IN THE NAME OF A WOMAN

“SHE FIRED TWO SHOTS IN RAPID SUCCESSION.”—Page [19].

IN THE NAME OF
A WOMAN

A Romance

By
A. W. MARCHMONT
Author of
“By Right of Sword,” “A Dash
for a Throne,” etc.

Illustrated by
D. MURRAY SMITH

Third Edition.

NEW YORK
Frederick A. Stokes Company
Publishers

Copyright, 1900, by

ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT.

CONTENTS.

IN THE NAME OF A WOMAN

CHAPTER I
A NIGHT ADVENTURE IN SOFIA

“Help!”

The cry, faint but strenuous, in a woman’s voice, rang out on the heavy hot night air, and told me that one of those abominable deeds that were so rife in the lawless Bulgarian capital was in progress, and I hastened forward in angry perplexity trying to locate the sound.

I knew what it meant. I had been strolling late through the hot, close streets between the Park and the Cathedral, when a woman closely hooded had hurried past me, dogged by a couple of skulking, scuttling spies, and I had turned to follow them. Across the broad Cathedral Square I had lost sight of them, and, taking at random one of the streets on the opposite side of the square, I was walking and listening for some sound to guide me in their direction.

“Help!” came the cry again, this time close to me from behind a pair of large wooden gates, one of which stood ajar. I pushed it open and crossed the courtyard before a large house, loosening as I ran the blade of the sword-stick I carried. The house was in darkness in the front, and as I dashed round to the back the cry was uttered for the third time, while I caught the sounds of struggling.

There was a light in one of the lower rooms, the long casement window of which stood partly open, and the beams came straggling in a thin line between some nearly closed curtains. With a spring I caught the ledge, and, drawing up my head level with the window, looked in.

What I saw told me that my worst fears were being realised. The woman who had passed me in the street was struggling with frantic effort to hold the door of the room against someone who was fighting to get in. Her cloak was off, and her head and face uncovered. She was a tall, lithe, strenuous creature, obviously of great strength and determination, and the whiteness of the face, now set and resolute, was thrown up into the strongest contrast by a mass of bright red hair, some of which the fierceness of the struggle had loosened. She was striving and straining with enormous energy, despite the fact that she was bleeding badly from a wound somewhere in the shoulder or upper arm.

As I glanced in, she turned her head in my direction with the look of a tigress at bay; and I guessed that she was calculating the possibilities of escape by means of the window. But the momentary relaxation of her resistance gave the men a better chance, and, to my horror, I saw one of them get his arm in and slash and thrust at her with his knife.

She answered with a greater effort of her own, however, and succeeded in jamming the man’s arm between the door and the lintel, making him cry out with an oath that reached me.

But so unequal a struggle could only end in one way, and that very speedily unless I intervened; so I scrambled on to the window ledge, and with a cry leapt into the room. At the noise of my appearance, mistaking me no doubt for a third ruffian come to attack her, the woman’s courage gave out; she uttered a cry of despair and rushed away to a corner of the room. She released the door so suddenly that the two men came staggering and blundering into the room, almost falling, and I recognised them as the two rascals I had seen following her.

“Have no fear, madame; I am here to help you,” I said, and, before the two ruffians had recovered from the surprise of my appearance, I was upon them. One could not stop his rush till he was close to me, and, having him at this disadvantage, I crashed my fist into his face with a tremendous blow, knocking him down with such force that his head fell with a heavy thud against the floor, and his dagger flew out of his hand and spun clattering across the room almost to the feet of the woman.

The second was more wary, but in a trice I whipped out my sword, held him at bay, and vowed in stern, ringing tones that I would run him through the body if he wasn’t outside the room in a brace of seconds. I saw him flinch. He had no stomach for this kind of fight, and he was giving way before me when a cry from the man I had knocked down drew our attention.

The woman, seeing her chance, had picked up the rascal’s dagger, and with the light of murder in her eyes, was stealing upon the fallen man.

Instantly I sprang between her and him.

“No, no, madame; no bloodshed!” I cried to her; and then to the men, “Be off, while your skins are whole!” The words were not out of my lips before the unarmed man had already reached the door in full flight, and his companion, seeing I meant to act only on the defensive, and recognising the uselessness of any further attack, followed him, though less precipitately.

“Why did you stop me killing such a brute?” cried the woman angrily, her eyes blazing. “They both meant to murder me, and would have done it if you had not come. They had earned death.”

“But I did not come to play the butcher,” I answered somewhat sternly, repelled by her indifference to bloodshed.

“Follow them and kill them now!” she cried vindictively. “Do you hear? Kill them before they carry the story of this rescue to their masters;” and in her frenzy she took hold of my arm and shook it, urging me toward the door.

“Better see to your wound,” I returned, as I sheathed my sword.

“Bah, you are mad! I have no patience with you!” She shrugged her shoulders as though I were little better than a contemptible coward, and walked to the end of the room and stood in the lamplight half turned away from me.

The pose revealed to me the full majestic grace of her form, while the profile of her face, as thrown into half shadow by the rather dim light of the room, set me wondering. It was not a beautiful face. The features, nose and mouth especially, were too large, the cheek bones too high, the colour too pale; but it was a face full of such power and strength and resource that it compelled your admiration and silenced your critical judgment. A woman to be remarked anywhere.

But when she turned her eyes upon me a moment later, they seemed to rivet me with an indescribable and irresistible fascination. In striking contrast to the rich red hair and the pale skin, the eyes were as black as night. The iris almost as dark as the pupil, the white opalescent in its clearness, and fringed with lashes and brows of deep brown. She caught my gaze on her, and held it with a look so intense that I could scarcely turn away.

Her bosom was heaving, and her breath coming and going quickly with her exertions and excitement, and after a moment, without saying a word, she threw herself into a low chair and hid her face in her hands.

Who could she be? That she was a woman of station was manifest. The richness of her dress, the appointments of the room, told this plainly, even if her mien and carriage had not proclaimed it; and yet she seemed alone in the house. It was a position of considerable embarrassment, and for the moment I did not know what to do.

I had no wish to be mixed up in any such intrigue as was clearly at the bottom of this business; and though I was glad to have saved her life, I was anxious to be gone before any further developments should involve me in unpleasant consequences.

There was no more dangerous hornet’s nest of intrigue and conspiracy than Sofia to be found in Europe at that time, and the secret mission which had brought me to the city about a fortnight before was more than enough to tax all my energies and power, without any such additional complication as this adventure seemed to promise. My object was to get to the bottom of the secret machinations by which Russia was endeavouring to close her grip of iron on the throne and country of Bulgaria, and, if possible, thwart them; and I had been trying and testing by every secret means at my command to find a path that would lead me to my end. It must be a delicate and dangerous task enough under the best auspices, but if I were to be embarrassed now by the coils of any private vengeance feud, I ran a good chance of being baffled completely.

Even before this night the difficulties in my way had appeared as hopeless as the perils were inevitable; and I had felt as a man might feel who had resolved to stay the progress of a railway train by laying his head on the metals. But if this affair were as deadly as it seemed, I might find my head struck off before even the train came in sight.

Yet to leave such a woman in this helpless plight was the act of a coward, and not to be thought of for a moment; and I stood looking at her in sheer perplexity and indecision.

She lay back in her seat for some minutes, making no attempt to call assistance, not even taking her hands from her face, and paying no heed whatever to her wound, the blood from which had stained her dress.

I roused myself at length, and, feeling the sheer necessity of doing something, went to the door and called loudly for the servants.

“It is useless to call; there is no one in the house,” she said, her voice now trembling slightly; and with a deep sigh she rose from her chair, and after a moment’s pause crossed the room to me. She fixed her eyes upon my face; her look had changed from that of the vengeful Fury who had repelled me with her violent recklessness of passion to one of ineffable sweetness, tenderness, and gratitude. Out of her eyes had died down all the wildness, and what remained charmed and thrilled me, until I felt myself almost constrained to throw myself at her feet in eagerness to do whatever she bade me.

“You will think me an ingrate, or a miser of my thanks, sir,” she said in a tone rich and soft; “and yet, believe me, my heart is full of gratitude.”

“Please say no more,” I replied, with a wave of the hand; “but tell me, can I be of any further service? Your wound—can I not get you assistance?”

She paid no heed to the question, but remained gazing steadfastly into my eyes. Then her face broke into a smile that transfigured it until it seemed to glow with a quite radiant beauty.

“Yes, indeed, you can serve me—if you will; but not only in the manner you think. The servants have deserted the house. I am alone to-night—alone and quite in your power.” She lingered on the words, paused, and then added: “But in the power of a man of honour.”

“How can I serve you? You have but to ask.”

“I wish I could think that,” was the quick answer, with a flash from her eyes. “But first for this,” and she rapidly bared the wound, revealing an arm and shoulder of surpassing beauty of form. “Can you bind this up?” For the moment I was amazed at this complete abandonment of all usual womanly reserve. The action was deliberate, however, and I read it as at once a sign of her trust and confidence in me, and a test of my honour. The hurt was not serious. The man’s blade had pierced the soft white flesh of the shoulder, but had not penetrated deep; and I had no difficulty in staunching the blood and binding it up.

“It is not a serious wound,” I said reassuringly. “I am glad.”

“That is no fault of the dastard who struck at me. It was aimed at my heart.”

She showed not the least embarrassment, but appeared bent on making me feel that she trusted me as implicitly as a child. When I had bound up the wound she resumed her dress, taking care to put the stains of blood out of sight; and then, with a few swift, graceful movements, for all the stiffness of the hurt, she coiled up the loose tresses of her hair.

When she had finished she went to a cabinet, and, taking wine and glasses, filled them.

“You will pledge me?” and she looked the invitation. “We women are so weak. I am beginning to feel the reaction.”

I was putting the glass to my lips when she stopped me.

“Stay, I wish to know to whom I owe my life?”

So powerful was the strange influence she exerted that I was on the point of blurting out the truth, that I was Gerald Winthrop, an Englishman, when I steadied my scrambled wits, and, mindful of my secret mission in the country and of the part I was playing, I replied:

“I am the Count Benderoff, of Radova.”

She saw the hesitation, but put it down to a momentary reluctance to disclose my identity, for she answered:

“You will not repent having trusted me with your name, Count.” Then, with a flashing, subtle underglance, she added, “And do you know me?”

“As yet, madame, I have not that honour, to my regret.”

“Yet I am not unknown in Bulgaria,” and she raised her head with a gesture of infinite pride.

“I am a stranger in Sofia,” said I, in excuse of my ignorance.

“Even strangers know of the staunch woman-friend of his Highness the Prince. I am the Countess Anna Bokara.”

I knew her well enough by repute, and her presence in the house alone and defenceless was the more mystifying.

“Permit me to wish you a speedy recovery from your wound, Countess,” and to cover the thoughts which her words started I raised my glass. She seemed almost to caress me with her eyes and voice as she replied:

“I drink to my newest friend, that rare thing in this distracted country, a man of honour, the Count Benderoff, of Radova.” As she set her glass down she added: “My enemies have done me a splendid service, Count—they have brought me your friendship. They could not have made us a nobler or more timely gift. The Prince has need of such a man as you.”

I bowed but did not answer.

“You are a stranger here, you say. May I ask your purpose in coming?”

“I am in search of a career.”

“I can promise you that,” she cried swiftly, with manifest pleasure. “I can promise you that certainly, if you will serve his Highness as bravely as you have served me to-night. You must not think, because you see me here, seemingly alone and helpless, that I have lost my influence and power in the country. My enemies have done this—Russia through the vile agents she sends here to wound this distracted country to the death—suborning all that is honourable, debasing all that is pure, undermining all that is patriotic, lying, slandering, scheming, wrecking, destroying, working all and any evil, bloodshed, and horror, to serve the one end ever in their eyes—the subjugation of this wretched people. My God! that such injustice should be wrought!”

The fire and passion flamed in her face as she spoke with rapid vehemence.

“But it is by such men as you that this can best be thwarted—can only be thwarted. I tell you, Count, the Prince has need of such men as you. Pledge me now that you will join him and—and me. You have seen here to-night the lengths to which these villains would go. Because of my influence with the Prince, and in opposition to Russia, I have been lured here by a lying message; lured to be murdered in cold blood, as you saw. You saved my life; I have put my honour in your hands; you have offered to serve me. You are a brave, true, honourable man. You must be with us!” she cried vehemently. “Give me your word—nay, you have given it, and I can claim it. You will not desert me. Make the cause of truth and honour yours, and tell me that my Prince and I may rely on you.”

She set me on fire with her words and glances of appeal, and at the close she laid her hands on mine, until I was thrilled by the infection of her enthusiasm, while her eyes sought mine, and she seemed to hunger for the words of consent for which she waited.

CHAPTER II
“NOW YOU WILL HAVE TO JOIN US”

Tempting as the offer was which my strange companion made me, I could not bring myself to accept it without time for consideration, and my hesitation in replying irritated and seemed to anger her.

She thrust my hands away from her with petulant quickness.

“You are a man of strangely deliberate discretion, Count,” she said as she turned away to the end of the room and threw herself into her chair again, from which she regarded me with a glance half scornful, half entreating.

“If I do not accept at once, believe me it is from no lack of appreciation of the honour you offer me or the charm with which it is offered, but circumstances compel me to be deliberate.”

“Circumstances?” she cried, with a shrug of disdain and disappointment.

“I regret that I cannot explain them.”

I could not, without telling her the whole reason of my presence in Sofia; and that was of course impossible. My secret commission was from the British Government, and the intrigue which I had to try and defeat was designed to depose her Prince, and set on the throne in his place a woman who would be a mere tool in the hands of Russia.

I am half a Roumanian by birth, my father having married the Countess of Radova, and my childhood had been spent in the Balkan peninsula. It was on one of my visits to the estates in Radova that I had come across the scent of this newest Russian intrigue, and as I had already had close communications with the British Foreign Office and accepted one or two missions of a secret character, I had volunteered for this, believing that single-handed I could effect secretly much more than could be done by the ordinary machinery of diplomacy. The Balkan States were in a condition of ferment and unrest; the war between Bulgaria and Servia had ended not long previously; Russia was keenly bent upon rendering her influence impregnable; and as no other European Government would interfere, our Foreign Office was loath to take open measures.

At such a juncture my services were readily accepted, and I had arrived in Sofia a couple of weeks before, and was just forming my plans, when this startling incident had occurred.

I had stipulated for a perfectly free hand as to the course I should pursue, and the means I should adopt to secure my end—a concession that had been granted me with the one stipulation that if I failed or if trouble arose through my agency our Foreign Office would be at liberty to disown me.

It will thus be seen how strongly I was tempted to accept the offer which the Countess Bokara made me, and which I knew she was in a position to carry out. But still I hesitated, unwilling to commit myself definitely to either side prematurely, lest such open alliance with the one side should make me a mark for the hostility of the other.

My instincts, sympathies, English associations and wishes all prompted me to accept the offer and throw myself heart and soul into the cause of the Prince; but I had to walk by the cooler guidance of judgment, and it had before been in my thoughts rather to seek an alliance with the Russian party and find among their ranks the men and means for a counter intrigue to thwart theirs.

I resolved, therefore, not to pledge myself to this witching woman, whose strange personality wielded such fascinating influence.

Few as were the moments that sufficed for these reflections, they were too many for my companion’s patience.

“How came you here to-night so opportunely?” she asked, breaking the silence suddenly.

“You passed me on the other side of the Cathedral Square, and I then observed you were being followed. I followed in my turn, lest you should be in need of assistance.”

“There are not many men in Sofia who would have dared to interfere in such a cause. But for you I should be dead now,” she shuddered, “and the Prince would have had one friend the less—or may I not say, two friends?”

“The Prince will always have a friend in me,” I returned guardedly.

She made a movement of impatience.

“I want no general phrases.” Then after a pause and in a different tone, she added: “Tell me, what arguments are the strongest that I can use with you, my friend? You said just now you were seeking a career. Have you ambitions? If so, I can promise you a splendid fulfilment of them. Do you wish riches? They shall be yours! Have you a heart? I will find you as fair a bride as man’s eyes can rest upon. Have you judgment? Aye, have you anything—except a commitment to the other side—and I can prevail with you. Join us, and before three months are over your head you shall be the Prince’s right hand—and mine.” The subtle witchery of her tone in the last two words was indescribable.

But I would not let her prevail, though her words and manner were well-nigh dazzling enough to carry me out of myself. The magnetism of her mere presence was overpowering.

“You are not fair to me, Countess. A man cannot reason coldly in the presence of such charms as you exert,” I answered, stooping to flattery, though telling the truth.

She shook her head and tapped her foot on the ground.

“Say no, bluntly, if you will, but do not try to slip away with words of cheap and empty flattery. I am not appealing to you to join for my sake, gladly as I would welcome you, but for the sake of the Prince, for the cause of truth, for the honour and safety of Bulgaria. Stay——” as I was about to answer, “I have seen you act and I have read your character. I do not make mistakes. I know you are to be trusted. You have saved my life, at a greater risk than you may think, for you will be a marked man now; and I will do more than put my life in your hands—I will tell you everything. You will not reveal it—though, Heaven knows, betrayal is the religion of most men here,” she exclaimed bitterly.

“I would rather you told me none of your secrets,” I said, but she swept my protest aside with a wave of the hand.

“You wonder why you find me here in this house alone at night. You must wonder; I will tell you. It is my mother’s house—my own is across the city near the Palace—and to-night her own maid came to me with an urgent message that my mother had been stricken down suddenly and was dying, and that I must come at once. It was a lie, of course, though for the moment it blinded me. I hurried here on foot, too anxious even to wait for a carriage to be got ready, and when I arrived the place was empty. While I was wondering whether I had been betrayed, the men you saw—to whom keys of the place had been given—entered, and would assuredly have murdered me but for your arrival. That is how Russia plays her cards in Bulgaria.”

“How do you know they were Russian agents?”

“How do I know that when I am hungry I want to eat? Wearied, I need sleep? Bah! do you think I have no instincts, and do not know my enemies? How do I know their plans and plots?” She fired the questions at me with vindictive indignation and a smile of surprise that I should even ask such a thing. Then her expression changed to one of deep earnestness, her tone hard and bitter.

“I will tell you how you shall know it, too. They have tried every other means but this to separate me from my Prince. Threats at which I laughed; bribes to be anything I pleased, which I scorned; hints of his assassination, which I carried to him; everything—till only this was left; and now this,” and she touched her wound lightly. “And even this, thanks to your valour, Count, has now failed. And their object, you will ask? They have a plot to drive my Prince from Bulgaria, because he will not be their tool. You know he will not; all Europe knows it, and knows too that the only chance for Bulgaria’s real independence is that he shall remain on the throne here. And remain he shall, I swear, by the great God they all profess to worship, in spite of all their crafty intrigue and bloodthirsty plotting. And yet, mark you, the worst danger lies not with them, but with the fools and traitors in Bulgaria itself whom they delude or suborn. There is not a self-interest to which they do not appeal, from the ambition of the fool to the corruptness of the knave. And God knows, both knaves and fools are plentiful enough here.”

“And their scheme?” I asked, moved by her intense earnestness.

She looked at me sharply.

“Then you do wish to hear it?” she asked, referring to my former protest. “You shall. There is a woman—a seemingly innocent, soft-natured thing, all sweetness and grace, but a devil; with the beauty of an angel and the heart of a vampire—a devil.”

Her fury was instant, overwhelming, absorbing.

“Did they propose marrying her to your Prince?” I asked, making a shot.

She darted at me a swift glance that might have been winged with hate at the mere suggestion. Then her eyes changed, and she laughed and said softly:

“You are the man for us. Calm as a sword and as sharp as the point. Yes, they dared even that—but I was in the way. In another woman’s hands they thought he might have been won round. But rather than see him the husband of that fiend, Christina, I myself would have plunged a dagger into his heart—and they guessed this, I suppose, and changed the plan. She is the Princess of Orli, as probably you know—for I don’t suppose you are quite as unknowing as you seem—and apparently is all for Bulgaria and the Bulgarians. Like you, she is a Roumanian, and like you, if I read you right, she is driven from her country by the all-powerful Russian predominance—at least, that’s what she says. Isn’t that why you left?” she asked, with quick shrewdness.

“The Russian predominance there is undoubted,” I answered.

She liked the answer and laughed.

“Good! you are cautious, and I don’t blame you. For the lips that breathe out rashness breathe in danger, my friend. But now, will you join us? You can see the career that awaits such a man as yourself here—at the right hand of the Prince.”

“But if the Princess Christina is opposed to Russia, how does she threaten Bulgaria?”

“Aye, if?” and she laughed scornfully. “There is another complication. The woman has sold herself to the Russians. She is betrothed secretly to one of the worst of them all, a man of infinite vileness and treachery—the Duke Sergius. And the plot is that as soon as this Christina is on the throne, the precious pair are to be married, and Russia triumphs in despite of anything Europe may say to the contrary.”

“I see,” and so in truth I did; for in a moment the kernel of the whole movement was laid bare to me, as well as the objective of all my work in Bulgaria. I remained some moments buried in thought, and all the time my companion’s eyes were searching my face for a clue to my thoughts. “It is very Russian,” I said at length, equivocally; and at the words she made a quick gesture of impatience.

“You will not give me a sign,” she cried, and jumped to her feet impulsively. “But you will join us?” she asked. She came close to me as she waited for the answer, and when I did not answer, she added quickly, “Why do you hesitate?”

Before I could reply, we both heard a noise somewhere in the house.

“What can that be?” I asked. “You said there was no one in the house.”

“None, that I know;” and we both stood listening intently. “Those rascals may have left the place open and let in some of the thieves that infest the streets.”

“Those are no thieves’ footsteps,” I answered, as quick steps were heard approaching the room.

“It may be another attempt on me—but I have a brave defender now,” she said, under her breath.

I had a revolver with me and took it out of my pocket, glancing to see that the chambers were all loaded.

“You had better stand back at the end of the room there,” and I went towards the door.

At that moment it was opened quickly, and three men in uniform entered.

“Stand!” I called. “What do you want here?”

“I am an agent of the Government and hold an order for the arrest of the Countess Bokara,” answered the leader, coming to a sudden halt when he saw me in the way armed.

“Well, you cannot execute it now.”

“My orders are imperative, sir, and you will resist me at your peril.”

“I shall resist,” said I shortly. “Where’s your order?”

“I have it, that is enough,” he replied with equal curtness.

“Produce it!”

“That is not in my instructions.”

“Then I don’t believe you have it. Leave the house before there is any further trouble.”

“I must do my duty. Georgiew,” he called to one of the two men, who had kept close to the door in fear, but now stepped up to his leader’s side.

“Who has signed your order?” asked the Countess, interposing.

“One whose authority is sufficient for me.”

“But not for me,” she cried. I turned, and found to my surprise that she had come to my side, and was staring with fixed intensity into the man’s face. “Not for me,” she repeated.

“You must be prepared to accompany me, madame, nevertheless, and I trust you will come at once, and without causing trouble. We are three to one, sir, and fully armed; resistance will be useless,” he added to me.

“If you were thirty to one I would not give way unless you produced your authority,” I answered, my blood beginning to heat under his manner and tone.

“I ask you for the last time, madame, to come with me,” and, with a sign to the others, he made ready to attack me.

“Aye, for the last time,” said my companion, between her teeth, and before I could guess her intention, she gave a startling proof of her desperate resource and deadly recklessness.

With a suddenness that took me entirely by surprise, she snatched the revolver from me, and levelling it with quick aim, she fired two shots in rapid succession with deadly effect, for the two men standing near us fell dead at our feet, shot through the head. The third, who had kept near the door, with a coward’s prudence, took to his heels incontinently, and left us alone with the dead.

“Good God! what have you done?” I cried, aghast at her deed. “These men were soldiers.”

She laughed into my scared face.

“You don’t suppose death counts for much in this country. This is only spy carrion,” and with the utmost sang-froid she stooped and rifled the pockets of the dead leader, turning the body over for the purpose, and took from his pocket a paper which she held up for me to read. “I was sure of it.”

“What the bearer does is by my order and authority.

(Signed), M. Kolfort, General.”

“General Kolfort is the implacable leader of the Russian party, and that document was my death warrant,” she said.

In a moment I saw my danger, and she read my thought instantly.

“Yes, you are committed, my friend; now you will have to join us,” and she smiled triumphantly in my face. “I am glad.”

CHAPTER III
THE PRINCESS CHRISTINA

The amazing turn which events had taken through the terrible act of my companion filled me with consternation at the possible effects to us both; and after I had satisfied myself that the two men were dead and so beyond help, I paced the room in anxious, perturbed thought.

She was not in the least perturbed, and filled the minutes by going carefully through the leader’s papers in search of anything that would tend to the confusion of her enemies. A low exclamation of pleasure told me that, when she found what she sought.

She showed no jot or tittle of remorse at this shedding of blood. To her the two men were no more than a couple of wild beasts who had attacked her, and had been killed in her self-defence. She was as hard and callous as any public executioner could have been.

“See here!” she cried at length. “Here are proofs enough of the villany,” and she put papers into my hand which showed plainly enough that the whole matter had been planned by those high in the Russian party. One was no less than a clear but brief statement of instructions. If the first attempt at secret assassination failed, this endeavour by means of a pretended arrest by men in uniform dressed to look like officers was to be made, and the Countess was to be hurried to Tirnova to be dealt with there, should she reach the fortress alive.

“You will need these when the attempt is made to implicate you. Yours is a deadly sin—to have come between Kolfort and his vengeance—and you will need all your wits to get out of it with your life, even with these papers, unless you throw yourself under the protection of the Prince and his party. As I said, you will have to join us now, Count.”

“I shall still take time to consider,” I answered rather shortly. “You have given me plenty of food for thought. But now, what of your immediate safety? You cannot stay here.”

“Nor you, either. You let the third man escape, and by this time he is carrying his news of failure with feet winged with fear. I have done with this carrion,” and she cast a look of repugnance at the dead men, and turning away, resumed her cloak with great haste. “You will not decide now?” she asked, as she was ready to go.

“No, I must have time. But where will you go now?”

“I shall communicate with you. You will be a marked man from this hour, and easy to find,” she said significantly; “and if you are in danger sooner than you expect, do not hesitate to let me know. Our next meeting will be in the Prince’s palace, and the sooner the better.”

“Where will you go now?” I repeated.

“Do not fear for me. You will need all your efforts to save your own skin. Come!” She left the light burning, and led the way out of the house by a back entrance that opened on to a narrow alley, along which we hurried.

“I will see you safe to your home,” I said, when she stopped at the mouth of it and held out her hand. She smiled.

“No, no, I am in no danger; but for you, take this path as far as it goes, turn sharp to the right until you come to an avenue of trees, and at the bottom of that you will know where you are. Good-night, Count! and once more I thank you with all my heart for your service. But we shall both live to see my thanks in an alliance that will do great things for the Prince and for Bulgaria.”

She gave me her hand, and though I pressed her to let me see her safely across the city, she would not, but put me on my honour not to follow her, and turning, sped away, keeping in the shadow, and going at such a speed that she was soon out of my sight.

Then I followed the way she had told me, and found myself close to the street in which my hotel was situated. I walked slowly from that point, my brain in a whirl of excitement at all that had happened in the crowded hours of that night.

When I reached my hotel it was only to pace my room in restless, anxious, brain-racking thought of the net of complications in which I found myself involved, and the hundred dangers which appeared to have sprung up suddenly to menace me. It was in vain that I threw myself on my bed. I could not sleep. If I dozed, it was only to start up at the bidding of some dream danger, threatening me with I know not what consequences. It was long past the dawn before I slept, and when the servant called me, I sprang up, thinking it was my instant arrest that was intended.

But my wits were cooler and more collected for the rest, and when hour after hour of the anxious day passed and nothing happened, I began to think I had exaggerated the risks of my position.

In the cool of the evening I rode out, and on my return ventured to find out and pass through the street of the previous night’s adventure. Nothing unusual was astir. No one paid the least heed to me. I might have been an ordinary tourist without the least interest in anything but the scenery. So it was at my hotel. Nothing happened that evening nor on any of the three remaining days of the week, and I occupied myself with the business of preparing the large house which I had taken for my residence.

Yet, even the lack of any consequences to me had a grim significance. It seemed a fearsome thing, indeed, that murder could be attempted openly, and two of the would-be assassins shot dead in the effort, and yet the life of the city flow on without the least interruption, and, as it appeared, with never a person to ask a question about them or show the faintest interest in the event. Truly, as my strange companion in the adventure had said, death counted for little in the grim game of intrigue that was being played in the country.

I had provided myself with a few letters of introduction, and, knowing the average poverty of the people and the high esteem set on riches, I had dropped a number of judicious hints that I was a man of considerable wealth. I had taken the largest house I could find in the city, and by these means had opened a way into a certain section of society. It had been my original intention to use such opportunities as would thus be afforded to carry out my original intention. But the adventure with the Countess Bokara would render this less necessary should I resolve to accept the offer of close service with the Prince which she had made me; and the few guarded inquiries I was able to make as to her influence confirmed completely my previous belief in her power to fulfil all she had promised.

Several days passed, and I was in this condition of comparative uncertainty when, toward the close of the week following my adventure, an incident occurred which gave me startling proof that, for all the apparent quietude, I myself was, as she had declared, a marked man.

I was sitting alone in a café one evening, my friends having left me, when my attention was attracted to the movements of three men, two being in uniform, at a table in a far corner of the place. They were busily occupied over some papers, and a constant succession of men kept coming to them, as it seemed to me, for some kind of instructions. As business was constantly transacted in this way at the cafés, I had at first no more than a feeling of idle curiosity; but when the thing had continued for an hour or more, my interest deepened, and I watched them closely, although, as I thought, unobserved by them.

At length a message was given them which appeared to cause great surprise, and they paid their score and hurried out of the place.

I followed them, still impelled mainly by curiosity; and as they were engrossed in conversation, talking and gesticulating, I had no difficulty in keeping them in sight as they passed through several streets, and at length entered a large house which filled one side of a small quadrangle, close on the street.

I stood awhile at the corner, scanning the house curiously, and made a mental note to ascertain to whom it belonged, and was in the act of turning away to retrace my steps to the hotel, when a man came out of the house, glanced about him as though in some doubt, and then looked closely at me. He walked to the corner of the street opposite, still looking at me, and after a minute of doubt, crossed to me.

“I am to give you this, sir,” he said, speaking with the manner of a confidential servant.

“To me? I think not. What name?” I asked.

“I had no name given to me, but I was to say it was ‘In the Name of a Woman!’”

“‘In the Name of a Woman?’” I repeated. It could not be for me. I knew no such pass-word, and I connected it instantly with what I had seen at the café. I was about to send the man away, when it occurred to me that it might be a message from the Countess Bokara, and that, from a love of mystery, she had chosen this exceedingly ambiguous method of communication. I took the letter which the man held out, therefore, and read a message written in a woman’s handwriting:—

“Follow the Bearer,
In the Name of a Woman.”

I was disposed to smile, but checked myself on seeing the servant’s eyes fixed upon me.

“I am to follow you,” I said gravely.

Without a word he led the way back to the house, through the deep gloomy archway, in which I noticed a number of servants and others lounging and waiting, and up three or four steps into the house. Turning to make sure that I was behind him, the man crossed a hall, in which were more men, some in uniform, through a curtained archway at the end, and up a broad stairway on to a wide landing-place until he paused before a large dark oak door. He opened this quietly and stood aside for me to enter.

As I did so, some words came to my ears that were certainly not intended for a stranger to hear.

“Curse the business. I am sick of the place. The sooner this thing’s over and Christina is on the throne and married to Sergius, the sooner we shall be back in Moscow and out of this beastly hole.”

The voice was loud and strident, and the language Russian; and the speaker, a young red-haired man, in an officer’s uniform, laughed noisily. I was in the room before the sentence ended, but I came to an abrupt halt in my surprise, and perceiving at once the mistake that had been made, I half turned to leave the room again. But the man who had brought me had already closed the door.

My surprise was not one whit greater than that of the three men in the room, however, who were standing together by a table with their backs to the door, and not having heard it open, did not know I was there till the officer who had spoken turned round.

“Hullo! who the devil’s this?” he exclaimed. “What do you want, sir?” and I saw his hand go to his sword hilt.

His companions turned quickly on hearing him, and stared at me with evident amazement.

“Be quiet, Marx,” said one of them in Russian, a much older man, and apparently in command. Then in Bulgarian to me, “May I ask your business, sir?”

“On my word, I know no more than yourself,” I answered, keeping my eye on the red-haired man whose threatening looks I did not at all like. “I am here ‘In the Name of a Woman,’ I presume. A messenger accosted me a few minutes since in the street close by and gave me a written message to follow him. He brought me here—and that’s all I know.”

“A cool devil, on my word,” exclaimed the red-headed man, and whispered something to the third which I could not catch.

“There has seemingly been some mistake,” said the elder man suavely. “You have not been long in the room, sir?”

“Certainly not, the door has but barely closed.”

“You are too much of a gentleman, of course, to intrude yourself upon us unannounced and listen to our private conversation.” There was an ominous suggestion of threat in the words, and behind them I could detect not a little anxiety and embarrassment.

One of the other officers gave a little sneering laugh.

“You wish to know whether I have overheard anything? I speak Russian, and as I entered I could not help hearing what was being said.”

A look of concern showed on all three faces as I spoke.

“You will have the goodness to repeat what you overheard,” said the elder man, his voice hardening and deepening.

I repeated in Russian almost word for word what had been said, and the man whose unguarded words I had overheard turned very white.

An embarrassing silence followed.

“And what meaning do you attach to the words, sir?”

“I do not see that they concern me, or that I am called upon to give any explanation,” I answered coolly.

“By God! you shall answer,” broke in impetuously and passionately the red-haired man, as he made a couple of strides toward me.

His superior frowned upon him and muttered a word of caution.

I began to feel glad that I had brought my sword-stick with me.

“One moment; excuse me,” said the elder man, whose great uneasiness was now very manifest, and the three held a hurried consultation, in which I could see the red-haired man urging some plan from which the elder strongly dissented. Then the latter turned again to me.

“I must press you to answer my question, sir,” he said.

“The words could have only one possible meaning,” I replied, seeing no use in equivocation. “The hope was expressed that Christina, presumably the Princess of Orli, would soon be on the throne and married to the Duke Sergius, in order that the speaker might be free to return to Moscow.” I spoke very deliberately.

“I told you so. The fellow may be a spy and can’t go free after that,” exclaimed the fiery officer. “Have up the men at once and let him be secured until we find out all about him,” and he went to the bell-pull to summon the servants or more probably soldiers.

My next act surprised him and stayed his hand, however. I had observed a couple of heavy bolts on the door, and thinking that I had better have three men to deal with than thirty, I shot them into their sockets, and setting my back to the door, said shortly:

“There should be nothing in this which we cannot settle amongst ourselves, gentlemen, and with your permission I prefer to have no one else here until it is settled.”

This was too much for the two younger men. They drew their swords at once and came toward me.

“You will stand aside from that door at once, or take the consequences,” said the red-haired man.

My answer was to whip my sword from the stick and put myself on the defensive. The door stood in an angle of the room, excellently placed for my purpose, as my two opponents would be much hampered in attacking me together, and I was not afraid of what either could do single-handed.

Their anger at my resistance made them deaf to the protests and expostulations of their superior. The red man was the first to cross swords, and he was so indifferent a swordsman that I could have disabled him had not the second perceived his inferiority and made at me in his turn.

A very pretty fight followed, but infinitely perilous to me. Even if I were successful I could not see how possibly to escape from the house, which as I knew was swarming with men. But I went to work with a will, and soon had cause to thank the advantage I gained owing to the position of the door.

The object of the less furious of the two was rather to disarm than to wound, and I noticed that he neglected more than one opportunity of wounding me. The other was a hot-headed fool, however, and was obviously dead bent on killing me; but a couple of minutes later I had an excellent chance of settling matters with him. He was fighting in a furious, haphazard, reckless fashion, when the second man stumbled from some cause and was out of the fray for several passes. I made the most of the respite, and pressing the fight to the utmost, I ran my assailant through the sword-arm, inflicting a wound which caused him to drop his sword. I kicked it behind me, and was thus free to devote my whole attention to my other assailant.

I was cleverer with the weapon than he, as I perceived to my intense satisfaction, and was considering where I would wound him and end the fight, when my luck turned. I trod by mischance on the hilt of the sword at my feet, stumbled, and, unable to save myself, fell staggering at full length on the floor.

It was all over, and I gave myself up for lost, when a most unexpected and infinitely welcome interruption came.

A door at the other end of the room, which was hidden by the curtains and tapestries that covered the walls, opened, and I heard a woman’s soft clear voice, in which vibrated a note of indignation and anger, exclaim:

“Gentlemen, what is this brawling?”

The others turned at the sound of the voice, and I scrambled to my feet in an instant, gripped my weapon again, and was once more ready against attack; though I stared with all my eyes at the lovely face of the queenly woman who had entered.

“Put up your swords, gentlemen, instantly!” she said; and in obedience the man who still had his weapon sheathed it and fell back abashed behind his superior officer.

Intuitively I recognised the Princess Christina.

CHAPTER IV
“THE WEB IS WIDE, THE MESHES HARD TO BREAK”

“As beautiful as an angel, and with the heart of a vampire.”

This bitter description rushed to my thoughts as I gazed at the Princess Christina. Surely never had treachery, cruelty, and ambition a fairer guise than hers, if treacherous and cruel she could be.

But the thought started another suspicion. Had this scene all been planned by her to catch me in the toils? It was a dramatic enough entrance for me into her circle, and certainly clever. It had been made to appear as if I had forced my way into the house, had overheard a compromising secret, had had my very life placed in danger, and then at the critical moment it was to her coming I owed my safety. If this were so, I could understand why the less hot-headed of my two assailants had first rushed to the assistance of his comrade, but had then refrained from pressing the advantage of the odds against me in the fight, and had not attempted even to wound me.

Could that lovely, ingenuous-looking woman have laid such a scheme, and then have carried it out with such shrewd stage-management, putting that little ring of anger into her voice at all the clatter of the fight?

If so the danger that had seemed to threaten me had never existed, and I might as well do as she bade, and put up the sword which had never been needed in earnest. With a smile at the notion I sheathed it, and waited for the next development of the comedy.

Yet the anger in her eyes seemed sincere enough, and if she was only acting she understood her business well; for the indignation on her face and the liquid notes of her perfect voice moved me to regret even my share in the fracas, though it had been none of my seeking.

“Major Zankoff, have you such poor command of your subordinates that they must seek to shed blood almost in my very presence?” At the rebuke the eldest of the three men winced and bit his lip, but made no reply except a bow. “You know my will, sir!” she continued, with the mien of an empress; “and any repetition of this forgetfulness will find me deeply angered even against you.”

“Madame, I am already punished,” replied the major, with the bow of a courtier and the shrewdness of a diplomat.

“As for you, gentlemen,” she said, turning to the other two, “I shall use my influence to see that you are relieved from duties which you must surely find irksome, since you seek relaxation in this cut and thrust work. Be good enough to leave me.”

This was a somewhat embarrassing request, for I was by the door, and still held my foot on the fallen sword. I was not disposed to have the door open lest others should be brought in, and they were not willing that I should have a chance of escape, carrying their secret with me. The three exchanged looks, and then the major came to the rescue.

“There is a matter that needs explanation to you, madame——” he began, when she cut him short.

“I will hear nothing, Major Zankoff, until these gentlemen have left me.”

Another embarrassing pause followed, in which she let her eyes glance toward me and rest a moment on my face, with an effect I cannot describe. In an instant it seemed as if all my doubts of her sincerity dropped from me like a cloak. I felt absolutely assured, not only of her purity and truth, but of my own complete safety in trusting her, and with an impulse that was as irresistible as it was instantaneous, I cut the knot of the difficulty.

I picked up the fallen sword, left my place by the door, and handed it back to the owner.

He flashed a curse at me out of his eyes that I should have been the cause and witness of his humiliation, and muttered in a tone too low to reach other ears than mine, as he bent his head in sheathing the weapon:

“I will find you out, sir.”

“Count Benderoff, Hôtel de l’Europe,” I whispered, meeting his look with one as stern as his own, and then stood aside for him and his companion to pass out of the room.

The Princess waited in silence until the door had closed behind them, and then addressed me:

“Why have you come to bring your quarrels here, sir?”

“I think I can best explain——” began Major Zankoff.

“I have asked this gentleman for his explanation, Major,” she broke in, and I liked her calm assertion of authority.

“I have brought no quarrel here, Madame,” and I explained very briefly the facts up to the moment of her entrance.

She bent her dark eyes on me during the recital, and gradually the colour of her cheeks deepened, until at the close, with a flush of indignation and anger, she cried:

“You have been shamefully treated, sir—shamefully and outrageously. Because by chance some hot-headed idler cannot keep his tongue still, but must blab of matters he does not understand, shall murder be attempted? Major Zankoff, what had this gentleman done that you should sanction this atrocious act? We owe you an ample apology, sir; and I, the Princess Christina of Orli”—drawing herself to her full height—“tender it to you. I do not ask your name. I ask nothing, but only tell you I am profoundly sorry and deeply grieved that this should have occurred. Major Zankoff, it is my express wish that you will see this gentleman safely out of the house, and conduct him to any part of the city he desires. His safety will be your personal charge.”

And with this she swept across the room and herself held open the door for me to leave.

Her beauty and grace, and, much more, the instinctive justice of her act and implied trust in my honour, conquered me. I did not wish to leave her, and lingered gazing at her in admiration. This was the Countess Bokara’s vampire. If this was how she gained her victims, I, at any rate, was ready to be one of them. As we stood thus, she holding the door and I unwilling to go, our eyes met, and I was filled with one consuming, burning impulse to serve her.

Then came an interruption, which I for one welcomed profoundly.

An old man, in the uniform of a high Russian officer, entered through the door which she had used, and in a high-pitched voice said sharply:

“This is a somewhat unusual scene. What does it mean?”

I was watching the Princess closely, and saw an expression of some disconcertment and alarm rush into her eyes, to be as quickly forced down and followed by what I half dared to hope was a look of solicitude on my account. The eyes seemed to beg me to leave while the way was still open.

But I would not have gone for a fortune. I was ten thousand times more eager to stay.

Major Zankoff gave an expressive shrug of the shoulders as he said in reply to the question: “There has been a little misunderstanding, General.”

The small, alert, piercing eyes seemed to take in the situation at one sweeping glance that dwelt lastly on my face.

“Princess, can I have a word with you? Major Zankoff, close the door and guard it. We want no one in—or out,” he let the last two words drop from his lips as though they were an after-thought and not intended to be spoken aloud.

“I am telling this gentleman that he is at liberty to leave here, General,” she answered, lifting her head with what I read as an intentional assertion of authority, not made, however, without an effort.

“Very good of you, very good indeed,” he replied drily. “But as the gentleman does not seem disposed to go, suppose we close the door. There is a draught for one thing, and pretty situations should never be strained. Besides, I wish to have a word with him myself.”

My wits had been somewhat mazed by the unexpected character of the meeting with the Princess and the whirl of strange and disturbing thoughts which she had started, but these last words of the old soldier recalled me to myself quickly enough.

“With me?” I said in surprise.

“Certainly, with you,” he answered sharply.

The suggestion of solicitude for me still lingered on the Princess’s face as she left the door and went to the old man.

“I have passed my word for his safety, General,” and she looked meaningly at him.

“Do I look so fierce and terrible an object, madame, that the gentleman will be afraid to trust himself alone with me, think you?”

“I have passed my word for his safety,” she repeated, and turning to me, she added, “You may depend upon that, sir,” and as she left the room she gave me a look from her glorious eyes which seemed to say much more than even her words.

The old soldier smiled sardonically, and bowed low to her as she passed him.

“Umph! And now, sir, will you come with me; or are you, as madame was disposed to think, afraid to trust yourself with me? Zankoff, I do not wish to be disturbed,” he said abruptly to the Major.

He led me to a room beyond and motioned me to a chair, near the table at which he seated himself.

“You know, I presume, where you are, who I am, and who that is we have just left!” he began.

“I do not know all, but I can make a shrewd guess. She is the Princess Christina; you, I presume, General Kolfort, and this house, either yours or hers.”

“As you say, a very shrewd guess—even for one known to have such quick wits as the Count Benderoff, of Radova.” He intended to surprise me, as indeed he did, by the mention of my name; but I showed no sign of this, although he looked for it.

“Why did you force your way in here—unless, indeed, you had an object which I shall only be too glad to welcome?”

“I will make another guess,” I answered. “I came through your own contriving, General;” and this time it was he, not I, who had to conceal surprise—for my guess was right.

He looked at me and nodded his head.

“It is my business to know all newcomers to Sofia,” he said. “And you are too notable and have started too much comment for me not to know of you. My agents serve me well, and I thought it was full time for you to declare yourself. There are only two courses open to a man making a career in this country, as you have said you intend to do. Only two sides, one of which a man must take. You must be either for or against the interests of Russia—which is it to be?”

This was plain talking in all truth.

“I have been in the country too short a time to have weighed the considerations which must determine me.”

“Good; evasive but politic, though not, of course, convincing.”

“Yet true,” said I shortly.

“Very well. We’ll take it at that;” and he looked at me as if he were pondering carefully the arguments he should use to convince and win me. “Yet you’ve not been quite inactive, have you, although here so short a time?”

“You mean——?”

“What should I mean?” he asked, throwing up his hands with an indifference that was belied by the sharp glint of his eyes.

Did he know of that night adventure, after all? If so, I had indeed walked into the spider’s web.

“No, I have not been inactive, certainly not,” I answered carelessly. “I have had to find a house suitable for my position and my means. I am a man of some wealth, and the work has taken time and care.”

“No doubt. But I did not mean that kind of activity, Count. My sources of information are many—and secret. Few things are done in Sofia without my knowing them, as well as those who do them.”

“Through your spies, you mean?”

He waved the term aside and passed over the question.

“We have had an accident lately, rather an awkward affair, which resulted in the death of a couple of our agents; but a third escaped and tells a strange story. Even your short acquaintance with Bulgarian affairs will tell you that the consequences may be serious for those concerned in their death.”

“I can understand that. But with what object do you make me the recipient of such a confidence?” I asked coolly.

“You have made some shrewd guesses during our talk; I will leave you to make another in that matter. It may be only a parable; or, on the contrary, a matter of life or death for those concerned. In any case, the person concerned is known to me.” The threat was conveyed with unmistakable significance. I understood him well enough, and he knew that I did; but I answered lightly:

“I don’t see that this affects me.”

“I hope with all my heart that it never will,” he said quickly, “for nothing would please me better than to have you enrolled on our side!”

He paused to let this, his first argument—an appeal to my fears—have due weight, and watched me keenly to note results. Apparently he was not too well satisfied with them.

“You have probably asked yourself why I am anxious, as I confess I am, that you should be with us, and yet if you reflect you will readily understand the reason. I have told you that there are but two courses open to a man who mixes in politics here. He must take a side. There is no possible alternative—no possible alternative. Well, I know much about you—more than you think, and I do not wish that a man who has shown such courage as you, on other occasions than to-day,” he put in meaningly, “who has those parts of head and heart that carry a man far in troubled times like these; a man wealthy, daring, shrewd, honorable, ambitious, resourceful, and bound to wield influence, should enter the lists against me. Such a man must make a leader, and these Bulgars readily follow when the right man leads. It is all against our cause that such qualities should be devoted to the service of a craven Prince.”

“You speak with great frankness.”

He smiled and raised his eyebrows, giving a slight toss of the head.

“I can be frank with perfect safety. You are in my power, Count.”

“I have the word of Princess Christina——”

“I do not mean in this house, I mean in this country,” he interposed. “If you do not know the reach of my hands, it is time you learnt it. No man crosses this frontier without my knowledge, and no one recrosses it against my will. Do not mistake me; I don’t speak at random, nor am I uttering a mere empty boast. I am stating a plain fact. And the power which I wield you can share, if you will.”

It was skilfully turned and cleverly put, and for the moment I was silent.

“The web is wide, the meshes hard to break, Count; and I brought you here that you might see how wide and how hard. You were right just now in that shrewd guess of yours—I did bring you here. First, for that little dramatic test of your courage; next, that you should see for yourself the glorious woman in whose cause we fight; and lastly, that you should understand the obstacles that lie in the path of those who would oppose us. You say you seek a career. Well——” He paused here and looked most keenly at me as he added, “Englishmen have done the same before——”

I could not repress a start of surprise at the thrust, and he stopped to enjoy it.

“Yes, Englishmen—and Roumanians. But it is very rare for a Roumanian to combine the qualities which distinguish you, Count Benderoff. You perhaps know the English. If I mistake not, your father was an Englishman, and you may have met a certain Hon. Gerald Winthrop. I have such a man in my mind when I speak to you.”

I sat gnawing my lip, my brows knitted in thought, and had no reply, while he looked at me with a smile at my evident consternation.

Then he gave a sudden and unexpected turn to the matter.

Pushing his chair back, he rose, and said in a frank and apparently friendly tone:

“I have taken you by surprise. Of course I know that, and do not wish to push the advantage unfairly. Don’t decide now. I want your decision to be deliberate and the result of judgment, and not mere embarrassment. I will make you a fair offer. The frontier is free for you for three days—nay, for a week. Join us within that time, or let my agents report to me that you have crossed it. I want your services because I value them, but I do not intend my enemies to have them. If you really wish to make a career, I can help you as no one else can. I want no oaths; they don’t bind me, and in this place bind no one beyond the limits of self-interest. If you join us, you would have to be faithful, or your life would be a mere candle-flame to be snuffed out at will. That is a better guarantee than any mere oaths. If you decide to throw in your lot with us, I shall be glad to see you at any time. If not, I hope we shall not meet again.” And he held out his hand.

I took it, not over cordially, and left him, dismayed, perplexed and anxious, but with an appreciation of his power keen enough to have satisfied even him.

CHAPTER V
“SPERNOW”

A night’s reflection brought but slight relief to my anxiety and doubt. How that wily Russian general had succeeded so easily and promptly in discovering all about me, I was at a loss to guess; nor was it of much profit to inquire. He had the facts, and the question was how he would use them; and the first gleam of an answer came from a very small thing.

He had offered me first three days in which to leave the country, and then had extended the time to a week. Why? I came to the conclusion at length that he had probably a double reason, for he was not the man to do anything without a clear reason. He was all against my joining the party of the Prince, and was probably resolved to go to extreme lengths to prevent me. But he knew also, though he had been crafty enough not to admit it openly, that I was an Englishman; and that fact might well embarrass him in dealing with me.

Any ill-treatment of a British subject at such a juncture might bring about just such grave complications with our Foreign Office as might imperil the whole Russian under-current policy. That was, therefore, unquestionably one of my strong cards to play, and I resolved to use it promptly.

I judged that in all probability my correspondence would be tampered with, and would, if necessary, pass under his own eyes; so I wrote a letter to a friend in England, stating the fact plainly that I had had an interview with General Kolfort, the Russian leader, in which the fact that I was a British subject had been discussed between us, and added a few words of assumed annoyance that this should have happened, as it might interfere with my plans in making a career in Bulgaria. I put in some other general matter such as might be written in a friendly letter, and finished with a request that my correspondent would send me two or three articles I had left in his care. This was all fable, of course; but I wrote it to make it more difficult for the General to suppress the letter. Then I added a postscript, with the usual sting in it.

“If you get a chance, you might drop a side hint to Edwardes, of the Foreign Office, that I am here, and known to be English.”

I sealed the letter with careful clumsiness, so that the envelope could easily be opened without the seal being broken, marked it “Urgent. Strictly private,” and then gave it to a waiter to post. If I was under the surveillance he had suggested, I felt convinced that nothing more was necessary to ensure its getting immediately into the General’s hands. It would at least give him food for thought.

Then as to his second object. Why had he given me any time at all? A Russian party, strong and unscrupulous enough to plan the assassination of the reigning Prince himself—as they had done—would have thought nothing of keeping me, a mere Roumanian Count (as I told them I was when they had me on the previous evening), rushing me off incontinently to the frontier, and bidding me be off about my business under fear of a stray bullet should I attempt to return. But he had given me a week to deliberate, and I drew the inference that he was really anxious to have an Englishman on his side, and that he meant to use the week to bring strong inducements to bear upon me.

And through all these reflections one dazzling remembrance flashed, as the sun will flash through thin foliage after a summer shower—the great steady glare caught and reflected from a myriad drops on the wet, dancing leaves. It was the memory of the glorious beauty of the Princess, with that look of solicitude for me and of fear of the General which I had seemed to catch.

I had no more desire to fly the country than I had had to leave her witching presence, and a thousand thoughts rushed through my mind, bewildering, stirring, fascinating me, and all urging me to stay until I had at least probed the meaning of her look, and determined whether I could in any way serve her. If she really stood in need of a friend, how gladly—— And at that point I broke the thought with a laugh at my own silly conceit. She had a hundred, aye, a thousand men at her command. And I was a fool.

But I would not leave the country if I could help it, and I ordered a horse and rode out, first to see how nearly my house was ready, and then away for a gallop in the country.

On my return I learned that two officers had called and asked for me; had left word that, as their business was urgent, they would return early in the afternoon. I did not know the names—Captain Dimitrieff and Lieutenant Grassaw—and I could not think what they wanted with me, but I resolved to wait in for them; and while I was waiting, a servant brought me a card from another stranger—Lieutenant Spernow.

The moment he entered I liked his pleasant, cheery looks, and his frank, unrestrained, self-possessed manner impressed me most favourably. With a smile he offered me his hand, and said:

“I have come in a quite unusual way, Count Benderoff. I am sent, in fact, to make your acquaintance. I am assured we shall speedily be friends.”

“I am certainly at your service,” I answered, unable to resist a smile at his singular introduction.

“It has an odd sound after all, hasn’t it; and yet, do you know, I’ve been thinking how I should put it and rehearsing, all the way. It does sound devilish odd from a stranger, but I do hope—for reasons that weigh infinitely with me, I can assure you—that so odd an introduction will really lead to friendship.”

“You say you were sent to me?” I asked, cautiously.

“Yes; I assure you I am frankness itself. They never trust me with important secrets; I blurt them out;” and he laughed, as though that were rather a good trait. “Old Kolfort sent me—Old Kolfort for one.”

“I saw General Kolfort last evening,” I replied, drily. “But sit down and have a cigar, and then tell me why he is so interested in providing me with friends.”

“That’s a good straight question, but I’ll be hanged if I can answer it. He’s such a sly old fox, with fifty secret reasons for every plain one. Thanks, I’ll have a cigar. Well, he sent for me this morning—you know, I am on the Russian tack in all this business, and that for a reason which I’m pretty sure to let out before I’ve been many minutes with you; in fact, bound to, come to think of it—and—let’s see, where was I? Oh, yes; he sent for me, and said, ‘Lieutenant, I have a pleasant duty for you—and an important one. I wish you to go to Count Benderoff and make a friend of him—he told me your hotel—and do what you can to make his stay in Sofia pleasant, as it may be only a very short one. You’re the best man I know to let him see what’s worth seeing in the city, and to let him know what’s worth knowing.’”

“It promises to be a very kind act on his part.” I spoke sincerely, and my visitor smiled at the words.

“It shall be, if you’ll let me, Count, I assure you. But that old fox always has a bitter wrapped up somewhere in the sweet; and as I was leaving, after having talked you over, of course, he pretended to remember something, and said, ‘Oh, by the way, take this letter to the Count with an apology from me. By an unfortunate mistake it has got opened by some clumsy idiot, and was brought to me to know what should be done. Tell the Count I’m very sorry, but perhaps he may not care to send it for a week or so, after all.’ ‘What is it?’ said I. ‘Of no consequence; but the little act will be an introduction for you.’ Then I saw it was one of those infernal things that are always being done in this country—an intercepted letter, and I felt inclined to fling it in his face, only I daren’t. I let him have a word or two about choosing me for such work, but I brought it, and I’m afraid you’ll think I’m a regular cad to lend myself to such a thing. But I’ll tell you why I decided to bring it in a minute; and I hope I needn’t assure you I don’t know a word of what’s inside.”

I accepted his word without hesitation, and believed in his expressions of disgust at the mission. I took the letter readily enough, and was indeed glad that my little ruse had succeeded so completely. Then I gave it a finishing touch.

“I suppose he’ll expect you to report what I said. Well, here’s the answer.” I struck a match and set fire to the letter, holding it until it was consumed. “It’s not of the least consequence, I assure you, for I took the precaution to send off a duplicate in proper disguise.”

“The devil you did. I’m infernally glad to hear it. I love to hear of old Crafty being licked at his own game.” Then he started and rapped the table as he laughed and asked: “Was that a decoy? Oh, that’s lovely. I won’t tell him. I hate the old tyrant, and he knows it; but he knows, too, that I’m horribly afraid of him. And that’s what he likes. Gad, that’s good!” and he lay back in his chair and laughed aloud at the thought of the General being outwitted. “And he was so damned serious, too, that I know he thought he’d done a mighty smart thing.”

He was obviously sincere, and it was impossible not to see that he thoroughly enjoyed what he deemed a good joke. When he had had his laugh out, he gave a little sigh of relief as he said:

“Well, that’s over, and I hope you’ll acquit me of any personal part in the matter or humbug.”

“My dear sir, I acquit you of everything except of having done an unpleasant thing pleasantly,” I answered, cordially.

“Thanks. And now, is your stay going to be very short in Sofia? I must tell you before you answer that that’s a thing old Crafty told me to find out. I suppose he has some underground reason or other? He’s a beggar for that.”

“Frankly, I don’t know. I hope not, but I don’t yet know.”

“Well, I was surprised when he mentioned it, because we’d heard that you’d taken a big house, and were going to make a bit of a splash, you know. And, by Jove, it would be a blessing, for most of the houses here are just deadly dull.”

“‘We heard,’ you say?”

“How quick you are!” he answered with a smile, and he had a slightly heightened colour as he went on. “Yes, we—we two; not old Kolfort, you know. But—well, we’ve had a chat about you more than once; and last night, after you’d been at the General’s house, we had a regular consultation about you—and, to tell you the truth, that’s another reason why I’ve come.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“No, of course you don’t. I don’t altogether. I think; but——” He hesitated, and pulled at his cigar for some moments in a little embarrassment. “You see, it’s a bit difficult to make you understand without telling what a man doesn’t care to talk about. I suppose something happened at the General’s that affected you closely, and made you—hang it all! Wait a minute, and let me try and think how I was to put it.”

I smiled again at this, and watched him as he fidgeted with his cigar somewhat nervously and uneasily.

“You saw the Princess there, didn’t you? I don’t know, but I heard something or other; and, anyway, she must have been speaking to—to someone who spoke to me. Doesn’t that sound rather ridiculous?”

But I scarcely heard his question. The reference to the Princess Christina had set my thoughts whirling at the bare idea that he was in some remote way a messenger from her, and that she was sufficiently interested in me to make these indirect inquiries as to my movements and intentions.

“Yes, I saw the Princess last night,” I said, breaking the pause. “Do you come from her?” I was astonished at the steadiness of the tone in which I spoke.

“Well, yes; but yet not exactly—oh, hang it all, I’d better out with it. I shall only make a mess of things;” and he laughed gaily, and flushed. “I came to you mainly because I was asked to do so by Mademoiselle Broumoff, who is one of her closest companions; and Mademoiselle Broumoff and I are, in fact, betrothed. Now you’ve got it, Count; and that’s why I fiddled about just now, and didn’t know quite what to say.”

“I am much mistaken if Mademoiselle Broumoff, whose acquaintance I shall hope to make, is not an exceedingly fortunate girl, lieutenant; and I speak without the least affectation when I say that your news interests me deeply.”

It did, in all truth. To have as a friend someone who was in the close confidence of the Princess herself, was a stroke of good fortune which I could indeed appreciate; and I resolved to bind this handsome young officer to me by all possible bonds.

“The one commission is an antidote to the other, at any rate, I hope,” said Spernow; “and if it’s any gratification to you to know it, you can rest assured that the Princess takes a lively interest in you, and for some reason or other feels herself under some sort of obligation to you. Frankly, I don’t know what it is; but I do know there are plenty of our fellows who’d like to stand in your shoes in such a thing. You can’t think how we worship that woman!” he cried, with a flash of sudden enthusiasm.

“I can think of no cause for such a feeling of obligation,” said I, speaking indifferently to hide the tingling glow of delight at his words.

“Oh, of course. By Jove, I was nearly forgetting,” he exclaimed, with a jerk, as he plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a packet of papers. “Are you engaged for to-morrow night?”

“I? No indeed.”

“Then you’ll be able to come all right. I’ve got you a card for the ball at the Assembly. It’s a big do; and most of the folks worth knowing will be there, if you want to know them.”

“Is this from the General?”

“Well, not exactly, though he’ll be glad enough for you to go. Mademoiselle Broumoff put me up to it.”

“Then I may have the pleasure of seeing her there?”

“Of course, she’s going, rather; and the Princess too. You’ll come?”

“I shall be very pleased. It is just the chance I shall welcome.”

Was this another little personal attention from the Princess, or merely a development of the policy of winning me to the Russian side? I was turning this over, and thinking how far I could get the answer from Spernow, when a servant came to say that the two officers who had called earlier in the day had returned.

I told the man to show them in, and explained matters to Spernow. He knew them, he said, but not their errand.

This was soon explained, and caused me no little surprise.

“We come from Lieutenant Ristich,” said Captain Dimitrieff, speaking very formally and stiffly.

“And who is Lieutenant Ristich?” I asked. “I do not know him.”

“You met yesterday at General Kolfort’s house, and he considers that you insulted him. Will you be good enough to tell me who will act for you? The facts have been explained to me.”

“Do you mean that the lieutenant wishes to force a quarrel upon me? I remember him now, of course; but I know of no insult, and certainly I have no quarrel with him.”

The captain raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

“Shall I say, then, that you prefer to apologise?” he asked, superciliously.

“Certainly not,” I returned sharply, stung by his manner. “What I mean is that nothing passed which need make another encounter between us necessary.”

“That is an impasse.”

“I cannot help that,” said I, indifferently.

“Well, you must either fight, sir, or refuse to fight; and in the latter case the lieutenant says he will be driven to the extreme course of publicly insulting you.”

“This is monstrous,” I answered angrily. “It is nothing less than forcing a quarrel upon me, as I say. But if that is the lieutenant’s mood, and he wishes for another lesson in swordsmanship, I’ll give it him. I have but very few friends here in Sofia, but the matter shall be arranged without delay. Perhaps——” I looked across at Spernow.

“Can I be of any assistance, Count?” he said, eagerly.

“I shall be deeply obliged if you will. Perhaps these gentlemen will retire to another room for a few minutes, and then you can wait on them, and matters can be put in course before they leave the hotel.”

They went, and I explained all that was necessary to Spernow, telling him that I attached little importance to the affair, and that I had already proved myself much more than a match for the lieutenant with the sword; that as the challenged party I should choose swords; but that the conditions were to be made as little stringent as possible, so that the fight could be stopped as soon as either was wounded, however slightly.

He went away then, and when he returned said that he had made all arrangements, and that we were to meet early the next morning at a spot just outside the town, often used for the purpose.

“Mademoiselle Broumoff will take a keen interest in this business, Count,” he said, as he was leaving me later. “Lieutenant Ristich is an object of her deepest hatred; and so will the Princess for the matter of that. He is no favourite of hers either.”

“You will say nothing, of course, until it is over; and you will get a friend to act with you, and perhaps you will both breakfast with me afterwards.”

“With pleasure. You take it coolly, Count,” he said as we shook hands.

CHAPTER VI
THE DUEL, AND AFTER

It was a glorious morning, the air crisp, fresh and clear, when I rose early, and found Spernow waiting for me in the courtyard of the hotel. He introduced his friend, Captain Zoiloff, who would act as my other second in the duel.

“I got Zoiloff to come because he’s well up in these matters,” said Spernow, “and I’m not. He’ll keep us right.”

I did not take the affair of the duel seriously; my bout with Ristich at the General’s house had shown me my greater skill, and I had no intention of even wounding him seriously, and no fear whatever that he would be able to touch me. I said as much to my companions as we walked together to the ground.

“Ristich is very mad against you for some reason or other,” said Spernow. “And he’s a hare-brained chap, so I should look out.”

“He is not much of a swordsman,” put in Zoiloff, “but he has one or two clever strokes that have served him well enough in other affairs of this kind;” and he went on to describe them. But he found me a somewhat inattentive listener, and after a short time the talk turned to other matters.

We were first on the ground, and Captain Zoiloff promptly set to work to choose the most suitable spot, and the positions which we should respectively take up. He displayed a manifest relish for the task, and was evidently an old campaigner in this sort of thing.

He had scarcely concluded his work when the other party arrived, bringing with them a doctor. They saluted us formally, and without any delay the seconds consulted together, decided upon the ground, and selected the weapons.

While they were thus engaged Ristich and I stood apart, and I saw that he was very pale and moody-looking, glancing every now and again at me with patent ill-feeling and animosity.

“Ristich has got his marching orders,” said Spernow to me, when he and Zoiloff came to explain what they had arranged.

“How do you mean?”

“He is being sent back to Russia, and leaves to-day.”

“I heard him declare he wanted to go,” said I.

“Yes, but not in semi-disgrace. He puts it down to you, and that’s what makes him so bitter. They tell me he raged like a fiend when he heard it last night, and he means mischief.”

I glanced across at him. He had thrown off his uniform, and I saw, too, that his sword-arm was bandaged. Till that moment I had forgotten all about the wound I had inflicted.

“Stay a moment,” I cried to my seconds. “He is wounded. I can’t fight a disabled man,” and I told them what had occurred.

“That’s his lookout,” said Zoiloff, in a very business-like tone. “He is the challenger.”

“I won’t fight a cripple,” I said resolutely; and at that they called the other seconds aside, and a long conference ensued, in the course of which Ristich was more than once consulted. I saw him explaining matters to his seconds, and flourishing one of the rapiers to show that he could use it quite well.

“He insists that the fight must go on,” said Zoiloff on his return to me, “and I really don’t see that you can object.”

“But it isn’t fair,” I protested. “Under ordinary circumstances, and with the full use of his arm, the man isn’t my equal with the sword, and, disabled in that way, the thing’s absurd.”

“His point is that he has to leave Sofia, and that, as he is determined to fight you, he will have no other chance. I shouldn’t insist, Count Benderoff, if I were in your place. It will only cause talk. The doctor has examined the wound and says Ristich is fit to fight, and he has shown us, as you may have seen, that he has complete command of his sword.”

“It makes me appear ridiculous to fight a wounded man,” I urged. “Try further protest, and say I will meet him anywhere at any time when he is well again. I will travel to Russia if necessary.”

“I am afraid that we shall only get some sneering reply that you don’t want to fight, or something of that sort.”

“I would rather be sneered at for not fighting a wounded man than fight one,” said I. “I will take care of my reputation.” And they went across to repeat the protest and deliver the message.

It was as fruitless as the former one, and when Zoiloff returned he was very angry.

“I will not repeat his message,” he said; “but it was most insulting. You must fight, Count. If we have any more conferences we shall only have more duels. I think you have acted most honourably; but, believe me, you can only press this further at great risk to your name.”

He spoke so earnestly, and Spernow joined with him, that I allowed myself to be persuaded, and threw off my coat and waistcoat and made ready.

We took up our positions under the shadow of some trees, and when my opponent was close to me the look of hate in his eyes, as they rested on mine, confirmed what Spernow had told me of his intention and desire to do his worst.

But from the moment when our blades crossed and the word was given us to engage, I knew that the issue must rest with me. Ristich attacked me immediately with great violence and impetuosity, in the hope of finishing the matter before his weakened strength should give out. I had no difficulty in defending myself, however, and, had I been in the same vengeful mood as he was, I could have run him through.

My object was not that. I wished merely to wound him slightly, or disarm him; and I tried two or three times to do the latter, though without success. I fought as coolly and warily as if we were in the school trying a bout with the foils, and this coolness aggravated my opponent intensely, so that he lost all self-control.

Watching patiently for my opportunity, I found it when he had made one of his reckless, angry thrusts, and with a quick counter I drove the point of my sword into his shoulder. Then I drew back instantly and threw up my weapon off the guard. Whether he saw this or not, or whether his rage blinded him to his wound and to all else besides, I know not, but instantly he thrust out his weapon with a blow aimed straight at my heart.

I saved myself only by springing back, while a shout of indignation came from Zoiloff.

“A foul stroke; I call you to witness, gentlemen, a foul and dastardly stroke,” he cried, excitedly, as he rushed in and struck up my opponent’s sword. “Count Benderoff has behaved splendidly, and if your sword had gone home, Lieutenant Ristich, it would have been murder. A most foul stroke.”

In a moment he was the centre of a group, all as excited as himself. Ristich protested that he had not seen me draw back from the fight, that he had not felt that he was wounded, and that he was eager to continue the fight. But Zoiloff would not hear of it.

“I withdraw my man, certainly,” I heard him say, and he brought matters to a dramatic conclusion. “I declare the stroke a foul one, foully dealt, and if anyone questions that, I am ready to make good my words now and here;” and he singled out Captain Dimitrieff and addressed him pointedly: “What say you, Captain?”

He looked very dangerous as he paused for an answer, and the Captain clearly had no wish for a quarrel with him.

“Of course, the fight is over,” he answered, evasively.

“Exactly, and we’ll leave it at that,” said Zoiloff, drily, as he turned on his heel and came to me with Spernow. “I never saw a more dastardly thing. I wouldn’t have believed even a Russian would have done such a thing.” A speech that set me wondering.

“They won’t cross Zoiloff,” whispered Spernow to me as I was dressing, rapidly. “He’s a demon at the business. I’m glad I brought him.”

“What did he mean about ‘even a Russian?’” I asked.

“He hates ’em as much as I do. I’ll tell you another time,” replied Spernow.

“I congratulate you, Count Benderoff, on a lucky escape. That man meant to murder you; and Dimitrieff ought to be ashamed of himself for not speaking out plainly. But they hang together in a way that’s disgusting, these——” He checked himself suddenly, with a quick glance at me, as though he had said more than enough before a stranger.

“I hope he really did not know I was not on guard,” I answered.

“I’m afraid it’s a hope not much stouter than a spider’s web;” and he laughed bitterly. “The man meant murder, and was mad when he saw you could hold him so easily. You use the sword like a master, Count—I should like to try the foils with you.”

“Nothing would please me better than a few hints from you,” said I, readily. “I am a good deal out of practice.”

“Then I shouldn’t care to play with you in earnest when you are in practice,” was his deftly flattering reply. “If we are to quarrel, I’d better pray for it to be soon;” and his taciturn face broke into a smile.

“It’s something to earn Zoiloff’s praise in these things, Count,” said Spernow, laughing. “He’s generally as chary of it as a coy woman of her kisses.”

“You are both breakfasting with me, I hope,” I said, as we moved off the ground. “Then we can go round to the house I am getting ready, and, if you like, I can have my first lesson in the shooting gallery which I am having fitted up there.”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure; but unfortunately, as I told Spernow, I have an engagement which I cannot break,” said Zoiloff. “But I can be with you in about a couple of hours from now, and then I shall be at your service. I should like nothing better than to see your gallery.” And we arranged it so.

While we were at breakfast I asked Spernow to tell me, as he had promised, how it was that so much hatred of the Russians existed among the very men who were on their side. Such a fact, if it were one, might have considerable influence upon me.

“I am the worst hand in the world at explaining things,” he answered. “But it is quite true. We don’t trust them, but we trust each other less, Count; that’s about the size of it, I think. We must have some kind of steady leadership, and what is there here? Look at the men who are at the head of things, and what are they except a crowd of nobodies, risen from nowhere, and setting their course solely by the compass of self-interest. The needle points always in that direction, and all the rest goes running round it.”

“But why trust Russia?”

“Why not? So far as we can see, the one steady influence in this country is directed by her. We hate Russia, but we are afraid of her; and where else can we look for any hope of help?”

“The Prince,” I suggested.

“He is as powerless as his poorest subject, and he has round him a crew that are after nothing but their own personal ends. They yell about patriotism and independence and all the rest of it, but would sell themselves to-morrow to the highest bidder. They only don’t sell themselves, because nobody thinks them worth buying. The only real power is wielded by Russia, and I suppose we think it’s better to make friends in advance with what must be the controlling hand in the country. It’s not a very high game, is it—but where’s a better? Men like Zoiloff would only too gladly jump at a chance of something better.”

“And the Princess Christina?”

“Ah!” And his face lighted with enthusiasm. “We do all but worship her, not only for herself, but because we have come to believe she will in some way do what we want to see done—draw out the best that lies in Bulgarian life. She is truth itself, and right, justice, and honour are the cardinal articles of her faith.”

I looked at him in surprise and began to see there was more in him than I had at first thought.

“You think more seriously of these matters than I had believed,” I said.

“I?” and he laughed. “Ah, it does not do for us Bulgarians to let the Russians believe we take either our affairs or ourselves too earnestly. But some of us are sound enough in heart at least. Enough of politics, however; why should I bore you with them?” And he turned away to lighter topics, rattling off a dozen stories of the latest gossip and tittle-tattle about the society of the city.

I did not check him, for it struck me that he was anxious rather that I should retain my first impressions of him than begin to look on him as taking a serious interest in the affairs of the country.

After breakfast we went round to my house and I showed him the alterations I had made. He took the keenest interest in everything, declaring that my wealth would make me at once an important figure in Sofia, and that in a few weeks I should have half the city flocking to my doors.

When Zoiloff came we went to the shooting gallery, and both the men were vastly interested in everything I had done. I had had the place fitted as a gymnasium, with every kind of appliance that money could provide; many of them sent specially from England.

“I did not know that you Roumanians cared for these things at all,” said Zoiloff. “I have not done you justice.”

“I am half an Englishman,” I answered, purposely—for I had begun to alter radically the original part for which I had cast myself. If I was to stay in Sofia, I felt that I must wrap round me the protection which that magic formula, British subject, alone could give. The announcement surprised them both.

“Ah, that accounts for it,” exclaimed Zoiloff. “You English are a wonderful people. But why do you come to Sofia? Pardon me, I have no right to put such a question,” he added hastily.

“I am also half a Roumanian; and the freedom of Bulgaria is essential for the independence of that country.”

I turned away as I spoke, and pretended not to notice the swift, shrewd look which both men turned upon me.

“I shall hope to know much more of you, Count Benderoff,” said Zoiloff, with so much earnestness that I thought my words had touched the chord in him I intended.

“I think it is my turn to be surprised in you,” said Spernow. “And I hope that we three may come to understand each other well.”

Were these invitations from them both to speak more openly? I thought so, but felt that for the present I had said enough.

“Shall we try the foils?” I asked.

“With pleasure,” agreed Zoiloff; and while he was making ready he glanced round the spacious gallery and added: “What a magnificent hall you have here; there is room to drill half a company of soldiers, as well as train a band of athletes!”

“Yes,” I answered with a laugh. “It would be a fine house for a revolutionary movement.” And at this they both started, and again shot shrewd, searching glances at me; but I was busy selecting the foils.

“You English are a wonderful people,” said Zoiloff again, but this time very drily.

We set to work then with our fencing, and to my surprise, and much to Zoiloff’s admiration, I proved slightly the better swordsman. He had not a spark of jealousy or envy in his composition, and when I had beaten him for the third or fourth bout in succession, he only laughed and said:

“I am your first recruit, Count; and you are a master I am well content to work from—and follow.”

“Good,” exclaimed Spernow, “I will be the second—if you will have me, Count.”

“My dear Spernow, I could wish no better friends or comrades in any work than you two.” At this answer Zoiloff, taciturn and reserved though he was by nature, offered me his hand impulsively, and said with great earnestness, as I took it:

“Now I am sure we understand each other, and shall work together for the same cause, Count;” and the warmth of his hand-grip told me that in him I should have a firm friend.

Spernow was not nearly so skilful a swordsman, and knew it; but he was anxious to learn, and we arranged that we three should make a rule of meeting daily for such practice; and when we were separating I said:

“As you can see, I take a great interest in these things, and I should like you to do me the favour of bringing with you such friends of yours as you think would like to come and would help us by taking an interest in the work here.”

Zoiloff’s dark eyes lighted meaningly as they held mine.

“You would soon have a large circle of friends, Count.”

“Every friend of Bulgaria would be a friend of mine,” I answered.

“You mean all that that implies?”

“I mean all that that implies; and the wider interpretation you give to it the better I shall be pleased.”

“It should be a day of good omen for the country when your house is thrown open for that purpose. A party of really patriotic Bulgarians is no mere dream-project—though they will be young men, mostly. By Heavens, but I am glad Spernow induced me to go out with you this morning.”

When they had gone, I stayed to think over all the chances which this unexpected turn of matters suggested. It might yet be checkmate indeed to Russian plans, if we could find the means to form such a party of young ardent patriots from within the very ranks of those supposed to be devoted to Russian interests. There were possibilities calculated to satisfy the wildest ambitions and effect the most drastic changes.

It would be a perilous task enough at the outset, for I could not doubt that, should the project get wind, as was most probable in that land of spies and treachery, General Kolfort would spare no efforts and stop at no measures to crush it under the wheels of his enormous power.

But it was worth the effort. To me it was infinitely more welcome than any secret counter-mining intrigue, such as I had had in contemplation. It would be a real sturdy stroke in the cause of freedom, and, if once successful, no man could tell how far or wide or deep its glorious effects might not be felt.

It roused me till the blood coursed quickly through my veins and my pulse beat with feverish throbs, for in it I saw the real interest and honour of the Princess Christina herself. The men who had been with me were both pledged to the eyelids to serve her, I knew; and I knew further that every man they brought to the house to join us would have the same enthusiasm in her behalf. Who could tell but that by these means I might yet be the agent to place her on the throne, but without the hampering restrictions of any Russian marriage?

This thought was whirling in my head as I walked back to my hotel, there to receive another startling surprise.

Some one was waiting to see me, had been waiting for two hours, on important business.

“I am Major Grueff, and am the bearer of a letter to Count Benderoff, of Radova. Have I the pleasure of speaking to him?”

“Yes, what is it?” I asked, concealing my surprise.

“His Highness has given you a captain’s commission in the Sofia Regiment, Count, of which I am the Major in command, and has requested me to carry back your answer to this letter.”

I opened it and found it a request that I should wait upon the Prince on the following day.

There was no doubt as to the meaning of this. It was the Countess Bokara’s work; and as I penned my reply, that I should gladly accept his command, I called to mind her declaration that our next meeting would be at the Prince’s palace.

“I am glad to welcome you to the regiment, Count,” said the major; but he spoke in a tone I did not like, and I conceived an instinctive but invincible prejudice against him. “And, as I have been so long waiting, I will get you to excuse my hurrying away.”

I did not attempt to stay him; for I wished to be alone to think over this new development.

If I accepted the captaincy, what could it mean except that I committed myself to the Prince’s side? And this at the very moment when the other and vastly more congenial plan had begun to take shape in my mind.

I thought I could see again the alluring but cruel face of the Countess Bokara, and hear the ring of triumph in her voice as she had turned to me after her cold-blooded deed:

“Now you will have to join us!”

CHAPTER VII
AT THE BALL

The ball that night was a very brilliant affair, and when I arrived the rooms were already somewhat crowded. I found Spernow waiting for me near the entrance.

“You are a little late, Count; we began to fear that perhaps you were not coming. Mademoiselle Broumoff is anxious for me to present you at once. Will you come with me?”

As we threaded our way through the throng, he told me the names of many of those present, but I was looking everywhere for the Princess, and felt disappointed at not seeing her.

Mademoiselle Broumoff was sitting alone in a corner at the far end, and I saw her eyes light up as she caught sight of us. She was not pretty, but her face was bright and clever, with an ever-changing play of expression that made it very attractive; while a pair of deeply set thoughtful eyes spoke of great intelligence.

As soon as I had been presented, she made a place for me at her side and sent Spernow away with a reminder that he had a number of duty dances with important partners.

“You have kept him from them so long, Count, that he will have a busy time,” she said with a smile.

“I have kept him? I have but this minute arrived.”

“Of course, that is the reason. I had commissioned him to bring you straight to me, and you are late.”

“I did not know that such an honour was depending on my arrival, or I would have been earlier,” I said with a bow.

“I have been most anxious, and half feared you meant to disappoint us;” and in a light strain we chatted pleasantly. I soon perceived that my companion was bent upon creating a favourable impression, while on my side I was not less desirous of making a friend of one who was so close an intimate of the Princess. We danced the next waltz together, and at the close of it she asked me to lead her to one of the conservatories.

I observed that she was careful to select a quiet corner, where we could speak without fear of being overheard, and after a moment’s pause she said earnestly:

“I have been really anxious to know you, Count.”

“I am flattered,” I answered.

“No, not that,” she replied impulsively, with a slight shake of the head. “I mean more than that. Michel has told me all that has passed between you—especially this morning at your new house. Captain Zoiloff is a man to trust implicitly, you know that?”

“I formed that opinion strongly,” I said, beginning to wonder what she was going to say.

“Michel tells me you are half English. Is that a secret?”

“No, certainly not. We English are not afraid to own our nationality, as the actions of many of us show too prominently sometimes, I fear.”

“But Englishmen of wealth do not commonly choose Bulgaria as a place of residence—at least not without some strong motive.” And her eyes searched my face for the truth.

“Eccentricity has never yet been denied to us.”

“Is it in your case eccentricity—only?”

“I am also half a Roumanian,” I said, repeating the answer I had given in the morning to Zoiloff.

“And the Roumanians are all but Russians.”

“Is not the Princess Christina a Roumanian?” I retorted. “And also of the Russian Party here?”

“Do you think that?” she asked quickly, turning the battery of her eyes full on me again.

“What time or means have I had to learn how to distinguish between appearances and facts?”

She laughed—a very silvery, sweet laugh.

“You fence as cleverly with your tongue as with your sword, Count. What do you want to know?”

“Nothing that cannot be told me voluntarily, mademoiselle.”

“Why do we all trust you instinctively?” she asked. A quiet feminine thrust.

“I am happy if you do,” I parried; and at the reply she shrugged her shoulders, and a shadow of impatience crossed her expressive face.

There was a pause, in which she looked down and played with her fan.

“We wish to trust you entirely,” she said next, in a low, earnest voice. “The Princess wishes it.” A swift glance shot up to notice the effect of this.

“I have no more earnest wish in life than to serve the Princess,” I declared, the words coming from my heart.

“To serve her is to serve the cause of freedom and the cause of Bulgaria.”

“Freedom as the Russians interpret it?”

“Freedom as the English love it,” she answered, in a tone that vibrated with enthusiasm, her eyes flashing and her cheeks colouring. “The freedom that we true Bulgarians read and dream of, crave and would die for,” she added, her voice deep and low with feeling.

A long pause followed, in which my thoughts were busy. Had the Princess Christina inspired this feeling, and was this strange girl an agent in pressing me to join such a movement? My heart beat fast at the thought.

“Is that a cause you would serve, Count?” she asked.

“These are strange things to hear from those whom I find all gathered under the wings of the Russian Eagle!” I said cautiously.

“There may be stranger yet to hear,” she returned sharply.

“The Prince who is on your throne is no friend of Russia.”

“The Prince has never gained the confidence of true Bulgarians. The men he keeps about him are patriots in nothing but name; and he has neither the wit to winnow the false from the true, nor the courage to set the false at defiance.”

“You would play for a big stake?”

“And make our lives the counters. Is not that enough?” The retort was given with a show of bitterness. “You English are cold and calculating.”

“We are cautious, certainly.”

“Yet you should hate the Russians.”

“No one has accused us of loving them.”

She made another pause before replying:

“Perhaps I have been too rash and have surprised you; but we thought from what Michel told me of what passed this morning at your house, that—well, that all was as we wished, and that you were already with us.”

“You thought this?” I asked, purposely putting an emphasis on the pronoun. She understood me and smiled.

“The Princess and I both thought it,” and I heard this with delight.

“You did not hear more than the truth, mademoiselle.”

“Then we are to be friends in it all?” she cried; and her face was radiant with pleasure as she turned her eyes once more full upon me.

“Show me how I can serve the Princess, and I will do it with my whole heart, and if need be with my life.”

“She will be here to-night, and you can tell her. The news will have the pleasanter savour coming direct from you.”

She knew how to fire me, and I would have given half my fortune to have known what lay behind the meaning glance of her eyes, which started thoughts I would not silence, and yet dared not indulge.

As I sat there, half bewildered, I saw a tall, fair, truculent-looking man forcing his way arrogantly among the people and coming in our direction, while he looked about him on all sides in search of someone.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“A man to fear, Count—the worst enemy we have, Duke Sergius. A man whose eyes we have always to blind.”

At that moment he caught sight of my companion and he hurried his pace, a heavy frown darkening his sensual, insolent features.

“I have had much trouble in finding you, mademoiselle. I might almost have thought you were trying to avoid me. The waltz we were to dance together has commenced.”

Mademoiselle Broumoff smiled ingenuously at him and said:

“I scarcely thought you were in earnest when you put my name on your programme. You do not generally honour me by remembering it.”

“I have something particular to ask you,” he replied, with such selfish insolence that I could have kicked him. He caught something of this expression in my face as he looked casually at me, and his glance deepened into a steady stare as he tried to frown me down. But I returned his look with one in which I tried to convey some of the dislike and contempt I felt at his attitude, and, perceiving it, mademoiselle rose hastily, put herself between us, and drew his attention by placing her hand on his arm and saying, as she bowed to me:

“I am ready now.”

As they moved off I heard him ask who I was, but could not catch the reply.

I hated the look of the man, and tried to persuade myself that the feeling was not in any way prompted by what I knew about his design upon the Princess Christina. If I had before needed any inducement to drive me into opposition to him, my hasty prejudice would have supplied it; and I sat now absorbed in thought, chewing the cud of all that had passed between the Princess’s staunch little emissary and myself, and wishing for the hour and the means to thwart him. They would come, I felt, and I nursed my anger and fed my animosity as I sat there piecing together the threads of the net that was closing round me, and drawing me forward upon a path that would lead I could not say whither.

Spernow’s voice roused me.

“You are not dancing, Count. Won’t you let me find you some partners? There are plenty here who wish to know you. Well, have you and Nathalie had an interesting conversation?” he asked in a lower voice, dropping into the seat at my side. “I know how anxious she was for it.”

“I hope great things from it,” I answered.

“Are you to be presented to the Princess?”

I looked at him in surprise, not understanding the question.

“Oh, the presentation was to hinge upon the result of your talk with her.”

“Then probably I shall be presented,” I returned, smiling.

“Good, very good; nothing could be better, indeed. Come, then, and let us go in search of partners. But don’t fill up your card, you may need a gap or two in it presently.” I guessed his meaning, but said nothing as I went with him back to the dancing hall, was introduced to several people, and for an hour danced and chatted as though I had no other object in life.

I was not too much engrossed by my partners, however, to miss the entrance of the Princess Christina, and more than once when I passed close to her in the course of a dance I caught her gaze fixed upon me with evident interest. Once especially was I certain of this, when she and Mademoiselle Broumoff were in close and earnest conversation; and it was with a thrill of pleasure that I felt that I was the subject of their talk.

Soon after this Spernow came to me and said that the Princess was anxious that I should be presented to her; and with a fast-quickening pulse I went with him to where she and her companion were sitting.

Almost directly I had made my bow Mademoiselle Broumoff rose and said to Spernow:

“This is our dance, Michel,” and as the pair went away I took her place by the side of the beautiful woman who exercised so overpowering a fascination upon me.

“A more conventional meeting than our first, Count,” she said.

“A very brilliant scene,” I replied naïvely; for now that I was alone with her I felt like a tongue-tied clown. My stupid answer surprised her, as well it might, and I saw a look of perplexity cross her face. After an awkward pause, I added: “Your coming then saved my life.”

“Scarcely that; but I have since heard the particulars of that matter, and I have been ashamed that you should have suffered such treatment in my name. I am glad of an opportunity of assuring you of my regret.”

“I would gladly suffer much worse on your behalf,” I blurted out nervously, and the answer brought another pause, during which I struggled hard to overcome my embarrassment and self-consciousness. I desired above all things in the world to win the favour of my companion, and yet I sat like a fool, at a loss for the mere commonplaces of conversation. She would think me a dolt or an idiot.

How long my stupid silence would have lasted I cannot tell; but the Princess in a movement of her fan dropped her dance card, and, in returning it to her I looked up, and caught her eyes upon me lighted with a rare smile.

“Do you return it to me without your name upon it?” she asked.

“May I have the honour?” I murmured.

“What is a ball for, but dancing?” she smiled. “But if you write your name there it will be a sign and token.”

“Of what?” I asked stupidly.

“Of much that my dear little friend Mademoiselle Broumoff tells me she has said to you to-night.”

“What is a ball for, but dancing?” I repeated her words as I took the card and wrote my initials against a waltz. “It will make the dance memorable to me,” I added, under my breath.

“I shall read it for one thing as a token that you have acquitted me of all responsibility for the scene at General Kolfort’s house.”

“There was no need for any token of that, Princess,” I replied, beginning to shake off my paralysing nervousness.

“And of the rest?”

“That I desire nothing better than to be enrolled among your friends.” I spoke from my heart then, and the words pleased her.

“There may be many dangers, and more difficulties.”

“I am prepared for both—if I can serve you.” I looked straight at her for the first time, and her eyes fell.

“I could have no more welcome friend,” she said softly.

This time the pause that followed was due as much to her embarrassment as to mine, and I noted this with a touch of delight.

“You had a long conference with General Kolfort?” she asked, a minute later.

“Yes; he threatened me with all the power of his enmity if I did not decide to ally myself on his side, and gave me a week in which to do so or leave the country.”

“And your decision?” she asked quickly.

“Has been made to-night.”

“To do what?”

“To devote myself without reserve to your interests.”

“I am glad—and proud.”

No answer that she could have made could have filled me with more supreme pleasure.

“I had feared a quite different result from news which reached me to-day. You know your affairs are pretty freely discussed just now.”

“What news was that?”

“I heard that you had received a captain’s commission in the Prince’s own household regiment. Is that so?”

“It was unsolicited by me; and I learnt it only to-day. I have not yet accepted it. I am to see His Highness to-morrow.”

“You will find him a good man, but sorely distracted by doubts and fears. All willing to serve Bulgaria; but afraid of Russian influence, and unable to choose good advisers here. His nerves have been shaken by the plots against his life, and his judgment shattered till he cannot appraise the men about him. Were matters different he would be an ideal ruler for us.”

“And what of the other influences round him?” I asked guardedly; but she understood me and replied openly:

“You mean the woman whose life you saved. I cannot understand her. Her ruling passion seems to be her hate of me. And a woman with a passion, be it jealousy, hate, or love, is no safe guide.” I detected a note of sadness in her tone. “You ran a great risk that night, Count, a fearful risk.”

“There was little danger that I saw.”

“I do not mean the seen danger; that may have been small for a man whose bravery and skill with weapons are such as yours. But the unseen dangers—the consequences that may always pursue and overtake you when you least think of them. It is such terrible deeds as that which fill me with dismay and dread of the future. How can a cause hope to prosper, the foundations of which are secret murder, implacable violence, and such desperate bloodshed? And these things are done in my name, and apparently with my sanction. Did not General Kolfort threaten you with the consequences of your act?”

“Yes, but I do not take his threats too seriously. It is one thing to assassinate a Bulgarian woman, another to murder a British subject.”

“When you have been longer in this distracted country you will see the distinction differently. But we must talk no longer in this strain here. Too many eyes are upon us and too many ears open. Balls are for dancing, Count,” she added in a light tone and with a smile.

I understood that I was dismissed, and rose and walked away. I was in no mood for dancing, and I went into one of the conservatories to think over what had passed between us, and remained there until it was time to claim her for the waltz she had promised me.

We danced it almost in silence, save for a commonplace or two about the ball and the people present; but at the close she said earnestly:

“I am leaving almost directly. I shall be at home to-morrow afternoon, and shall be interested to know your impressions of the Prince.” Then in a lower voice: “You must be careful, Count. Accept the commission in the regiment; but do not pledge yourself to His Highness’s service. You will not find it necessary. Maintain as strict a neutrality as possible; and then see General Kolfort and tell him what you are doing. It might be well to see him before you go to the Palace. Emphasise the fact of your British nationality. You have a difficult part to play; how difficult you do not yet see, perhaps. But your success and your safety will always be of the deepest concern to me. Remember that, always.”

She spoke earnestly, and in her eyes, as I glanced into them, I saw again that look of solicitude which at our previous meeting had moved me so strangely.

And the sweetness of her voice, the touch of her hand, and the tender softness of her glance, were haunting me all through the night, and urging me to I know not what strenuous efforts in her behalf.

CHAPTER VIII
AT THE PALACE

The next morning I was up early and went for a long ride. It was likely to be a critical day for me, and I had to try and look well ahead to see where I was being carried by the new set of the tide in my affairs.

My conversation with the Princess Christina had had a great effect upon me. For one thing it had made me more resolved than ever to devote myself to her, whatever might be the consequences; but her words of warning, her evident belief that there was danger for me, and above all her pleasure at my declaration of loyalty to her, had roused all my instincts of caution, while they had strengthened my feelings towards her.

She was shrewd, clear-cut in her views of men and things, devoted to the cause of Bulgaria, and openly allied to the Russian party, whose rough and violent methods she had nevertheless so indignantly decried. What then was her object? Was she playing the doubly hazardous game of attempting to use the Russian influence and power for an end opposed to theirs?

That was the only solution I could see. And it was one which I knew must involve her in a course fraught with such peril, that only a woman of iron nerve and implacable will could contemplate it without fear. And yet she was brave enough to take such a course without, so far as I knew, a single man trained in state-craft and intrigue to help her. Could I take such a rôle? The mere thought of the possibility filled me with enthusiasm not unmixed with much embarrassment.

If my surmise was right, I felt that her scheme was just that which our Foreign Office would do their utmost to assist; and, in helping her to gain the throne on such terms, I should be fulfilling in the best possible way the object of my presence in the country. But I knew, too, that open help from the British Government was impossible. That had been made unmistakably plain to me, and I must make it equally clear to her. Her advice to make the most of my British nationality might have been prompted by a belief that our Government would help her, and I must show her the groundlessness of any such hope.

At the same time, the course she had indicated agreed best with my own views: to maintain an open neutrality between the contending sections while devoting myself to her interests. Her whole object must be put fully before me, however; and I resolved to speak very frankly that afternoon. The prospect of the close association with her was infinitely alluring, and it required more than a single effort to drag my thoughts away from dwelling upon this to the more practical consideration of other matters. To secure that friendship I would willingly venture all that I had in the world; and I had but to think of it for my heart to be thrilled and my senses dazzled.

But what of the Duke Sergius and the story of the secret betrothal? The man was a selfish, sensual brute, as I had seen for myself. Was it possible that she would even go to the length of sacrificing herself in a marriage with such a man to secure her end? Then I recalled a sentence of Mademoiselle Broumoff’s: “A man whose eyes we have always to blind;” and I repeated it over and over again, till at last I grew to read it by the light of my own wild, vague thoughts and hopes—that there was no betrothal, but that the pretended agreement to it was a part of the subtler plot which my Princess was weaving. The thought of such a betrothal was maddening to me, and I worked myself up until I thought I would rather pick a quarrel with him and run him through the heart than see her condemned to be the wife of such a brute.

I was cooler, however, when I returned to my hotel, and my wits were clear and wary enough as I set out for General Kolfort’s house. I was well received, but he made haste to show me that he knew already of the fact of my captain’s commission.

“I am glad to see you, Count Benderoff—or shall I say Captain?”

“Choose your own form of salutation, General. It was of that matter I came to see you,” I returned.

“Is that all?”

“All?” I asked, as if in astonishment.

“Do you accept the commission in the service of the Prince—or rather of the lady who has offered it you—or in mine?”

“In neither; but as an honour offered to a rich British subject who has taken up permanent residence in Sofia.” His shrewd old eyes lighted at this reply, which he had certainly not expected.

“So that is your line, eh?” he said drily. “Considering that they know nothing of the Hon. Mr. Winthrop’s existence, they have acted a little by accident in honouring a British subject. Don’t you think so?”

I smiled. “At any rate they have made me the offer, and I have decided to accept it. But I preferred to come and tell you, after our interesting little conversation of three days ago.”

“That means, then, you will remain in Sofia?”

“My house is nearly ready for my occupation, and I shall hope to be honoured by your presence in it as my guest.”

“Umph! You have not forgotten our conversation, I see.”

“It was scarcely one to be forgotten.”

“And I understand you claim the rights of a British subject.”

“I am half a Roumanian, General, with considerable possessions there,” I returned, equivocally.

“You are a very ambitious, or a very reckless, or a very clever young man, Count. You have thought over your course well?”

“I am not given to act on impulse.”

“Yet cleverer men than you have tried unsuccessfully the dangerous policy of attempting to ride on two horses at once.”

“I can but fail,” I answered, indifferently.

“Then you decline to enrol yourself in my service?”

“I neither decline nor accept, General.” The reply was unwelcome, and he sat a moment with brows knitted.

“You will fail, sir, as certainly as you make the attempt. But I must know, in view of future possibilities, whether you claim the status of a British subject or that of a Roumanian Count, or whether, again, I am to regard you merely as a captain in a Bulgarian regiment.”

“I shall be in the unique position of enjoying all three,” said I, and noticed with some amusement the effect of this answer; and then added with a laugh, and in a light tone: “I don’t expect you to take me too seriously, General Kolfort.”

“If you are a British subject, I can ask your Government to recall you; if a Roumanian Count, I can use other influence to deal with you; while, if you are merely a Bulgarian officer, you will be responsible to me for the deed which you have already committed.” His tone was tense, concentrated, and full of earnestness. “Understand me; I do not alter. If you will not join me, you shall not stay in Bulgaria. I am not to be trifled with.”

“I can appreciate that, for you have already had my correspondence tampered with, in order to prevent certain news reaching England. I have committed no act for which I am not quite prepared to answer—openly; and all I demand is that fair play which we English claim as the right of all—whether English, Roumanian, or Bulgarian.”

He listened to this with a grim smile on his hard face.

“You mean that you are ready to risk breaking yourself on the wheel. Very well; I confess I looked for a somewhat different decision, judging by what has passed in the last two days—your conversations with various people; but remember, and, indeed, you are not likely to forget, what I have told you is my firm resolve. If you stay, you must join us.”

I left him then, feeling that I had created pretty much the impression I desired—that, in dealing with me, he would have to regard me as a British subject; and that, coupled with the fact of my increasingly close relations with the Princess and those about her, would suffice to secure my safety for a time.

With the reigning Prince I was at a loss what line to take. It was difficult to decide beforehand; but I was resolved to go to the length of refusing the captaincy in the regiment if the conditions attached to its acceptance were in any way embarrassing to my freedom.

But my interview with him was a surprise to me.

He received me alone, and spoke with a freedom I had not expected, giving as the reason for his attitude my rescue of the Countess Bokara; and when I told him as I did, for there was now no longer any reason for concealing the fact, that I was an Englishman, his frankness increased. He jumped to the conclusion that I had some sort of credentials from the British Government, and it was only with difficulty that I disabused him of the idea.

He had the most engaging personality of any man I ever met. He was strikingly handsome; every movement was marked by a courtly but unstudied and natural grace; his voice was toned in perfect accord with his courteous and kindly bearing; and his manner so sympathetically receptive as to impress you with the conviction that all you said had the utmost interest and importance for him. A courtier to the finger-tips, and yet withal a prince, it was impossible not to be charmed with him. I might have been his most intimate friend instead of the merest stranger who had come to thank him for a favour just bestowed. There was something lacking, however—strength; and therein, without doubt, lay the secret of his failure.

“What reason can a wealthy Englishman have for settling in a place like this, unless he bears a commission of some kind?” he asked, while indulging his hope that I was indeed charged with the duty of aiding him.

“Had I such a mission, your Highness, should I not have come straight to you?”

“I suppose so, but yet it seems strange. I suppose they know in England how matters are with me, and what must eventually happen if nothing is done.”

“All Europe knows of the difficulties of your position,” I answered diplomatically.

“And all Europe does nothing but look on with folded hands, leaving me helpless to kick against the pricks. Do they think I bear a charmed life to withstand for ever the plots against my life that are being daily formed, and that I can go on for ever avoiding the poison or the dagger or the bullet that my enemies have ever in readiness for me? Do they take me for a zealot so tired of living that I am willing to keep my life always on offer to the first hand daring and shrewd enough to take it? And all this for a freedom which they mouth about and will not help, and for a people who have been corrupted to hate me, though I have doubled their country, led them to victory, and saved them from overwhelming disasters. By Heaven! the ingratitude of this people is as colossal as their selfishness.”

I said nothing, and in a moment his bitterness passed, and he smiled.

“This is poor hearing for one who has come generously to offer me his services, and who has already placed me under a load of obligation. But at least I will be frank with you, Count Benderoff. I can give you this commission, give it gladly, and welcome you for what I believe you to be—an honourable man; but your services are of no use to me. They come too late—too late.”

“I do not understand your Highness.”

“It shall not be for want of plain dealing with you, then. The dear friend whose life you saved, and who has brought you to me, is urging—the impossible. She does not know it, or cannot realise it, or will not—what you will; but, mark me well, my days in this ungrateful country are numbered. You will not use the information I give you—but I have resolved to abdicate.”

“To abdicate?” I cried, for this was news indeed.

“Yes; to abdicate. That is my fixed and irrevocable resolve. Had you brought me the promise of help from England, I would stay and fight it out, and strive to realise those high hopes with which, under God, I declare I accepted the throne. But what can I do alone, or almost alone, against a people who plot and plan to depose or murder me, who have tired already of the puppet ruler which other Powers imposed upon them, and against the cursed canker of this Russian intrigue? In all the land I cannot now tell who is friend and who foe. In my very household the air reeks with conspiracy and intrigue. I know not whether any man I meet by chance may not be sent to do murder. I never lie down at night without wondering whether I shall see the next morning’s sun. I never taste a meal without the thought of poison. I never speak a word without the expectation that it will be carried to the ears of my implacable and ruthless foes. And never a sun rises and sets again without I know that the deadly work of corruption has been carried a stage farther.”

“Such thoughts as these, your Highness, grow by brooding.”

“Good God, man, they are the natural germs with which this Eastern air is crowded and polluted. No, no; these are no idle fears. Russia is relentless, and I am powerless to resist her. I will not be her tool. I could stay in safety and in what the world calls pomp and honour, a great Prince, if I would but stoop to do her bidding. I will not; and therefore my choice to abdicate or die. Would God it could have been different!”

I was silent in the rush of thoughts these utterances roused.

“You will not tell the Countess Bokara this? It is my grief, the bitterest irony of all my position, that I am driven thus to mislead the one friend who has been staunch to me, the truest friend God ever gave to a disappointed man, a foiled and thwarted Prince. I have told you—it will, indeed, be public knowledge in a few weeks from now, and Europe will reap the crop which her vacillation has sown—that you may not be buoyed up with false hopes from this grant of the commission. It would be a Greek gift, indeed, did I not tell you the truth—that you have nothing to hope from it. I can guess, of course, what the result will be. You will be drawn to the Russian net. That is a vortex which sucks in everything.”

“What is that?”

I turned like a needle to the magnet as I heard the ringing tones of the Countess Bokara, who had entered the room unknown to us.

“Who will join the Russian party—you, Count Benderoff?” she cried eagerly, almost fiercely, as she came quickly forward. “No. Prince, I will answer for him. He dare not,” she added.

“How much did you hear, Anna?” he asked rather uneasily.

“Enough to rouse my indignation, that was all.”

“I was telling the Count that there is no hope to be gained in my service, and there is but one side here for a man of action.”

“Prince, Prince, why will you always damp the enthusiasm of those who would be your friends and adherents? Why this constant tone of depression? These everlasting fears and forebodings? There is no cause for them, Count. We are on the eve of a stroke that will change everything—everything—and foil these coward traitors and restore in all its former strength the Prince’s influence. There is no monopoly of craft and guile in these Russians! A clear head, a strong hand, a loyal heart, and a daring sword, can change all. We are not so hopeless but that a clever coup can save our cause and make us once again all-powerful.”

The Prince threw up his hands with a gesture of weakness.

“It is too late,” he murmured, despondently. “Too late.”

“It shall never be too late while I live,” she cried, desperately. “It shall never be said that you were beaten by a woman. Force her from the path, by fair means or foul—and forced she shall be—and all the flimsy superstructure of this clumsy plot falls like a shattered dream. Never shall Bulgaria be crushed beneath that woman’s heel while I have strength in my right arm, or there remains a knife or a bullet in all the land. I swear it.”

She uttered the vengeful words with all the vehement force of her violent temper, and as I looked at her I could see the thoughts of murder lighting her strained, glowing features, and brightly gleaming eyes.

But while they stirred repugnance in me they seemed only to add to the Prince’s despondency.

“There has been too much blood shed already,” he said, in a tone of rebuke.

“THE COUNT HAS MY PERMISSION TO RETIRE.”—Page [89].

“Too much; aye, so much that one woman’s life more will make no difference. So they thought when they planned that mine should be the life—and shall I be softer than they?”

The Prince looked at me with an expression I was quick to read, and I made a movement as if to leave.

“I shall see you again shortly, Count, and you will take up your military duties at your early convenience. Meanwhile, I depend upon your discretion. All that you have heard here is for yourself alone.”

“Absolutely. I understand,” I answered, and took my leave.

“You cannot go like this,” broke in the Countess. “I have yet much to say to you. I need your advice and help.”

“Madame, I have urgent matters that call for attention immediately,” I replied, and the Prince thanked me with a look.

“And are not these matters urgent?” she cried, indignantly.

“The Count has my permission to retire,” said the Prince, with sudden dignity.

“When do you return, sir?” asked the Countess. “I must see you at once. I cannot brook delay. I am on fire when I think of all you must help me to achieve.”

“My duties will bring me here constantly;” and as I withdrew I could not decide whether my admiration of her courage and staunchness to the Prince or my loathing of the deadly methods by which she was prepared to prove it were the greater. Admirable as a friend, she was hateful as a woman; and as she watched me go she appeared like a beautiful dangerous fiend, till her face turned to the Prince and her eyes glowed with the intense love for him which was the inspiring passion of her strange, reckless nature.

CHAPTER IX
“I HAVE UNBOUNDED FAITH IN YOU”

All my impressions of the interview with the Prince were quickly overshadowed by the one overpowering fear that the Princess was in imminent personal danger from the fury of the Countess Bokara. The Princess was regarded by her as the central pivot on which the whole Russian intrigue turned, and to take her life was the openly avowed object of that dangerous woman’s passion.

That any attempt would be subtly planned and fearlessly carried out I knew well enough, and it was for the perfecting of such a scheme that she sought my help. This was indeed the crowning irony of the situation. I, who would give my life to save the Princess’s, was to be this reckless fury’s accomplice in a plot to murder her, in order to keep on the throne a Prince who had solemnly declared to me his unalterable decision to resign it.

Yet there was one ray of consolation. It was probable that I should be able to hold her scheme in check long enough to secure the safety of her intended victim, and I could at once urge upon the latter the necessity for the greatest caution. It was with this thought in my mind that I made my visit to the Princess in the afternoon.

Her house was a large one standing by itself in the centre of the town, and I scanned it curiously. I noticed with satisfaction that great precautions had been taken. All the windows in the lower part were barred heavily; and the defences might have been planned with the express view of preventing just such an attempt as was in contemplation. The Russians had obviously done the work, knowing the need for guarding jealously the woman on whom so much depended.

On that score I had no apprehensions, therefore, and I resolved to question the Princess closely as to the state of affairs within, and whether she was absolutely sure of those who formed her household.

She received me very graciously.

“Your interview with the Prince has made you thoughtful, Count,” she said, after a few minutes. “Was my forecast right? and what have you done?”

“I have accepted the commission in his regiment, but I have not pledged myself to support his cause—indeed, he said that I should probably find myself bound in the end to commit myself to the Russian party.”

“It is singular that a man who showed himself so brave, and at first so capable, should be unable to read what is as plain as a book to other people.”

“His reading is that the one possible future for the country is for it to pass into the power of Russia.”

“I know that. It is his besetting weakness.” She said this very thoughtfully, and then her face and eyes lighted as she added with vehemence: “And it is wrong—utterly and wholly wrong. The merest counsel of despair. By the help of Heaven we will live to prove it so; and if I have not counted on you in vain, you shall help us in the glorious work.”

She turned her eyes upon me with a look that infected me with her enthusiasm. “You will help us, will you not?”

“With everything I possess, even to my life.”

“I know it; I am sure of you. Would to heaven we had more men like you with us! I am going to trust you—put perhaps our lives in your keeping, for I know well enough the dangers of the work. But I trust you—absolutely.” She held out her hand as she said this with an air and tone of implicit confidence, and I carried her fingers to my lips.

“Show me how to help,” I said, my voice unsteady with emotion.

“Openly we are all allied to the Russians in a scheme which is to make me the reigning Princess, independent of all Russian influence. This is the veil which hides their real intentions. Secretly there is an engagement that I shall become the wife of the Duke Sergius, admitting him to a half share of the throne, and thus Russianising it completely. To make sure of me, it is arranged that we be married secretly, the union only to be announced after my accession. The object for this is of course to bind me irrevocably to them beforehand; and it is expected that while I am seemingly independent, all that is national and patriotic in Bulgaria will be rallied to my support. We should thus get a firm hold of the throne and of all classes of the people without the suspicion of too great Russian predominance. Do you see that?”

I did; and my looks showed that I did not relish it.

“It is a shrewd scheme, no doubt,” I said.

She gazed at me steadily, almost reproachfully, I thought. But I did not like the scheme, and would not pretend that I did.

“Is it a plan you will help?” she asked. I was silent and cast my eyes on the ground.

“Is it a plan you will help?” she repeated.

“You place me in a position of great difficulty, Princess,” I replied, slowly.

“Will you help me in it?” she repeated.

“With such powerful influence behind you, you will not need my help that I can see,” I returned, ungraciously, for the scowling brutal face of Duke Sergius was in my thoughts.

Her eyes were still bent steadily upon me, and a side glance showed me their expression had changed.

“You are not frank with me, Count Benderoff,” she said, after a pause; and at that I looked up and said bluntly:

“If I offend you I am sorry; but I will not stir a finger to help the man you mean—the Duke Sergius.”

Her face was breaking into a smile, when she checked it, and I saw a faint wave of colour rise to her cheek.

“What do you know of Duke Sergius?” she asked. Again a pause.

“Little or nothing, Madame; but I will not serve in any cause where his interests are to be advanced.”

“Why do you not like him? You knew I was betrothed to him?”

She seemed suddenly bent on rousing my temper against the man.

“I had heard of it.”

“Yet, knowing it, you have not hitherto refused to help me!” Was she playing on my passion, that she persisted in her questioning? “You must have some reasons,” she continued, when I remained silent; “what are they?” and to my astonishment the smile which she had before checked now passed beyond control and lighted her face rarely.

“You must not press me for my reasons,” I said quickly; and the light in her eyes may have reflected the thought behind it, for again the colour mantled her cheeks.

“Then you will not help me?” she said in a low voice that witched me.

“You? With my life!”

The passion in my tone made her cast down her eyes, till, with a still deeper colour on her face, she lifted them and said gently:

“Forgive me; I was but testing you. And if you blame me, think what store I may set upon an assurance of fidelity that is purely personal to me. Call it caprice if you will, a mere woman’s caprice, that I should thus seek to probe your real thoughts and resolves.”

“There was no need to test me where you were concerned,” I replied; and again the earnestness of my tone appeared to embarrass her. In the short silence that followed I sat with but the loosest rein upon the hopes and thoughts that were so much to me.

“No; the Duke Sergius does not come into the scheme as we plan it,” she said; “and I thought indeed that what Mademoiselle Broumoff told you would have made you understand this. I would do much for this country; and if it were necessary that I should marry him—which, thank God, it is not—I might force myself to go even to that extreme. But in my life there can be no thought of marriage. I should be baser than the base if, having taken this charge upon me, I should ever turn from it by any thought of myself.”

She spoke in a tone of lofty exaltation, a strange contrast indeed to what she had termed her “mere woman’s caprice;” and I held my peace.

“Our plan is this,” she resumed: “to use the Russian ladder, and then kick it over. To make them pledge themselves before Europe to support me on the throne, and then to use the power of the throne for rallying the Bulgarians to defend themselves and their country against their real enemies.”

“You have mapped out a dangerous counterplot, Princess; but I like it, and if I can help, I will. How will you prevent the secret marriage?”

“We shall have to leave that to be disposed of when the time comes. As you were warned, he is a man whose eyes we have ever to blind.”

“Are you sure of the people about you?”

“Of some—indeed, of many; but it is in that you can be of such help to us. I have heard of the suggestions you made so guardedly, that your house shall be the rendezvous of the movement to which those shall be brought who are known to be true to the country, and can be trusted. Such a meeting-place will be invaluable, especially where, as in your case, there is a plausible excuse for any such gatherings.”

“You mean?”

“We propose to form a kind of gymnasium club—at least, propose that you should form it among the young men of the city whom we can ascertain to be faithful. Of these men you will necessarily become the leader; so you see you will have an important part to play, my friend.”

“It is shrewd,” I said, perceiving at once its many possibilities, as I recalled Zoiloff’s words. “But how far are your plans advanced? Time presses.”

“Much farther advanced than you think. We have been working all the time this Russian scheme has been in progress, so that we should be ready when that reaches its climax. But matters will move faster now, and in a few weeks all should be prepared. It is a strong point that the very craft of General Kolfort itself has helped us. We have, as it were, a free hand for making our preparations. He is as anxious as we are that those Bulgarians who are opposed to the Prince, and would help me, but fear Russia, should be secured to us; and this has given us just the cover for our work that we needed. We shall triumph, Count, for the cause of truth is ours, and Bulgaria shall be free;” and her voice rang with earnestness.

I sat silent in thought for some moments.

“You have thought of the dangers to yourself?”

“I can but die, and where could one find a nobler end?” Her face shone with the light of willing martyrdom.

“You think the General has no suspicion?”

“He cannot have as yet. There will come a moment when his eyes will be opened, no doubt, and then the danger may be real enough. But I am prepared to face anything for the cause.”

I thought of that moment, and my heart feared for her; but I knew of the other danger from that wild woman, the Countess Bokara; and I must put her on her guard.

“It is not of the dangers we must think, Count, but of the great end to be achieved,” she added. “To dwell on nothing but risks may make cowards of the bravest.”

“SHE TURNED SWIFTLY AND LOOKED AT ME.”—Page [97].

“True; but we must at all events give enough heed to the dangers to be able to guard against them. Have you thought of the steps the Prince and those about him might take against you?”

“You may have influence with her,” she answered, understanding me readily. “And I have had a half hope that you may be able to make her understand how hopeless are her efforts. Can you do this?”

“I am not hopeful. She is a woman of wild and vehement passions.”

“She is mad; she hates me so violently that if she dared she would herself plunge a knife into my heart. She clings to the shadow of power which she wields through the Prince with all the tenacity of ambition venomed by malice. I know it, but I do not fear her,” she said proudly. “She is the greatest enemy this country has, even in this hour when its enemies throng every street, and are found in every house. Daring, unscrupulous, reckless, and saturated with the lust of power, she would use the Prince for the pursuit of her own ends, and those only, however cleverly masked by a boasted love of the country.”

The Princess was a very woman after all, I saw, for it was easy to read the personal dislike which breathed through her indignation.

“She may be very dangerous, Princess,” I said warningly.

She turned swiftly and looked at me, reading in my voice my genuine alarm for her. After a moment, her face softened into a smile, and she put her hand on my arm.

“You are warning me, I see, against something you know but cannot tell me. I will not ask you. I will do more, for your sake, and to relieve your fears on my account. I will be very cautious. You have a most difficult part to fulfil at present; I understand that. But I will guard against any such risks as you appear to contemplate. Your ready zeal for the cause is very welcome to me, Count—more welcome, perhaps, than I have been able to show you. For the sake of what you say, I will be very cautious.”

Her eyes rested a moment on my face, holding me in a thraldom of silent admiration. Then she added sweetly: “But you must not let your fears for me print themselves so legibly on your face. We shall go forward together in this matter to victory, my friend. That is the thought to carry with you. Heaven will not suffer us to fail, let the risks and difficulties be what they may. We are close comrades now; and I feel that you have been sent just at the moment when such a man was absolutely necessary. And when we have gained the victory, you will play a large part in the far greater work that lies ahead. I have unbounded faith in you.”

“I do not need the spur of ambition to serve you, Princess; but, by the help of heaven, your faith in me shall never prove unfounded.” I spoke with intense earnestness, and then rose to leave. She rose, too, and gave me her hand, which I again carried to my lips; and it pleased me to think that her fingers trembled as my lips touched them.

I had reached the door when she said suddenly:

“Oh, there is one thing which I have not mentioned. We have a kind of watchword which you should know. Our friends are banded together ‘In the Name of a Woman,’ Count.”

I started with a touch of alarm.

“But General Kolfort knows of that. It was with that formula I was accosted by the messenger who led me to his house.”

“He chose it,” she answered, with a smile of reassurance. “It is intended to mark off those who are for me as distinguished from those solely devoted to Russia, the good men and true for whom he thinks I can best act as his decoy.” I understood her. “You will not forget it and all that it means, as I have explained to you to-day.”

“I am not likely to forget all that it means to me,” I said, and a quick glow on her face made me think she understood me, too, and was not displeased. With a little flush of pleasure I turned again to leave, when the door was opened, and a servant announced the Duke Sergius.

He came in hurriedly, with a look of vexation on his coarse, broad face, which deepened instantly to anger as his eyes fell upon me.

“They told me you were engaged, Princess, as I see,” he said, with a sneer at me; “but I had a matter of urgency to discuss with you, so I bade your servants announce me.”

“Your urgency will cost my servants their places,” she answered, the expression of her face hardening into cold austerity—so different from anything I had seen during our interview.

“I did not think it could be anything very important,” he answered, paying no heed to her words. “Who is this gentleman?” and he turned and glowered at me.

Not only a bully, but a cad, was my thought, as I returned his look with generous interest.

The Princess murmured our names formally and coldly.

“I have heard something of you, Count, from General Kolfort.” He spoke as if it had been nothing to my good. “If I mistake not, I saw you at the ball last night.”

“I was there,” I answered curtly.

“I want a word or two with you, sometime, and will wait upon you.” Had I been a servant at whom he was flinging an order, he could not have put more offensive patronage into his tone.

“If you will write your business I will see if I have time to give you an appointment,” I answered with intentional brusqueness. He was not accustomed to be addressed in such a tone, and he started and flushed with anger. I took no notice, but with a bow to the Princess I murmured, “I have the honour to wish you good day, Madame,” and, ignoring the Duke entirely, I went away, leaving him staring angrily after me.

“I hate the brute,” I said to myself as I went into the street; and in truth I seemed to find a special cause of offence in the fact that I had had to leave him alone with the Princess. “I wish to Heaven he’d quarrel with me,” I muttered; and, indeed, the wish was to have a fulfilment that at the moment I had no cause to anticipate or hope.

CHAPTER X
“IN THE NAME OF A WOMAN”

The result of my interview with the Princess will be readily understood. It made me more devoted to her than ever. The sweetness of her manner, the charm of her rare beauty, the loftiness of her aims, the faith and confidence she had shown in me, and the many signs of her reliance upon me had enslaved me. In a word, I was in love with her. She was far above me, and there was no hope that I could ever win her for my wife. There were a thousand obstacles in the way. But there was nothing to stop my loving her.

So far I had never met one to touch my heart and kindle the myriad flames of inspiring passion which throbbed and thrilled in me now with such ecstasy at the mere thought of this rare and wonderful pearl among women.

I gave heed to no thought of consequences—never paused to think what the end of such a passion might be, nor where it might lead me. She had changed every habit of my mind. Usually cautious, calculating, and self-reserved, I heeded nothing now but the delicious knowledge that I loved her and could serve her, and help her to gain the high and noble end she had in view. And serve her I vowed I would with every faculty I possessed, and, if the need were, at the cost of every drop of blood in my body. I flung every other consideration to the winds and dizzied my brain with dreams of the delight it would yield me to feel that I could be the means of helping her.

That she depended upon me and trusted me was in itself a delirium of pleasure, and, come what might, I would never fail nor falter in her service. Others might have their aims and objects in this wild business of the intrigue, I would serve Christina, and Christina only, “In the Name of a Woman.” Whatever it should be to others, to me it had a real and inspiring meaning, and for me it was destined to be no mere watchword or formula, but the guiding principle of every act and thought and the lode star to determine my life.

But I would guard my secret jealously; it should be mine and mine only. The fire must burn, but it should be down in the centre of my heart; and on the surface no prying eyes should pierce the mask of reserve with which I would conceal my passion.

All this came to me clearly in the frank self-communing of the night, and with it a full admission of the real cause for my hatred of the Duke Sergius. It was not so much the man himself I detested—detestable though I believed him—but the future husband of Christina, using and defiling that fair shrine for the sordid purpose of his selfish policy. He and those in league with him would use the rarest and fairest of God’s women as a tool for their own base ends. The mere thought of it was an abomination of desecration.

But they would have to reckon with me, and in my new love-madness I piled up oath upon oath that I would spoil their plans and thwart their designs against her.

“I have unbounded faith in you.” The words rang in my ears like the strain from some angel’s song, and filled me with such enthusiasm that I longed for the moment of action, and could scarce find patience to wait through the lingering hours of darkness that I might begin my work; and I lay, my brain simmering with plots and plans against the two men, Sergius and Kolfort, who were thus leagued against Christina.

By the morning, however, I was cooler, and in a fitter frame of mind to face the thousand difficulties of the position.

Spernow was with me early, and I had my first lesson in the necessity of keeping my feelings out of sight. He had heard of my interview with the Princess, and came eager to learn the result. I knew very well by this time that that very shrewd little Mademoiselle Broumoff was at the bottom of his eagerness, and I was on my guard.

I told him that the Princess had convinced me of the soundness of her policy, and that I should do all in my power to help her.

“Is she not all I said of her?” he asked.

“She is a woman with a mission,” I answered somewhat coldly. “But her mission is a high and bright one in the interests of Bulgaria and freedom, and, as those are interests in which I feel a deep concern, I shall give her all the help in my power.”

The studied deliberateness of my tone perplexed him, for he looked at me in some surprise and disappointment.

“Is that all you thought of her, my dear Count? You must have a cool head—for you have filled her with enthusiasm.”

This was sweet music to me indeed; but I replied indifferently:

“I base my opinions on my judgment;” and I smiled as if in deprecation of enthusiasm. “But now I have much to do to-day. I take possession of my house, and I wish to have a consultation with you and Captain Zoiloff as to certain plans. Will you bring him to me there at noon? We have to discuss the future form of our new association.”

As soon as he had left me I hurried to meet the officers of my regiment, and my reception by them was exceedingly cordial and friendly—partly due, as I afterwards learnt, to my duel with Ristich, who had been a much hated man; and also because of my reputation as a man of wealth. I gave one prompt proof of this by asking the whole of my brother officers to dine with me at an early date.

By noon I was back at my house to meet Zoiloff and Spernow, and after we had had some practice with the foils and in pistol shooting we set to work upon the serious business of the conference.

We arranged that I should be the head of the organisation, with Zoiloff next in charge under me; and he threw himself with keen ardour into the work.

“I cannot tell you how glad I am to have you with us in this, Count,” he said, when we had debated and settled details. “Now that you have come, you seem to be just the man we were waiting for; and this place of yours will be a magnificent rendezvous.”

“Shall we have many join us?”

“We do not want too many, but all will be carefully picked, and every man will be one wielding influence over others.”

“How will General Kolfort view the scheme?”

“All he will know will be that here is in training a band of young men all working for the object which he desires, and all capable of giving the greatest help to the movement. The real secret will be in as few hands as possible. When he knows more it will be too late for him to interfere,” he said with a smile.

“That will be the hour of danger,” I returned.

“Rather the hour of triumph. Think what it must mean in a country like ours to have, say, five hundred young men in this city, each influencing many more, drawn from all classes, high and low, all joined by the strongest ties for one common object, and all looking upon one man as their leader—‘In the Name of a Woman.’ You will wield a tremendous power, Count. God grant you use it wisely,” he said, earnestly. “But I have no doubt of that. I should not be here if I had.”

“I shall wield it only for the one object.”

“It will turn the scale in any crisis,” said Spernow.

“It will free the country,” said Zoiloff.

I said nothing, but was thinking of the help it would render to my Princess.

One thing troubled me. The General had declared that he would not permit me to remain in the country unless I pledged myself to join him; and give that pledge I would not. Neither would I leave the country. And when my two companions had left, I sat pondering a way out of the difficulty. There was but one way that I could see—to have him satisfied by some indirect means that I had espoused the cause of the Princess, and leave him to draw the inference for himself that in serving her I intended to serve him and his party also.

In this connection I thought of Spernow. He was the General’s agent specially told off to sound me, and it would be quite possible for him to give a report sufficiently plausible to effect what was wanted. But who should coach Spernow? The answer came with the question. Without doubt it must be Mademoiselle Broumoff, and it remained only for me to get an interview with her and tell her what to do.

Inwardly I tried to persuade myself that this might be a sufficient reason for me to seek another interview with the Princess; but I put the temptation away from me, strong as it was, reflecting that any too great eagerness on my part to see her would only defeat the very end I had in view—to be of real help. I must raise no suspicions anywhere by seeking to see her too often.

I was thinking this matter out when a servant brought me the card of the Duke Sergius. I started as I saw it, and for a moment was inclined to send an excuse. But reflecting that I must now take my share in helping to blind his eyes, I went to him.

“I have not adopted the somewhat roundabout way you suggested yesterday for having an interview with you, Count Benderoff, but have come direct to you. I am accustomed to go straight to a point.”

“Yes?” My tone was curt.

“You and I must understand one another a little better. I have heard of you from General Kolfort, who seems inclined to take you rather seriously; and I may say at once that since I saw you yesterday I have changed my opinion about you. The Princess Christina spoke to me pretty frankly concerning you.”

“Yes?” I said again; I hated to hear him even speak her name so glibly.

“I looked on you before as a sort of superior spy—sent here, probably from England, to see what was going on. But I now understand that we are to be friends to work together. I am glad to hear it.” He spoke with a sort of blustering bluntness that he may have intended for an engaging frankness.

“I do not know that I am much concerned what opinion you take the trouble to form about me,” I answered, coldly.

“Hang it all, man, can’t you see I have come in a friendly spirit to talk over together the things we have in common? Why do you receive me like this?” He spoke sharply, and, I thought, angrily; and when I did not answer immediately, he added with a laugh that had no mirth in it: “You don’t suppose I am in the habit of hawking round my friendship?”

“Have I suggested anything of the kind?”

“You make it very difficult for me to enter into things with you.”

“I have seen you twice, sir,” I answered deliberately. “The first time at the ball the other evening, when you were good enough to scowl at me, and yesterday at the Princess Christina’s house, when your words were a kind of scowl expressed audibly. We Englishmen are not accustomed to read such actions as the preliminaries of a friendship.”

He started at the word Englishmen, and his eyes lighted with swift anger. Obviously he hated everything English; nor did I wish him to make an exception in my case. I think he read as much in my eyes.

“You Englishmen take very queer views of many things,” he answered, after a short pause. “But I thought you were more a Roumanian, and thus a friend of my country?”

“I have the honour to be a Roumanian Count,” I said, tersely.

“Do you wish to quarrel with me, Count Benderoff?” But before I could reply, he added: “But there, that must be ridiculous, for the Princess tells me I may look upon you as a man devoted to her cause, and, therefore, to mine. I shall not be unmindful of those who help us, I would have you understand that—though I wish you did not make it so difficult for me to tell it you.”

“I am not working for any hope of material reward at your hands,” I answered equivocally. His patronising tone galled me.

“No matter. That will not prevent your accepting it when the time comes. Few men do that, I find—even Englishmen. But now I wish us to be friends and comrades, Count. Do you see any reason against it?”

“We have not begun auspiciously,” said I drily.

“Hang it!” he cried with an oath. “You are as diffident as a girl in her teens. I don’t find men inclined to quarrel with my offers of friendship, I can tell you. I am not without power and influence, I can assure you;” and he smiled boastfully.

I made no response to his offer. I could not.

“You have made a good choice of a house, Count,” he said, after another pause. “I congratulate you. And where is the room where you are going to lure the coy pigeons to be trained in the service of the Princess Christina?” Evidently she had told him of the project.

“I will show it you, if you like,” I said, rising.

“Nothing will please me better,” he said, following me from the room. “Egad, a splendid hall!” he exclaimed in genuine admiration as we entered it. “Men tell me, too, that you know how to use the sword well. From all accounts you easily spitted that fool Ristich the first time at old Kolfort’s, and did just what you liked with him when you met him on the ground.”

“He was wounded, and in my opinion unfit to fight. I protested against his doing so, as you may have heard; but he insisted, and left me no option.”

He examined all the arrangements and gymnastic apparatus with obvious interest, making many comments to show his appreciation of everything.

“This is a novel thing for Sofia,” he said, after a while. “And a devilish shrewd device to draw in the young bloods of the place. They will make a hero of you, Count. A splendid thought, and one that shows what an acquisition you will be to us. A pistol range, too; magnificent! May I try a shot or two?” He spoke with assumed indifference, but I caught a glance which told me he wished to surprise me with a display of his skill in shooting.

“By all means,” I answered readily, not at all unwilling to see what he could do, and to show him also that I knew how to handle a pistol pretty well.

He was a good shot, and took a pride in his work, laughing boastfully when he sent his bullet three times in succession into the bull’s-eye of the small target.

“I’m strange to the pistol, of course; but that’s not bad for a first attempt, eh? I’m a bit out of practice, too, for I haven’t a place like this to keep my hand in.” There was a sneer at me in this.

“Come to the further mark,” I said, putting him half a dozen paces to the rear. “You shoot well.”

He tried from the further mark and hit the target each time, but only once got on to the bull’s-eye.

“It’s a long distance, and the light’s rather bad. Do you shoot much?”

“Well, a little. I have only had two or three shots here;” and I picked up a revolver carelessly. “I am sorry you found the light bad.” I turned, then levelled the pistol and fired half-a-dozen shots in rapid succession.

“You have missed,” he cried, laughing gleefully.

“I think not. You will find the six bullets in a ring round the bull’s-eye. I never miss.” I spoke with intentionally boastful swagger.

He went up to the target and examined it, and then turned to me:

“By the Lord, you’re a wonderful shot. Where did you learn that trick?”

The unfeigned surprise and admiration in his tone pleased me. He would know now, at least, that I was not a man to be trifled with; from that moment his manner towards me changed, and his bluster and swagger decreased.

“I am very fond of pistol practice,” I answered quietly.

He went up to the target again and stood before it, scrutinising the marks of the bullets as though I had performed a miracle.

“I never saw anything like it. It’s wonderful,” I heard him mutter to himself. Then in a louder tone to me: “I should like to come here for practice, Count.” But I had no mind for that.

“It would not do, I am afraid. If we are to make this business a success, I must be as slightly associated with you as possible.”

“Yes, that is true—and shrewd enough. You won’t want recruits if you can teach them to do that,” pointing to the target. “And are you equally clever with the foils?” I could have found it in me to laugh at the change in his manner. He was like a man who had come to bully and had unexpectedly been whipped.

“No, a long way from it. Would you like to try?” But he declined on the plea that he had no time. His refusal surprised me, for I had heard that he was a splendid fencer, and was somewhat curious to see how far he was my superior. I concluded that he was unwilling to show me how really skilful he was, and had to content myself with the evident impression my skill with the revolver had produced.

He left me soon afterwards, expressing another hope that we should be friends; but I was as guarded in my reply as I had been before, and certainly no more cordial.

I was glad of the visit, however. He had solved the difficulty which had been perplexing me. It was evident that the Princess had said enough to lead him to think that I was working on his side, and I was convinced that he would say as much to General Kolfort, and thus unwittingly render me a service.

That our dislike was mutual I had no doubt. He had come resolved to patronise and, perhaps, to ride rough shod over me in his swaggering, overbearing way; and his performance with the pistol had been intended to intimidate me, by proving that he was as dangerous to quarrel with as he was powerful as an ally. But my display had changed all that; and in a degree had humiliated him in my eyes at the very moment when he was keen to appear most formidable.

He was a man to take such a rebuff badly; and for the future I felt he would be no friend of mine. Whether he would dare to be an enemy depended upon his skill as a swordsman; and that he had carefully kept hidden from me.

Nevertheless, he had cleared one tangle from the skein of my difficulties, and I was therefore glad of the visit. Whether he would seek to show his enmity openly I did not trouble to ask myself.

CHAPTER XI
BETRAYED

The next few days were crowded ones for me. The organisation of our conspirators went forward with astonishing success—the fruit, of course, of the previous efforts of Zoiloff and those working with him; and when we held our first big meeting to inaugurate our new “Club,” we had nearly three hundred splendid young fellows zealous to pledge themselves to the finger-tips in the cause of the Princess Christina.

Each of them had been presented privately to me, and each promised unreservedly to follow my leadership. All were animated by the most patriotic enthusiasm, and many of them were in a position to influence considerable numbers of their compatriots.

The scheme of the Gymnasium Club evoked great praise, and I was surprised by the ardour with which they threw themselves into the task of athletic training. All the details of this were managed by Zoiloff and a few carefully chosen men under him; and after the first meeting these leaders supped with me, and many were the exuberant anticipations of success that found expression. Zoiloff himself threw aside his customary reserve, and led on the rest to praise me.

“It is the finest movement ever started in Bulgaria, Count,” he said to me when Spernow and he and I were alone. “And it will spread like a heath on fire, from here to every town and centre in the country. In a month we shall have such power and influence as never before was wielded by anyone here;” and Spernow was equally enthusiastic.

“I am astonished, I think, by what I have seen to-night,” I said.

“Ah, you don’t know my countrymen,” exclaimed Zoiloff, whose eyes shone and sparkled with the fire of feeling. “They have been crushed under the curse of the Crescent; they have groaned under the oppression till the fire of patriotism has flickered low indeed, for there seemed no gleam of hope; they have suffered, God alone knows how bitterly and drearily, till the iron was like to enter their souls and corrode every generous instinct and fervour; but, thanks be to God, those instincts are not dead, and we shall rouse them into an activity that will startle Europe and save the Balkan States. We have done much in the past few years, as you know; but that is nothing to what we shall yet achieve. Were the Prince other than he is, the hand of Russia weighing less heavily on him, and their dastardly work of suborning and sapping the truth and honour of the prominent men of the country less deadly, we should not now be cowering and cringing under the talons of the Eagles. Think what it has been to work always under leaders whom we doubted and distrusted for traitors. But that is changed at last. We will have no more of the old leaders. It is the age of young men; and, by the God that made us all, we’ll never stay nor falter now till the glorious end is reached.”

“Good!” said Spernow, in a rousing tone of concentrated earnestness. “Good, and true, every word of it.”

“No looking back, that is the spirit I honour!” I exclaimed, infected by their enthusiasm, and thinking of the Princess.

“A toast!” cried Zoiloff, jumping to his feet, his eyes flashing, and his rough, rugged features aglow, as he raised his glass on high. “May the hand that holds this glass blight and rot if it ever falters or turns from the righteous cause—In the Name of a Woman.”

“Amen to that,” said I earnestly, as Spernow and I repeated his words, and finished solemnly together—“In the Name of a Woman.”

“I have never dared before to be enthusiastic, but you have inspired me, Count. We have a leader in you who will carry us far, and whom all will come to trust as I do;” and Zoiloff gave me his hand, holding mine in a grip that trembled under his excitement.

There was, however, a source of danger that these two knew nothing of, and I could not tell them—the fear of the Countess Bokara’s violence.

For the few days I had succeeded in evading her I calculated that she would attempt nothing by herself, but would endeavour first to use me for the work. She had said as much when I had seen her in the presence of the Prince; and it was, of course, obvious that if she could secure my aid her task would be vastly easier. I had the entrée to the Princess Christina’s house, as she knew, and could thus, were I so minded, render her just the kind of assistance she needed. But I knew she would act soon.

My anxiety on the score of General Kolfort’s intention to get me out of his way had been removed as the result of the visit of Duke Sergius coupled with what the General had heard from Spernow, and probably from the Princess herself. He did not send for me and I did not seek him, but on the morning following the meeting at my house he put himself in my way as I was returning from my military duties.

We were both on horseback, and I was passing him with a salute, when he reined up his horse and stopped me.

“You have not come to me, Count,” he said curtly.

“And do not propose to come, General,” I answered in a similar tone.

“I was not wrong in my estimate of you, I find.”

“I do not recall it for the moment,” said I indifferently.

He looked at me and smiled grimly.

“Good. A little open antagonism to me is your shrewdest course. I understand you. You are what I thought—a very clever young man. And you can assure everyone that you are not pledged to me—openly. I understand you, I say.”

“As a well-known judge of men your opinion is flattering, General,” I answered ambiguously.

His smile broadened.

“Very non-committal, as usual. And yet——” And here his smile vanished, and his eyes took an expression of deep penetration. “Be careful that your cleverness and ambition don’t carry you too far. If that time should come and I have to act, remember that I warned you. I know what you are doing, and am watching you carefully.” Then in a lighter tone he added: “I am glad to hear such good accounts of your military work, and glad, too, that I have not to compel you to leave a country that has such sore need of the valuable services which a man like you can render it.”

And with a salute he passed on, leaving me to digest the irony and hidden meaning of his last words. I rode on thoughtfully to my house. The impression he left on my mind was perhaps just such as he had designed—that the attempt to trick him was indeed like playing with fire on the top of a powder magazine. And I was profoundly uneasy as I thought of what that might mean to the woman whose safety and success were now infinitely more to me than my own.

At my house a surprise was in store for me. A carriage was at the door, and the servants told me that a lady was awaiting me.

I went to the room at once and found the Countess Bokara. She rose with a smile as she held out her hand.

“You look magnificent in your regimentals, Count. And I suppose you have been too busy with your new duties and new friends to think it worth while to see me. And you don’t seem over-pleased that I am here now,” she added, for my face clouded at the sight of her. She was a bird of ill-omen, as I knew.

“What is your object in honouring me with this informal visit?”

“Informal! Where is the need of formality between you and me?” she asked quickly.

“In Sofia the tongues of gossip run glibly.”

“You have soon developed into an authority on the manners of the people here. Spare me your cant, I beg of you. What do you suppose I should care if all the old gossips in the city talked me over till their tongues ached? You ask why I am here. I wish to see you, that is all.”

“I am at your service,” I answered, with a bow.

“Are you? That’s just what I wish to know,” she replied, putting a significant meaning to my conventional phrase. “You have not given much evidence of it as yet. I should rather think you have even forgotten your promise to serve me.”

“I am, at any rate, ready to listen to you.”

She looked at me piercingly during a rather long pause.

“If I thought——” she began, but checked herself abruptly.

“Your thoughts are always shrewd,” I returned.

At the reply she looked up and laughed, with such an expression of malignity that it made her face hateful, for all the beauty of her eyes.

“You little know how shrewd this time, Count Benderoff, or you would drop that insipid conventionality, I promise you.”

“You are pleased to speak in riddles.”

“Yes, because you act them,” she retorted, almost fiercely. “But I promise to be plain enough before I leave you. I will drop the one if you will drop the other—but, there, you’ll have to, as you’ll soon see.”

“I do not pretend to understand you,” said I.

“Well, then, I’ll try to make you. You are not generally dull. Tell me plainly, if you can, on what side are you in all these matters? The question is merely to give you a chance of being frank with me, for I know much.”

“I seek the same object as yourself—the freedom of Bulgaria.”

“Aye. In the Name of a Woman, you mean? You think I do not know your canting phrase.”

I was on my guard now, and did not let her see my surprise at her words.

“I have the honour to bear a commission in the Prince’s own regiment, as you know,” I answered evasively.

“The commission I got for you. Of course I know. But what do you mean by that empty answer? Are you for or against me? For Heaven’s sake try to speak frankly! Nothing else will serve either you or me in this.” And she stamped her foot with a gesture of impatience.

“So far as our aims are in common, I am with you.”

“Do you think an answer like that will satisfy me? I am beginning to understand you; and if my reading is right, you and those with you may well take heed for yourselves.”

“If you have come to threaten me——” I began, when she broke in:

“I have not come to threaten. I have come to have a clear understanding; that is all. And I will have it,” she said, impetuously. “I will give you another chance. What did the Prince say to you when you were with him?”

“I do not know there was anything——”

“For the love of Heaven, man, drop this conventional cant and speak as plainly as you can if you wish. What did he say to you about this mad intention of his to abdicate?”

“Intention to abdicate?” I echoed, as if taken by surprise.

“Which means that he did tell you, and you would now pretend that he did not.” And, yielding to a sudden storm of passion, she broke out into a torrent of indignant reproaches of what she termed my breach of trust in not telling her.

I did not interrupt her, and gathered that she had only just heard from the Prince what he had said to me. I understood now the cause of her visit and the reason of her passion.

“As his Highness told me in confidence, I could not betray it,” I said as soon as I could get a word in. “He no doubt told you that he laid a charge of secrecy upon me.”

“And you did nothing to dissuade him, nothing to stop him from a madly suicidal step. You, who pretend to pose as a disinterested friend of Bulgaria devoted to him and to me! And do you think, knowing me as you do, for all your flippant lip-service to the jargon of conventionality, that I will let this thing be? Do you think that I am so powerless a fool that I cannot stop it? Oh, I am a mad woman when I think of it!” she cried desperately. “It can be stopped and must be—do you hear? must; and you must help me.”

“I cannot see how I can help you.”

She had risen from her chair and was pacing the room in her anger and now came close to me, and in a tone of concentrated energy and fierceness said:

“The death of that woman Christina will stop it; and in that you can help, aye, and you shall help me.” Her face was ablaze with rage and hate as she uttered the Princess’s name.

“The Prince himself is opposed to any more bloodshed,” I said bluntly. “The sentiment does him infinite honour, and I share it.”

“You dare to say that to me? To set me at defiance? To go back upon the pledge you gave? Are you a coward, Count Benderoff?”

“I will be no party to the assassination of the Princess,” I answered sternly.

“You defy me?” And, laying her hand on my arm, she stared into my eyes for some moments in silence, and then, her lips curling and her face so hard and set that the nostrils dilated with the vehemence of her anger, she added: “I could kill you.”

Clearly it was to be open war between us, and I prepared for it. I drew my arm away and answered coldly:

“I think, Madam, this interview has lasted long enough.”

She started as if I had insulted her, and I looked for another passionate outbreak. But it did not come. Instead of that her expression underwent a complete change and she laughed.

“Poor fool!” she cried in a bantering tone. “Do you know where I shall go straight from here if you turn me away? Wait a moment and I will tell you.” She paused, paying no heed to my gesture of anger. “In the Name of a Woman, eh? This excellent house, this sumptuous display of wealth, this clever, shrewd Englishman, with his hatred of plots, this attractive idea of a gymnasium club—what does it all mean?” And she leered at me with a look infinitely cunning.

I kept my face quite impassive as I met her eyes.

“Would you like to tell me the inner secret, or shall I tell you? I know—I know everything.” She paused again, but I gave no sign; and then the rage began to return to her face, and her tone grew vehement again. “It is a lie—and a lie against the man whose eyes I can open with a word. You are working and plotting for the Princess, In the Name of a Woman, are you not? And these Russian fools and dolts think you are working for them at the same time. But I know your real intent. To fool them up to the moment when you can throw off the disguise—to put this precious Princess on the throne, and then to snap your fingers in the face of the old dotard, Kolfort, and obey only the Princess. This marriage, on which he counts so much, is never to take place; but when you have rallied and organised these members of your club, as you call it, you reckon you will be strong enough to throw over the Russians and declare for what you call Bulgarian independence. Independence, forsooth, with such a woman as Christina on the throne.”

I knew now the extent of the sudden peril, but I thrust the fear that filled my soul for Christina’s sake out of sight and laughed.

“You have a lively imagination, Madam!”

“Yes; turn it aside with a scoff or a sneer if you think you can. But do you believe General Kolfort will think it nothing more than the subject of a sneer when he learns it?” She was disappointed that I showed no sign of fear.

“You can take your own course, and if you think to help yourself or the Prince by filling the air with your fables, do so.”

“You are a coward, Count Benderoff,” she cried hotly, “to play thus on my helplessness. I know that I cannot help my Prince or strengthen his position by telling what I know, and what you dare not deny, to be true. But if I cannot help my cause, I can at least revenge myself, and I will. A word from me and where will be all your plots and plotters? Your club will exercise then in the yards of the gaols and behind the walls of Tirnova fortress. I tell you, you dare not play me false.”

I knew the grip she had on me now could tighten in a moment into strangulation, with the ruin of every man and woman among us; but I maintained my impassive, stern expression.

“If you choose to spread these tales, I cannot stay you,” I answered.

“Will you help me to my revenge upon the woman Christina?”

“What do you mean by revenge?”

“Death,” she cried fiercely.

“I would slay you with my own hand first,” I answered, the passion in me rushing to utterance.

She laughed again vindictively and hatefully.

“So it is true, then, she has bewitched you. I might have known it. I told you and warned you that she was a vampire using up men’s lives with the unpitying remorselessness of a wild beast. And you are her latest lover, I suppose!”

The slander suggested by her words maddened me.

“I can hear no more, Madam,” I said sternly.

She threw up her head with a gesture of pride.

“Do you order me to leave your house—knowing the consequences?”

I was in sore perplexity. She was a devil and she looked it as she stared at me, her lovely eyes glowing with rage and hate and menace.

“If you have more to say it must be at another time, when you are in a different mood,” I returned.

She seemed about to burst forth again in her wild, vehement way, but as suddenly changed her mood and said:

“I understand. You wish to find a bridge over as dangerous a chasm as a man ever yet had to cross. I will see you again; but next time it will be to hear from you that you accept my terms. You are not a man to walk open-eyed to sheer ruin. I will go.”

And as she left me, sweeping out of the room, with a challenging, defiant, triumphant smile, I could almost have found it in me to kill her.

CHAPTER XII
THE SPY

As soon as the door closed behind the Countess Bokara, I threw myself into a chair in a condition of unspeakable dismay, rage, and chagrin at this most unexpected turn.

It spelt ruin to everything and everybody concerned in our scheme. I had seen and heard quite enough of General Kolfort to know full well that the merest hint of such a plot as ours would drive him instantly to desperate extremes. He would put in force every engine of the powerful machinery at his instant disposal to crush and punish us. And that he could crush us as easily as he would pinch a fly between his fingers there was not a doubt. His power was practically absolute, and he would use it mercilessly, like the man of iron that he was.

Nor was that the worst. There was a traitor somewhere in our midst; a recreant who had carried the secret in hot haste to this vengeful woman. I could not hazard even a guess as to whose was the treachery, but that it threatened the future of the scheme, should even she herself be silenced, was as patent as the fingers on one’s hand.

Yet what to do I could not see, plague and rack my wits as I would, as I sat alternating between moods of consternation, rage, and searching reflection.

In the afternoon I had a horse saddled and rode out of the town for a gallop in the country, in the hope that some solution of the problem would suggest itself; and the ride cooled and sobered me.

Two things were imperative. We must find the leakage and blind the traitor as to our real intentions. Our future safety rested on that being done without delay; and for this purpose I must see Zoiloff and consult with him. As soon as we discovered the Judas among us we could take measures to deal with him. If possible, that should be done by cunning; but, failing that, averse as I was to bloodshed and violence, force must be used. But an idea occurred to me by which he could be effectively hoodwinked, and I stored it by for use should the occasion come.

As to the Countess Bokara, there were two courses. One was for me to appear to play into her hands and so gain time for our own plans to ripen—a line of action vastly repulsive to me, with all its necessary paraphernalia of deceit and lies; the other, to kidnap her and put her into safe keeping until the crisis should be passed. I knew that I could lure her to my house, and that then the necessary measures could be taken; but the cowardice of the plan made me entertain it only with disgust.

In the case of a man I would not have hesitated for a moment; indeed I would never have let him leave the house that day. But with a woman I could scarcely bear the thought of it, although this woman was vastly more dangerous than many men.

I sought keenly for some other scheme, and for a moment entertained the idea of going to the Prince himself, telling him all frankly, and begging his aid to deal with her. But I abandoned it. I remembered he had said he would stand by the throne if he could make sure of efficient help, and I calculated that his vacillation would cause him to turn now and claim the help of our party in his defence. A worse than useless effort, as I knew, owing to the impossibility of rallying to his cause the men who had been turned from him by his weakness. Not only could we do no good for him, but we should imperil the great patriotic rising for no purpose.

I was therefore driven back upon the distasteful course of duping the woman who had thus threatened us.

“Would to heaven she were a man!” And each time the thought broke from me in involuntary utterance, I pictured how easy it would then be to act.

As I was riding back, moody and thoughtful, I met the carriage of the Princess. She caught sight of me when I was still at a distance, and her lovely face was wreathed with a radiant smile as she checked her horses and greeted me. Mademoiselle Broumoff was by her side, and her keen, sharp eyes were quick to read trouble in my face.

“You look very thoughtful, Count,” said the Princess, “as if heavy military affairs were weighing upon you.”

“I have been thinking out the answer to a very ingenious problem set me this morning,” I said, trying to speak lightly.

“It has been a trying problem for your horse, I should think,” she said, glancing at his flanks, which were covered with foam, for I had ridden hard.

“Not more so than for his rider, I assure you.”

“I hope it has not distressed you as much.”

“The Count carries the sign of that in his face,” said the little Broumoff, earnestly. “I hope it is no more than a military problem.”

“All problems in Bulgaria have their military side,” I answered gravely.

The Princess’s eyes showed concern. She understood.

“We must not let your horse stand while he is so heated with his problem, Count. If you would like to see me, I shall be at home in an hour from now.”

“With your permission, I will call,” I said, and saluted her as she drove on. “I will have the searchlight of her woman’s wit on the matter,” was my thought as I rode home; and, despite the grave and critical reason for the interview, I was yet half disposed to be glad of it, so much store did I set on the opportunity of being in her presence. I could scarcely wait with patience for the minutes to run out until I could start for her house.

Mademoiselle Broumoff was still with her when I arrived.

“You have news of some kind for me, Count?” said the Princess.

“Unfortunately, I bring you bad news, Madame.”

“It could not come by a more unwilling messenger, I am sure.”

“On my honour, that is true,” I said earnestly, touched by her gentle thought.

“And half its sting will be blunted since I hear it from you. What is it? Tell me frankly.”

“Its sting cannot but be sharp enough to wound. I fear we have a traitor somewhere high up in our ranks;” and with that I told her what had passed in my interview with the Countess Bokara.

“It is ugly news indeed,” she said at the close, profoundly moved. “And as dangerous as it is ugly. What think you of it, Nathalie?”

Mademoiselle Broumoff had turned pale with sudden consternation.

“I cannot think. It is too dreadful. What does the Count propose?”

The Princess turned eagerly to me for my counsel.