All was silent. A door closed, and then came the tread of feet. I
peered through the portières shortly to see the entrance of two men,
one of whom was the old caretaker. His companion was a dark, handsome
fellow, of Hungarian gipsy type. There was a devil-may-care air about
him that fitted him well. It was Steinbock. He was dressed with
scrupulous care, in spite of the fact that he wore riding clothes. It
is possible that he recognized the importance of the event. One did
not write one's name under a princess' signature every day, even in
mockery. There was a half-smile on his face that I did not like.
"Your Highness sees that I am prompt,"--uncovering.
"It is well. Let us proceed at once to conclude the matter in hand,"
she said.
"Wholly at your service!"
(Hang the fellow's impudence! How dared he use that jovial tone?)
I heard the crackle of parchment. The certificate was being unfolded.
(It occurred to me that while she was about it the princess might just
as well have forged the rascal's name and wholly dispensed with his
services. The whole affair struck me as being ineffective; nothing
would come of it. If she tried to make the duke believe that she had
married Steinbock, her uncle would probe the matter to the bottom, and
in the end cover her with ridicule. But you can not tell a young woman
anything, when she is a princess and in the habit of having her own
way. It is remarkable how stupid clever women can be at times. The
Honorable Betty understood, but her Highness would not be convinced.
Thus she suffered this needless affront. Pardon this parenthesis, but
when one talks from behind a curtain the parenthesis is the only
available thing.) There was silence. I saw Steinbock poise the pen,
then scribble on the parchment. It was done. I stirred restlessly.
"There!" cried Steinbock. His voice did not lack a certain triumph.
"And now for the duplicate!"
Her Highness stuffed the document into the bosom of her dress. "There
will be no duplicate." The frigidity of her tones would have congealed
the blood of an ordinary rascal. But Steinbock was not ordinary.
"But suppose the duke comes to me for verification?" he reasoned.
"You will be on the other side of the frontier. Here are your thousand
crowns."
The barb of her contempt penetrated even his thick epidermis. His
smile hardened.
"I was once a gentleman; I did not always accept money for aiding in
shady transactions."
"Neither your sentiments nor your opinions are required. Now, observe
me carefully," continued her Highness. "I shall give you twenty-four
hours to cross the frontier in any direction you choose. If after that
time you are found in Barscheit, I promise to hand you over to the
police."