The two weeks following Beverly Calhoun's advent into the royal
household were filled with joy and wonder for her. Daily she sent
glowing letters to her father, mother and brothers in Washington,
elaborating vastly upon the paradise into which she had fallen. To her
highly emotional mind, the praises of Graustark had been but poorly
sung. The huge old castle, relic of the feudal days, with its turrets
and bastions and portcullises, Impressed her with a never-ending sense
of wonder. Its great halls and stairways, its chapel, the throne-room,
and the armor-closet; its underground passages and dungeons all united
to fill her imaginative soul with the richest, rarest joys of
finance. Simple American girl that she was, unused to the rigorous
etiquette of royalty, she found embarrassment in the first confusion of
events, but she was not long in recovering her poise.
Her apartments were near those of the Princess Yetive. In the private
intercourse enjoyed by these women, all manner of restraint was
abandoned by the visitor and every vestige of royalty slipped from the
princess. Count Halfont and his adorable wife, the Countess Yvonne, both
of whom had grown old in the court, found the girl and her strange
servant a source of wonder and delight.
Some days after Beverly's arrival there came to the castle Harry Anguish
and his wife, the vivacious Dagmar. With them came the year-old cooing
babe who was to overthrow the heart and head of every being in the
household, from princess down. The tiny Dagmar became queen at once, and
no one disputed her rule.
Anguish, the painter, became Anguish, the strategist and soldier. He
planned with Lorry and the ministry, advancing some of the most
hair-brained projects that ever encouraged discussion in a solemn
conclave. The staid, cautious ministers looked upon him with wonder, but
so plausible did he made his proposals appear that they were forced to
consider them seriously. The old Count of Marlanx held him in great
disdain, and did not hesitate to expose his contempt. This did not
disturb Anguish in the least, for he was as optimistic as the
sunshine. His plan for the recapture of Gabriel was ridiculously
improbable, but it was afterwards seen that had it been attempted much
distress and delay might actually have been avoided.
Yetive and Beverly, with Dagmar and the baby, made merry while the men
were in council. Their mornings were spent in the shady park surrounding
the castle, their afternoons in driving, riding and walking. Oftentimes
the princess was barred from these simple pleasures by the exigencies of
her position. She was obliged to grant audiences, observe certain
customs of state, attend to the charities that came directly under her
supervision, and confer with the nobles on affairs of weight and
importance. Beverly delighted in the throne-room and the underground
passages; they signified more to her than all the rest. She was shown
the room in which Lorry had foiled the Viennese who once tried to abduct
Yetive. The dungeon where Gabriel spent his first days of confinement,
the Tower in which Lorry had been held a prisoner, and the monastery in
the clouds were all places of unusual interest to her.