it up, though it
would not be played, in any event, at the Contessa's villa.

The Boy had vanished, and the sole word he had left was that I had
better not count upon seeing him again. But the more I thought of it,
the less necessity I saw for taking him at that word. He perhaps
flattered himself that he had picked up all clues and carried them off
with him in the wonderful bag. But he had purposefully hinted that
"something might happen at Monte Carlo," and I hoped the something
might mean that, after all, the Boy would materialise with his sister
at the Hotel de Paris on the night after our arrival. In any case, if
the Princess were going to Monte Carlo, there would the Fairy Prince
be also, and I did not see why I should not be there too, whether
Molly and Jack tooled me down in their motor or not.

Fifteen minutes after Joseph had gone from my life to mingle his lot
with Innocentina's, I had my own plans definitely mapped out. I would
stop in Chambery overnight, to wait for the portmanteau with which I
had kept up a speaking acquaintance in the larger centres of
civilisation, during the tour, and next day I would go on to Grenoble
by train, there to pick up letters.

The luggage duly arrived in the evening, so that there was no bar to
the carrying out of my design; and, accordingly, after my coffee on
the following morning, I conscientiously went out to see more of the
town before taking the eleven-o'clock train.

It was only ten, and as my arrangements were all made, I had time for
strolling--too much to suit my mood. The murmur of an automobile
preparing to take flight attracted me from a distance, for it seemed
that the voice had the cadence of a car I knew. I hastened my steps,
turned a corner, and there, in front of the Hotel de France's rival,
stood a fine motor, panting, quivering in eagerness to dart away.

It was a Mercedes, and if it were not Molly Winston's wedding-present
Mercedes, it was that Mercedes' twin. But there was a strange mushroom
in it.

I would have known Molly's mushroom among a thousand. It was small,
round, compact, and of a dark cream colour. This mushroom was flatter,
wider, more expansive, with an exceedingly slender stem; and in tint
it was of a pale silvery grey. It grew up straight and slim in the
tonneau of the car, all alone, unaccompanied by any similar growths,
or any guardian goblins; and several servants of the hotel were
grouped about, waiting to see it off.

I waited, too, sniffing adventure with the scent of petrol, and
interested in the resemblance to that good Dragon with which I had
been friends; but I was about to turn away at last when a form which
had evidently been squatting behind the car on the other side, rose to
its feet. It was that of Gotteland, and had he been a long-lost uncle
from Australia with his pockets crammed with wills in my favour, I
could not have been more delighted to see him.

As I rushed forward to claim him as my own, Molly and Jack came out of
the hotel.

"Monty!" Jack cried, with a sincerity of joy which warmed my heart.
As for his wife, she cried not at all, but merely gasped.

"What luck for me!" I exclaimed, shaking both Molly's hands so hard
that it was fortunate (as she remarked afterwards) that she had on
"only her rainy-day rings." "I did hope to hear of you at Grenoble,
but scarcely dared think of actually meeting you, even there. In two
minutes more I should have been on the way to catch my train."

"Here's your train, old man," said Jack, indicating the throbbing
automobile.

"My one true love, Mercedes," I remarked, looking fondly at the car.

"Sh!" whispered Molly, with an odd little sound which was like a
giggle strangled at birth. "She's there."

"Who?" I started, bewildered.

"Mercedes."

"I know; the darling! I long to have my hands on her again."

"Oh, Lord Lane, do be careful! You don't understand. I mean the real
Mercedes. The girl who gave me the car. She's sitting there. She'll
hear you."

"It's all right," said Jack. "The motor's making such a row, she
wouldn't catch the words."

"She joined us h--lately," explained Molly hurriedly.

"I remember now. You used to talk rather a lot about her and want us
to meet."

"Well, you have your wish now, dearie," Jack chimed in. "You can
introduce them with your own fair hand."

"Wait--wait." Molly whispered piteously, as Jack would have taken a
step forward, and pulled me with him, a peculiarly dare-devil look in
his handsome eyes. "For _goodness'_ sake, Jack!"

Her voice restrained him, and again we were in conclave. "You see,
Lord Lane, it's rather awkward. We want you to go on with us,
immensely, but----"

"You're awfully good," I hastily cut in. "But I quite see, and I
couldn't think of----"

"Oh, please, that isn't what I meant. Now, will you and Jack both be
quite quiet, like angels, and let me talk for a while, till I make
everything clear to everybody, about everybody else. Don't grin. I
know I'm not beginning well, but the beginning's the difficult part.
We wrote to you, Lord Lane, to Grenoble, saying we would be arriving
about as soon as you got the letter. We didn't know whether we could
tear you away from your mule or not; but anyhow, we should have seen
each other and got each other's news. Then this friend of mine joined
us unexpectedly; at least, we thought we might meet her, but we
weren't at all sure she would want to travel with us. However, here
she is, and she's a perfect dear; and next to Jack and Dad I love her
better than anybody else in the world. Besides, she gave me the car;
and you know I told you how ill she had been, and how she was
travelling for her health. Altogether we have to consider her before
anyone; and I want to know, Lord Lane, if you'll think me a regular
little beast if I speak to her first, before we arrange anything?"

I opened my lips to answer with a complimentary protest, but before I
could frame a word, she had rushed to the two Mercedes, her mushroom
hanging limp in her hand, and had entered into a low-voiced
conversation with the human namesake.

"Look here, Jack; I wouldn't put you out for the world," I said. "As
for tearing myself from the mule, that surgical operation has already
been performed, and I was going on to Monte Carlo----"

"That's our goal," cut in Jack. "Molly maligned the place of old days.
Now I want her to do it justice. You and I will show her Monte at its
best."

"Yes, but I'll go down by rail, and meet you there."

"You'll do nothing of the kind. Molly's friend is one of the most
charming girls alive, but she has passed through a great trouble,
followed by a severe illness. She came to us in some distress of mind,
and we are bound, as Molly says, to consider her, as she may not think
herself equal to intercourse with strangers. However, all that's
necessary is to explain you to her, as I am now explaining her to you,
and the thing settles itself. There can be no question of your not
going on with us. You and Mercedes won't interfere with each other in
the least, because, you see, now that you've turned up, the thing is
to get down quietly, and--and enjoy ourselves at the journey's end.
We'll make a rush of it. In any case, Molly would have sat in the
tonneau with her friend, and the only difference you will make in our
arrangements is that I shall have you as a companion in front instead
of Gotteland."

At this moment our fair emissary returned from the enemy's camp.

"Mercedes says that not for anything would she cheat us out of your
company," announced Molly. "Only she hopes you won't think her rude
and horrid if she doesn't talk. There's her message; but I really
think, Lord Lane, that the best thing is to take no notice of the poor
child. She is very nervous and upset still, but I hope in a few days
she will be herself again. I won't even introduce you to her. She and
I will sit in the tonneau, as quiet as two kittens, while you and Jack
in front can talk over all your adventures since you met, and forget
our existence. We shan't be so very long on the way, shall we, Jack?"

I began another "but," which was scornfully disregarded by both Jack
and Molly. I might as well consent now, as later, they said, since
they would simply refuse to leave Chambery without me, and the longer
I took to see reason, the more _essence_ would the motor be wasting.

Thus adjured, I allowed myself to be hustled off to my hotel by Jack,
who insisted on accompanying me lest I should turn traitor on the way.
In ten minutes Gotteland would drive the car to the door of the
France, and I was expected to be ready by that time. My packing had
been done before I went out, by the united efforts of a _valet de
chambre_ and myself; but now all had to be undone again; my motoring
coat (unused for weeks and aged in appearance by as many years)
dragged up from the lowest stratum with my goblin-goggles, and a few
small things dashed into a weird travelling bag which a confused
porter rushed out to buy at a neighbouring shop. While I settled the
hotel bill, Jack arranged to have my portmanteau expressed to
Grenoble, and by a scramble our tasks were finished when the voice of
the car called us to the door.

The whole incident had happened so quickly, that I had no time to
realise the change in my circumstances, when, "sole, like a falling
star," the motor "shot through the pillared town" with me on board.

There had been a time when I shrank from the name of the car's giver,
believing that Molly thrust it too obviously into notice. When "that
dear girl Mercedes" had threatened to enter our conversations I had
often kept her out by force; but now it seemed that I, not she, was
the intruder, and in a far more material way. This was, perhaps,
poetical justice, but I did not grudge it, since it was evident that
Molly no longer cherished the intention of dangling her friend the
heiress before me like a brilliant fly over the nose of an impecunious
trout. On the contrary, she warned me off the premises. We were to
hurry down to Monte Carlo as quickly as possible, that the situation
might not be overstrained. Mercedes in the tonneau, I in the front
seat, were to live and let live during the rapid journey, and this was
well.

I dimly remembered that, in the first days of our journey in search of
a mule, Molly had vaunted her friend's beauty, but the silver-grey
mushroom prevented me from verifying or disproving this statement. The
small, triangular talc window was greyly-opaque, or else there was a
grey veil underneath; my one glance had not told me which, and I
neither dared nor desired to steal another.

Jack supplied the blanks in our somewhat broken correspondence, by
skimming over the details of their doings; how they had spent most of
their time since our parting in Switzerland; how they had arrived at
Aix-les-Bains the very morning we left for Mont Revard; and how they
had motored to Chambery yesterday afternoon.

"Think of my being in the same town with you for more than twelve
hours, and not knowing it!" I exclaimed. "To borrow an expression of
Mrs. Winston's, I was jolly 'low in my mind' last night, and the very
thought that you two were close by would have been cheering."

I had not dared address myself to Molly in the other camp, but
evidently all communication between the lines was not to be broken
off. The wind must have carried my words to her ear, for she bent
forward, leaning her arm on the back of our seat.

"Did you say you were miserable last night?" she inquired with
flattering eagerness.

"Yes. Awfully miserable."

"Poor Lord Lane! I haven't understood yet exactly why you suddenly
gave up your walking tour, and got the idea of going on by rail. I
thought from your letters you were having such a good time, that we
could hardly bribe you to desert--your party and come with us, even at
Grenoble."

"My party deserted me, and that was the end of my 'good time,'" I
replied, charmed with Molly's conception of the role of a "quiet
kitten" whose existence was to be forgotten. As if any man could ever
forget hers!

"What, your nice Joseph and his Finois?" she inquired.

"When I speak of 'my party' I refer particularly to the boy I wrote
you about," I returned, far from averse to being drawn out on the
subject of my troubles, though I had resolved, were I not intimately
questioned, to let them prey upon my damask cheek.

"Oh, yes, that wonderful American boy. Did he keep right on being
wonderful all the time, or did he turn out disappointing in the end?"

"Disappointing!" I echoed. "No; rather the other way round. He was
always surprising me with new qualities. I never saw anyone like him."

"Ah, perhaps that's because you never knew other American boys. I dare
say if I'd met him I shouldn't have found him so remarkable."

"Yes, you would," I protested. "There could be no two opinions about
it."

"Is he good-looking?"

"Extraordinarily. Such eyes as his are wasted on a boy--or would be on
any other boy. If he'd been a girl, he would have been one for a man
to fall head over ears in love with."

"You're enthusiastic! Hasn't he got any sisters?"

"He has one, who is supposed to be like him. I was promised--or partly
promised--to meet her in Monte Carlo, at the end of our journey, where
the Boy expected her to join him."

"Oh, has he been called away by her?"

"I don't think so."

"I fancied that might have been why he left you."

"I don't know what his reason was, but I have faith enough in the
little chap to be sure it was a _good one_."

"Sure you didn't bore each other?"

"If you had ever seen that boy, you'd know that the word 'bore' would
perish in his presence like a microbe in hot water. As for me--I don't
believe I bored him. He did say once that we would part when we came
to the 'turnstile,' meaning the point of mutual boredom, but I can't
believe the turnstile was in his sight. I think that his resolution to
go was sudden and unexpected."

"He must have been an interesting boy, and you ought to be grateful to
Fate for sending him your way because apparently he gave you no time
for brooding on the past."

"The past? Oh, by Jove, I couldn't think what you meant for a second.
You have a right to say 'I told you so,' Mrs. Winston. There was
nothing in all that, you know, except a little wounded vanity; and you
know, _you_ are really the Fate I have to thank for finding it out so
soon."

"What _do_ you mean?" exclaimed Molly, almost as if she were
frightened. "I did nothing at all. I----"

"You took me away with you and Jack. The rest followed."

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