CHAPTER FIVE

"Why do you affect this huge reception room, my dear Father? There are such cosy wine-cellars to go to nowadays, low-ceilinged, comfortable; the kind that only the upper middle class and artists used to patronize, but now available to higher circles of society. These old hotels along the Linden oppress one, as soon as one passes the threshold, by their Bismarckian proportions."

"And it is for that very reason that I am not going to allow my sons to persuade me into making a change," answered the old prince. "There are sufficient visitors here to make a public figure inconspicuous; besides, these many mirrors permit of one making valuable observations--or are the devices of our old-world diplomacy likewise to be thrown on the scrap-heap along with all the other relics of the Metternich age?"

Prince Eduard and his father were a strange contrast as they stood talking together. The old man's face was lined with suffering, his square musician's head was grey and bowed with the years and with illness, but it was finely moulded and gave an impression of great intelligence. The son's fair head, with its carefully parted hair, was long and narrow, for he took after his mother's family. They nevertheless had one point in common: both were fond of indulging in quaintly ironical turns of phrase, though the son's reserved nature, and his dread of giving himself away, frequently made him assume a cynical pose. As father and reigning monarch, the old man was kindly, though in other respects his knowledge of human nature had induced a mood of resigned scepticism. Towards this queer son whose mind was filled with such outlandish notions he was tolerant; indeed he loved the strange fellow, and was all the more lenient in that there was no likelihood of Eduard ever rising to a position of responsibility in which his modern ideas might jeopardize the welfare of the little State. True, this visit to the metropolis had been undertaken with a view to finding out by discreet inquiries at court and among old friends of the family what sort of company Eduard kept, for gossip was rife at the paternal residence, and painted the young man's life in lurid colours.

As they sat at dinner in a corner of the vast dining hall, they would have been cut off from the rest of the room were it not that the many mirrors reflected every detail to the very entrance. Prince Eduard's glance was continually travelling to these detectors while he spoke. Suddenly he leaned forward and scrutinized one of them with keener interest.

"On the contrary, I'm all for the old school," he said, "for I can look my fill, unobserved, at Olivia Countess of Münsterberg who is dining over there in a corner, alone, divinely beautiful in a dark-blue gown. Even you, Father, whom Queen Louise dandled as a baby, would enjoy the sight of her..."

"I met the countess yesterday, and had a word with her in the entrance hall. As for Queen Louise, she was a friend of your great-grandmother; and in spite of your proverbial lack of genealogical competence I should have thought some of your tutor's lessons might have stuck..."

"Good old Mengeberg," exclaimed Eduard. Then mimicking his teacher's voice and manner: "Now, let us recapitulate: Your late honoured great-grandmother..."

"Eduard!"

"Sorry, Father!"

"Tell me, is it true," continued the old man precipitately, partly to cover up the little reproof, and partly because the moment seemed opportune to put the question which had long occupied his thoughts, "is it true that Countess Münsterberg is on friendly terms with her former rival, that--that political agent or--whatever the woman may be?"

"What woman, Father?"

The young man's tone was so formal and so distant that the father realized his motives were discovered, and he acknowledged in his own mind that Eduard's forbearance was commendable. Yet they pursued the game as if neither knew what the other was driving at.

"But Eduard, you were there at the time..."

"Ah yes, so I was. Yes, I fancy they are seeing one another."

"Have you not met the countess there from time to time?"

"Yes, Father."

A pause. Eduard helped his father to another dish. The old man leaned forward and looked kindly into his son's face.

"Tell me, Eduard, is it seemly that you should visit that house?"

"If Countess Münsterberg..."

Another pause. The father settled himself back comfortably in his chair, sipped his wine with an affectation of relish, looked round as if wanting something to complete the savoury dish before him.

"What is it you want, Father? Mustard? Waiter! Mustard please."

"Yes, Sir!"

A third pause. The elder man again leaned forward, even going so far as to lay a hand lightly on his son's arm.

"My dear Eduard, you are in an independent position. Heinrich and Stefan are not so free. But I would ask you to consider this. There are people who may find occasion to say that you are often to be seen in the house of a young woman who cannot be your mistress since Countess Münsterberg visits her, but who is at the same time not quite obviously enough a lady whose position could warrant her, unwedded as she is, to keep a house of her own... For she is not received anywhere ... and Scherer's bachelor quarters seem to be the only respectable house she has hitherto been able to penetrate, the climax of her social achievement..."

Prince Eduard loved his father, and though during these last few weeks Diana's image and Diana's name had much occupied his mind, endowing him, the confirmed sceptic, with a youthful vivacity none of his friends had suspected him capable of, he had perpetually repeated to himself, as if to condone his sentiments: "But there is certainly one person who has a prior claim on you:--Father." Now, as he saw the beloved head before him, the warning the old man wished to give appeared in a fresh light, so that when Eduard spoke again there was a boyish ring in his voice and a smile on his lips.

"Excuse me, Father. The climax attainable by--that lady--far exceeds the confines of the salons she sets her foot in. Remember what the worthy Mengeberg, whose shade you so recently called up from the tomb, remember what he, at your command, used to tell us about the aristocracy of the mind."

The tenderness with which he pronounced the words "sets her foot" struck the old man as something quite novel in his son. He thought: "Things seem to have gone pretty deep with him, and it is all rendered even more complex by the fact that she does not appear to be his mistress."

"Still, it's a pity you should see so much of political women," he said at last.

"I fear Curtius--or was it Senderstein?--has misinformed you. The lady whom your gentlemen are so worried about is not in any way connected with politics.--Won't you take a little cheese?"

"No thanks. Please go on..."

"There's nothing more to say. Are we going to spoil our evening together on account of some one whom I've seen at most about four times? Does that look as if I were in love, Father?"

"I hope not, Eduard."

"What are you afraid of, then? To what end all those precepts of toleration, that catechism of liberalism which you so earnestly forced upon us all in the hope of democratizing your realm? Because poor Heinrich cannot marry a lady with fewer than thirteen quarterings in her coat-of-arms, am I to forgo the acquaintance of a woman who happens to earn her own livelihood?" He broke off suddenly, surprised at his own vivacity. Then, laughing: "How absurdly melodramatic! I might be quoting a socialist paper!"

In spite of his earnestness, he had not raised his voice, nor exceeded the bounds imposed by respect and good breeding. But the father was so unaccustomed to hear this son of his express himself with feeling, that he was profoundly moved. He felt that Eduard had right on his side, and yet he continued to question the young man coldly:

"German family?"

"I think some Slav blood as well, born in the Balkans, the father has become anglicized."

"Is he--on view?"

"No, only a brother."

"What--does this brother do?"

"I don't know, Father."

"They tell me he gambles."

"Quite possible. I saw him once at the club playing with Sagan. The duke won."

The old man dipped his fingers into the bowl, and as he dried them he seemed to be washing his hands of this matter as one he would rather discuss no further. He realized that his son had had the best of the argument, that the duke's name had been introduced adroitly, all the more since the scene of the card-table had very likely been invented on the spur of the moment. He seized the favourable opportunity thus afforded him to ask innocently:

"Do you see much of Sagan?"

"I met him recently at my chief's."

"Ah, and how is Mühlwerth?"

Eduard, delighted at having tided over the momentary clash with his father, answered in his customary mocking yet courteous tone:

"Mühlwerth is playing to the gallery, while his lady struts as tragedy queen by his side. False democrats, Father, coquetting with the left wing. When he drives along in an open car, he ostentatiously reads Vorwaerts. The first day he was in office, he... Have one of mine, won't you?"

They had both opened their silver cigarette cases bearing the family crest, and each was pressing the other to partake, the older man offering a large sized smoke tucked away in two orderly rows in a wide case, the younger, with a less steady hand, offering lighter fare in a smaller case. They smiled at one another as they made their choice, and the reconciliation was complete.

"Thanks. And what did Mühlwerth do the first day he was in office?"

"Many thanks.--He got there at twenty past eight, himself opened all the correspondence--one hundred and eighty letters in all--read every line, dictated to three typists who were scared out of their senses and had come dribbling in at eight-forty, eight-fifty, and eight fifty-five, the whole hundred and eighty answers, and at half past ten, when we were standing around at a loss how to repair the catastrophe: 'I trust your well-known acumen to see to it that these answers are modified as far as may be necessary to make them fully accordant with the tenor of your letter-files.'"

He stopped short as he heard a boyish voice greeting him, and looking up beheld Sidney. The youth's extraordinary beauty, his resemblance to Diana in all essentials save that his face was unwholesomely pale and his eyes lacked lustre, struck the prince afresh. The old man was rather repelled by so much comeliness in a male, and asked coldly:

"Who's that? I don't know quite what to make of your modern types, but it seems to me that that young man must be a natural son of a man of distinction--unless he happens to be a well-bred actor."

"Ignotus," lied Eduard complacently, resolved to avoid reopening a subject which might renew the friction between him and his father.

"He seems to be accosting Countess Münsterberg. Does she live here?"

"Yes, I fancy she does."

In the mirror, Eduard saw Sidney bowing to the countess, his gesture almost maidenly in its graceful disingenuousness. Olivia then motioned him to a chair at her side. The likeness to Diana, the talk he had just had with his father, the dim light that pervaded the room, everything combined to make the prince feel that Diana herself was over there by the countess, masquerading in male attire. It was a relief to him when the old man rose and he could rid himself of the vision the mirror revealed. As they sought the exit, he endeavoured to edge his father away from the young couple. But try as he would, he did not succeed. Olivia and the reigning prince only exchanged a few commonplaces, but the thing Eduard had especially wished to avoid took place. Before he realized quite what had happened, he heard the countess saying:

"Herr de Wassilko."

The deed was done. Eduard grew pale, and he hardly knew whether to thank his father or not, when the old man, turning on his heel, silently left the room.

"What a splendid veteran," commented Olivia in her golden voice, her languorous eyes looking ardently into the grey, catlike orbs of her companion. She might well have been Sidney's mother, so that her expression had something incestuous about it. Passion alone could serve as bond between two such disparate natures.

Not until he was driving home did Eduard find sufficient peace of mind to reflect calmly upon the relationship between these two. Yet he had been aware of it at the first glance. He knew that Olivia had been Diana's guest once, and must therefore have met Sidney on that occasion. Her greedy eyes having alighted on so handsome a youth, it would not take long for his precociousness to rally to her desire.

"She is capable of any freedom where the feelings are concerned," thought Eduard, as he jolted along in company with his father. But what of the young man himself? Why did he meet her half way? Because of her rank, or because of her money?

Meanwhile the old man at his side was asking himself:

"Why did Eduard pretend not to know his inamorata's brother?"

After a while he asked aloud:

"Wassilko, is not that a Ruthenian name?"

"Quite possibly."

"Or, maybe, it is Polish," said the old man, amused by his son's reticence. "You never can tell with such people...."